“Three days at most. Don’t worry. It’s still good.”
Nairnie picked up the other spoon and dipped it into the bowl. Bringing the spoon to her mouth, she took a nibble. Her nose wrinkled and her eyes narrowed. Then her tongue shot out as if the taste displeased her. “I’ve fed better food than this to swine. This isna worth a penny and I’ll no’ pay ye anythin’ for it.”
“If ye don’t pay, ye don’t eat.” The serving wench snatched the bowl away just as Emmaline was about to dip her spoon into it.
“Now, is that any way to treat a messenger of God?” Nairnie asked the wench.
“What messenger?” sniffed the girl.
“God’s eyes, ye must be blind if ye canna see the nun sittin’ across from me at the table. Ye take food away from her and God will punish ye, lass, I can promise ye that.”
“I’m not afraid of God.” The girl balanced the bowl of pottage in one hand and a tray of drinks in the other. “Neither am I afraid of the devil.”
“Mayhap no’, but are ye afraid of pirates? Because my grandson will have yer head if ye mistreat us.”
“Ye mean Mardon?” The girl smiled and giggled. A wry look covered her face. “I know Mardon and he would never hurt me. He’s a pirate but he likes the ladies. I’ve been with him myself, and it was a night I’ll never forget.” Lust filled her eyes as she sought out Mardon across the room. “Actually, I’d enjoy a little spankin’ from him right now.”
“Enough of that kind of talk!” Nairnie’s hands slammed down on the table and she shot up out of her chair. Emmaline didn’t think anyone that old could move so fast. Then the old woman put her hands on her hips and cocked her head, squinting one eye as she glared at the girl. “Ye may no’ be afraid of my grandsons but then again, mayhap they’re no’ the ones ye should be fearin’.”
“W-what do ye mean?” asked the girl, her smile fading.
“If I had my ladle right now, I swear ye’d feel it against yer rump and ye wouldna be smilin’ about it either. Now put down the food and tell yer cook I’ll be in the kitchen shortly to buy supplies for the crew of the Falcon.”
“Well . . . I . . .”
“Do it!” snapped Nairnie, making the girl jump.
“All right, I’m goin’.” She put the bowl back down on the table and slid it toward Emmaline. “Here ye are, Sister. The food and drinks are on the house today, so don’t worry about payin’. I’ll make sure Mardon pays later . . . in ways that don’t involve money.” She smiled wickedly and turned and strolled across the room toward Mardon, wiggling her hips more than she had before.
“That’s better.” Nairnie brushed invisible lint from her sleeve, fixed her skirt, and sat back down.
“That was amazing! How did you do it?” asked Emmaline in awe.
“Do what?” Nairnie picked up her tankard and took a swig of ale.
“That girl almost seemed frightened of you.”
“Well, there was no reason for her to be frightened. Then again, she doesna want to see me when I really get mad.” She looked down to the bowl of pottage and nodded. “Eat up, Sister. And tell me, what in the devil’s name are ye doin’ in a place like this to begin with? A nun is the last person I’d expect to see in a tavern.”
“I . . . I came up the channel on a fishing boat.” She took a little pottage on the spoon and gently blew on it to cool it off. Then she nibbled at it and licked her lips. Pulling a cloth out of her pocket, she gingerly dabbed at her mouth.
“So, ye’re a nun, are ye?”
“Aye.” Emmaline’s eyes roamed across the room, settling on the pirate named Mardon. She knew she recognized him, and when she heard his name she was sure of it now. Her heart sped up for more reasons than one.
If the pirate was here, this meant the painting was probably still aboard his ship. That excited her almost as much as remembering the gentle way he’d held her in his arms and passionate way he’d kissed her. Just thinking of how close she’d come to coupling with the man made her feel very warm and also naughty. She should never be fantasizing about making love with a pirate! What was the matter with her? She used her cloth to dab her forehead and fan her flushed face to cool down.
“A nun in a tavern all alone,” Nairnie stated, looking at her over the rim of her tankard.
“That’s right,” she said, focusing on the food and taking another bite. It did taste awful, like Nairnie said. However, she was so hungry right now that she didn’t care.
“Why are ye alone?”
“Oh. I’m not. I mean . . . I’m waiting for . . . someone.”
“Really. Who?” Nairnie looked one way and then the other. “I dinna see another holy person in here.”
Emmaline swallowed the food and dared to look up at Nairnie. This woman was asking way too many questions. Emmaline was afraid she’d be able to see right through her lies. Nairnie seemed like a woman who wasn’t fooled easily.
“It doesn’t matter, because it seems they are not coming after all.” Emmaline put her spoon down next to the bowl and, once again, looked over at Mardon. He and the blond-haired man that she remembered as his brother were searching everywhere for something and she wondered what they were doing. They checked under tables, inside bottles and jars, and even swept aside the rushes on the floor with their feet, looking closely at the floor.
“Will ye be headin’ back to the convent then?”
“The convent?” She looked at Nairnie in question, almost forgetting she was posing as a nun. She’d been so intrigued watching Mardon from across the room that she was having a hard time focusing on their conversation. “Oh, yes. The convent.”
“Where is it?”
“Where is what?” She picked up her tankard and chugged some more ale.
“The convent. Yer home. The place where ye pray and worship God.”
“Oh, that. It’s . . . not far from here.” Emmaline put down the tankard and nervously picked up the spoon again, trying to find something to do other than to look at the old woman. Nairnie was sure to see it in her eyes that she was lying. She scooped out some pottage.
Nairnie leaned over and looked her right in the eyes now. Emmaline was bent over blowing on the food and stopped in midmotion. “Why are you staring at me?” she mumbled.
“I’m waitin’ for ye to tell me the truth . . . Sister.”
“I did.”
“Mmm hmm. If ye’re a nun then I’m the Queen of England,” spat the old woman.
Emmaline tapped the food from the spoon back into the bowl and precisely put the spoon down on the table. Then she picked up the tankard again, clutching it in her hands. “I have no idea what you mean.” She tried to sound convincing.
“Ye’re no’ a nun, so drop the act . . . Sister,” Nairnie ground out. “Dinna try to pull the wool over my auld eyes because I can see right through ye. Now, tell me who ye really are, and dinna make up another lie.”
“I told you. I’m Sister Emmaline.”
“Nay, ye’re no’. Ye’re a lady if I’ve ever seen one.”