“Is on McClure land,” Coira finished. “Happily married, and likely making Da a grandson.” Only her sisters—Nicola being the only one in the room—could hear the bitterness in her voice. “So, Nicola leaving for the nunnery for a bit isnae any different than Leanna and Robbie leaving ye.”
Before their mother could respond, Coira swung the full saddlebags up onto her shoulder once more. Her smile was mocking and her tone vicious when she announced, “But dinnae fash, ye’ll always have me.”
Mother heard it this time and likely knew why her eldest objected to their father’s scheme. So, she sighed and shook her head, before reaching for Nicola once more.
This time her hug was quick and perfunctory. Then she straightened. “Ye’ll write to me? Tell me how ye fare and what yer decision is?”
There was a lump in Nicola’s throat, but she managed to nod jerkily.
Mother waved the kerchief and turned away, already sniffling again. “Then go. Godspeed. Hurry back.”
Nicola’s arms ached to reach across the space, to pull her mother into another hug. How much of that urge, however, was part of her drive to comfort those around her?
And how much was it the need of a lass who just wanted to be loved for herself, rather than what she could do?
So, she exchanged glances with her sister and pretended not to see the pity in Coira’s eyes. With a sigh, Nicola looked around the women’s solar, which had been part of her domain for so long.
Then she turned and followed her sister out for what might be the last time.
Mother didn’t call out, and Nicola told herself it didn’t matter.
At the Abbey of St. Dorcas the Ever Petulant, she could do more good for more people, and that was what was important.