“Married is different from taking holy vows!” the older woman wailed, her voice devolving into sniffles.
“Is it?” Nicola murmured, running a soothing hand up and down her mother’s back. “Either would mean no’ being here at Oliphant Castle.” At yer beck and call. She loved her mother, she truly did…but she had a life of her own she wanted to lead. “And if I took vows, I wouldnae be tied to one—man.”
She almost said person, thinking of how much her mother had relied on her over the years, and how exhausting that had become. Marriage would be equally exhausting, Nicola was certain; having to devote one’s life to one’s husband, and just hope they were worth it.
Nay, her plan was better.
“Marriage to Christ isnae the better choice, daughter.”
Nicola managed to shrug, despite her mother hanging on her. “’Twill be easier to marry a man long dead—”
“He is Risen!”
“Och, aye, ‘tis what I meant.” Nicola awkwardly patted her mother’s back. “But He isnae here, which makes Him a lot easier to marry. Serve. Whatever.” If she took vows, she’d be able to help a whole host of people with her healing skills, not just her mother and the occasional sick Oliphant. “Besides, I’m no’ definitely taking vows, Mother. I just said I’m planning on discussing it with the Mother Superior when I’m at the nunnery.”
“But ye’re definitely leaving me,” the older woman wailed.
Nicola felt safe rolling her eyes. “Well, Christ.”
“Exactly!”
That was the moment Coira chose to come stamping into the solar, thank St. Crystal. She wore braies and a man’s tunic, and a pair of saddlebags were thrown over her shoulder.
“What the hell’s taking so—oh.”
Her gaze landed on Mother, still sniffling against Nicola’s shoulder. The sisters exchanged a look only years of commiserating could achieve.
It plainly said, Can ye believe this shite?
Nicola cleared her throat. “Mother is concerned about me leaving.”
“’Tis no’ forever.”
“If she takes vows, ’twill be!” their mother wailed.
With a shake of her head, Coira began to gather up the herb packages Nicola had prepared, stuffing them into the bags she carried. “She’s no’ taking vows, Mother. She just needs to get away from here and from Da’s stupid ultimatum.”
Ridiculously hopeful, Mother straightened fast enough to pop her spine, and Nicola winced, knowing she’d complain about that, too.
“Ye mean it, Coira? Ye’ll bring her back?”
Coira, as the eldest, had the strength and discipline both their parents lacked. She turned and held Mother’s pleading look. “Nay, I’ll no’. If Nik wants to stay with the nuns at St. Dorcas the Ever Petulant for a while and tend to the ill there, I’ll no’ stop her; but I’ll be returning home.” She turned back to her work and finished in a mutter, “I cannae trust Doughall to handle the clan’s business properly while I’m away.”
No one who knew the Oliphants would be surprised Coira had entrusted the Commander with her usual duties, rather than turning them back over to their father, bless him.
Nicola gently set her mother away from her. “Thank ye for caring for me, but ye dinnae need to fret. I swear I’ll no’ abandon ye, Mother. If I do decide to take vows, I’ll arrange to send medicines and herbs to ye fortnightly.”
“Ye swear?”
And no one who knew the Oliphants would be surprised by the fact Mother didn’t protest she’d miss Nicola for herself… Nay, they’d all know Lady Oliphant’s litany of ailments—mostly imaginary—were the focus of her life.
“I swear, Mother,” Nicola sighed.
The older woman sniffled into her handkerchief. “First Robena runs off, now ye. Wynda and Fen at least married and stayed here on Oliphant land.”
‘Twas Coira who interrupted, dismissive of what she considered nonsense. “Robena is chasing down her laird, and when she catches up with him, she’ll work out that shite about MacBain being betrothed to another woman, and she’ll marry him. Dinnae fash, Mother—she’s fine.” Coira shrugged as she tied the bags closed. “I mean, she’ll be on MacBain land once she becomes his wife, but she’ll be safe.”
“And Leanna—” Mother began.