A polite cough made her eyes flutter open. Standing in a shadowed corner of the room was Father Michael. When Ember looked at him, she swore he gave a slight nod.
“I was learning what to do in the case of breech birth,” she said. It was one of the only things about midwifery she knew. Women feared a babe that hadn’t turned in the womb. Such cases too easily ended with a stillborn infant or a mother whose bleeding couldn’t be stopped.
Abbot Crichton regarded her with a wan smile. “And you find this work fulfilling?”
Ember nodded. “To relieve the pain and suffering of the sick and weak is truly God’s work.”
“Your father expressed concern that you would find life within Tearmunn wanting.” He returned to his chair, groaning as he eased his weight into it.
“My needs are few,” Ember told him. “And they are all well met.”
The abbot picked up a golden chalice and sipped the wine within it. “There are those who would argue that a young woman such as yourself might better serve God as a wife and mother, increasing the number of the faithful by blessings of your womb.”
Ember’s throat closed up. The pain in her shoulders was making itself known, protesting her stiff repose. Her dress was too tight, and she found breathing difficult. Heat prickled down her limbs. “My father thought perhaps that in time I would wed the son of a local lord; thus, I would serve Conatus and my father.”
The abbot considered this and after taking another sip of wine spoke again. “It remains true that your father owes a great debt to Conatus. You are the payment for this debt. And it seems not unfitting that your marriage be delayed as long as we require.”
Not trusting herself to speak, Ember nodded slowly.
“If you are amenable to your work here, I see no reason to interrupt your service.” He ran his finger around the rim of the chalice. “Perhaps your father is simply overprotective. Or too eager to join his house with that of our lord Mackenzie.”
Ember managed to force her voice out. “That may be true, Father Abbot.”
“Very well,” he said. “For now I shall inform Lord Morrow that his concerns are unfounded. You are dismissed, Lady Morrow. Go with God’s blessing.”
Given how unsteady her legs felt, Ember thought her curtsy enough of a miracle to prove she had earned God’s favor. She was still a bit dazed from the episode when Sorcha guided her from the chamber.
Much to Ember’s surprise Barrow was waiting for them outside the door. The three of them moved farther down the corridor, keeping their voices low.
“What happened?” he asked Sorcha.
“The crisis appears averted,” Sorcha told him. “At least for now. We won’t fully know what’s transpired until we’re able to speak to Eira alone.”
They fell silent when the door opened. Father Michael closed the door behind him and came to join their huddled group.
“I’ll ask you to come to the chapel, Lady Morrow,” the priest said.
Ember frowned at him. Though pleased by how quickly and easily her audience with the abbot had gone, her mind was clouded and an ache was building in her head. She didn’t want to go to the chapel, even with kind Father Michael. She needed her bed.
She threw Barrow a grateful smile when he said, “She’s injured, Father. We should have the healers see her and then send her to rest as soon as possible.”
Father Michael nodded. “Of course. But, my child, you must confess when you’re able. I would be neglecting my calling if I didn’t hear your contrition and offer what absolution I can.”
“Confess?” Ember wondered if she was hearing the priest correctly.
“You did just bear false witness to Abbot Crichton,” Father Michael told her.
For a moment a chill replaced the creeping heat that had been steadily draining Ember’s strength, but she caught the sparkle in Father Michael’s eye.
With a relieved breath she said, “I will give my confession soon, Father.”
Father Michael’s smile bordered on puckish as he made the sign of the cross and bid them good night.
Barrow cast a sidelong glance at Sorcha. “I take it she did well?”
“Remarkably.” Sorcha laughed. “I think even Eira was impressed.”
Barrow’s rumbling laughter joined Sorcha’s.
Ember wanted to laugh with them, but she was fighting to catch her breath. The heat that had been building beneath Ember’s skin now beaded into sweat beneath her bodice and at her temples. Trembling spread through her arms and legs.
“I think we may have misjudged Ember’s calling,” said Sorcha to Barrow. “Perhaps we should send her out as a spy.”
“That may be the case,” Barrow said. “But we’d miss her in the Guard.”
Sorcha nodded, smiling at Ember. “Where did you learn to act, dear girl?”
Ember opened her mouth but found she couldn’t draw breath at all.
“Ember?” She could hear the concern in Barrow’s voice, but she could no longer see his face, only a blur of colors. The floor beneath her feet tilted and she was falling. She barely felt Barrow’s arms around her, catching her, lifting her up. Her skin was on fire, and the spinning before her eyes twisted her stomach into knots.
The sound of Barrow speaking was very far away. “She’s burning up.”
Darkness rose behind the chaos of colors, crashing down in a wave that swept Ember from consciousness.
TWENTY-ONE
ON THE OTHER SIDE of the closed doors Abbot Crichton swirled his chalice of wine, lifted it to his lips, and drained it in a long, single gulp. Then he poured himself another.
“Quite a lovely thing, our lady Morrow, is she not?” Wine dribbled from one corner of his wide lips. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Eira murmured her agreement, wondering when this boor of a man would leave her to the pressing work she was neglecting so he could linger in his cups.
“You’ll understand, then, why I see it as such a shame that you would use her for such brutal work,” he said.
“You find midwifery that brutal?” Eira asked.
With a groan, the abbot lowered himself into a chair, his girth spilling over the edges of the seat. “I never knew you regarded me as such a fool.”
Eira had been worrying at the silk of her gown, thinking what a waste of time and effort it was that she and the other women were trussed up to deceive the abbot. His words froze her hands on her lap. Hoping her face was blank, she lifted her eyes to meet his.