The Priory, Isle of Iona

August, 1310
 

Lyra MacInnes sat hunched over the writing table in the warming room. Her fingers were almost blue, but the fire in the hearth never went out, providing the nuns a little respite from the terrible cold Hebridean weather. Summer was scarcely behind them but the chill was always in the air.

She sighed, finding it difficult to put into words what she had to say. Lying did not sit well with her, especially when she was telling untruths to her dearest and oldest friend Davina. But if she confessed the truth, she knew her friend would risk danger, if she still believed Lyra to be desperate to leave the Priory on the Isle of Iona.

She had resided there with the nuns since she’d been scarcely more than a child. The terrible murder of her father in cold blood had meant there was a need for her to be hidden in order for her to remain safe.

Yet, all these years at the Priory had not been a hardship. She had felt an affinity with the contemplative life of the nuns even though, as an oblate, she would never take her vows and become a Bride of Christ.

Even at the age of twelve she’d experienced a sense that she was a mere pawn, subject to the whims of powerful men. To them she was only of value because of her noble birth and the fact she was set to inherit the extensive lands owned by hercClan. There’d been talk of a betrothal but her father’s murder had put paid to that.

While it was his death that had led to her being hidden in Iona, it was keeping the secret of her identity that assured her safety. Despite the closeness she shared with Davina, it had been imperative she remain silent, hiding all knowledge of her past.

There had been many occasions she had wished she could tell her story with honesty. Even now, she wished it. But the time was not right and this letter to her friend had become necessary.

Finally, after blowing onto her cold fingers and warming them enough to be able to write with a steady hand, she smoothed the parchment and dipped her quill in the ink.

Me dearest Davina,

I trust this missive finds ye well and happy. I too have fled the rigors of the Priory as ye did, just as ye and I once discussed.”

She paused, dipping her pen again. As she returned it to the parchment, a large black blot of ink fell on the note and spread. She shrugged. Parchment was scarce and she had only been allowed one sheet of the precious material. The blemish would remain.

Mayhap it was an omen. A dark blot on the misleading words she was sending to her friend.

She pulled her woolen robes around her, and secured her cloak tighter. The night was long and the cold had sunk deep in her bones despite the flames blazing in the hearth.

After Davina had fled the Priory, Lyra had been sorely afraid her friend would fret if she did not hear that she, too, had escaped as she’d pledged to do.

While she’d aided Davina’s escape, praying that her friend had made it safely across to the Isle of Mull and beyond, the nunnery was her sanctuary and she had no inclination to venture beyond what she knew.

When she’d been brought there soon after her beloved father’s death, she’d been told it was to keep her safe, as there were those who would take her as a betrothed for one simple reason. As the sole heir to her father, she had inherited the castle and all the clan lands.

She had been warned there was at least one ruthless and cruel man who would stop at nothing to seize her, force her into marriage to steal her inheritance.

Remaining locked away from the world was a small price to pay for escaping a man who would use her as a tool to furnish his greed

Returning to her letter, she dipped the quill again.

I am so happy to have escaped the convent as ye did, me dear friend. There is nae need fer ye tae return, as ye promised, tae help set me free.”

She had been happy to assist Davina to escape, as she knew her friend suffered mightily at the hands of the old Prioress, who, for some reason which she could never fathom, had held a strange and cruel hatred for her friend.

Since Mother Una had taken on the role of Prioress, life there had become much easier, although she understood that it was imperative to keep a close watch on Lyra’s safety. The threat had never lessened, despite the passing years.

She bent her head again, scratching out lies. Her letter would keep her friend believing she was no longer at the nunnery, but had made her way safely to the mainland and her own people.

I will write again, me dearest, sweet Davina, and when the time is right for us tae meet again, I will send word.

She took care not to mention where exactly she now resided, musing that Davina would assume she was safely reunited with her clan.

A sigh escaped her lips. She had scant memories of her life before and she had no wish to return to it. Her life was at the Priory, where she believed she was safe from the predatory machinations of any man who wished to own her.

She felt no envy for Davina’s new life, whatever it might be, only pleasure at her friend’s newfound happiness. The letter Lyra had recently received had merely hinted at the many misadventures and dangers Davina had endured, but with the assurance she was happier than she had ever dreamed possible.

Mayhap one day she and Davina would meet again and Lyra would hear every tiny detail of what had become of her when she fled the Priory.

Yet, for all that, when the one letter she’d received closed with the words “I will come tae Iona and help ye escape if ye are still biding there,” the danger that Davina unknowingly posed to both lasses struck home.

If it became known that Davina was venturing to Iona seeking Lyra, not only would her friend court danger for herself, but she would risk bringing grave danger to all at the nunnery.

Lyra finished her note.

Until the happy day when we meet again, I shall wish ye good night and good morrow, from yer loving friend. Lyra

Her eyes misted with tears as she took a piece of dark blue sealing wax, heated it over the candle allowing it to drip upon the folded parchment, ensuring it was closed from prying eyes. She set her ring upon the molten wax so that Davina would recognize the seal and know the missive came from Lyra.

She bowed her head, signing the Cross, offering up a silent prayer for forgiveness for the lie she was telling her fried.

The following day, she would ask permission to send the letter, and it would be taken to the village by one of the servants, from there to begin its long journey across the sea to Kiessimul Castle, on the Isle of Barra, where her friend now resided.

A tiny part of her wished she could make the same journey, yet she would remain here, on Iona, exiled from her clan, until she was safe from the dark evil of the Laird Alexander MacDougall.

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