A clap of thunder sounded in the distance as Luciana rushed to the window on the left. She caught a glimpse of her sisters inside, lighting candles and drying the floor.
The bell outside the convent clanged wildly, distracting her from her task. At first she assumed the noise was caused by the wind, but then a male voice shouted beyond the thick wooden gate. A visitor, now? Perhaps he was a poor traveler who sought refuge from the storm.
Two nuns scurried across the stone-paved courtyard to meet the stranger, their cream-colored woolen gowns soaked by the time they reached the grated lookout hole in the gate. Luciana couldn’t make out their words over the howling of the wind. When the nuns opened the gate, a man tromped into the large courtyard, leading a horse.
He was a tall man with a large floppy hat pulled low against the storm. With the dim light and heavy rain, Luciana couldn’t see him well, but he moved like an older man who carried a heavy weight on his broad shoulders. While he tethered his horse to the nearby post, a covered wagon slowly rolled through the gate.
After closing the gate, the two nuns rushed down the portico on the western side of the courtyard till they reached the last door that led to the office of Mother Ginessa, the leader of the convent.
This was strange, Luciana thought. The merchants who came to collect finished books usually did so in the morning, and they would never come in the rain, when the water could destroy the beautifully copied and illustrated books that the sisters were famous for. Their books, transcribed in all four mainland languages, were considered treasures throughout the known world, and the money earned kept the convent well maintained and the nuns well fed and clothed.
Two men descended from the driver’s bench of the covered wagon, and the man with the floppy hat talked to them as they circled to the back of the wagon.
A flurry of movement brought Luciana’s attention back to Mother Ginessa’s room. The two nuns had exited and were dashing south, apparently headed for the kitchens that lay beyond the chapel and graveyard.
Mother Ginessa left her room and hurried down the portico to where the man was waiting. He removed his hat in greeting, and to Luciana’s surprise, Mother Ginessa curtsied. Not a merchant then. The man must be a noble.
A flash of lightning lit up the sky, allowing Luciana a better look at the man. He was dressed all in black.
Black. A clap of thunder broke overhead, and the wind blasted more rain at Luciana. She turned her back. Think nothing of it, she admonished herself. Many men wore black.
She closed the shutters, then held them still with one hand while she turned the sharp hook into place to latch them shut. It was normally an easy task, but the wind was rattling the shutters so badly that she rammed the hook down with too much force and pricked her thumb.
With a wince, she stepped back and looked at the blossoming dot of blood. Red.
A sudden noise made her spin around. Her heart stilled as she realized what the two men had just removed from the wagon and dropped onto the courtyard. A black coffin.
Red as blood. Black as death.
“Come on!” Sorcha unlatched the door to their room, and the wind whipped it open with enough force that it banged against the inner wall.
Luciana followed her inside, and together they pushed the door shut and shot the bolt. The room was darker now with the shutters closed. The light of four candlesticks cast flickering shadows on the whitewashed walls.
“Whew.” Sorcha brushed damp red curls back from her face, and Brigitta handed her and Luciana towels.
Luciana dried her face, then winced at the splotches of blood she’d left on the cream-colored linen.
“Ye’re injured?” Gwennore asked.
“Only a prick of my thumb.” Luciana pressed the towel against the small puncture.
A crack of lightning sounded outside, followed quickly by the rumble of thunder.
Sorcha patted her hair dry. “I wonder if the visitors will be joining us for dinner.”
The three girls who had remained inside stared at her.
“Visitors?” Gwennore asked. “Who are they?”
Sorcha shrugged. “I haven’t seen them afore. There was a man in charge and two servants.”
Maeve frowned. “He’d better not be one of yer tall and handsome strangers.”
“He’s a nobleman,” Luciana said. “Mother Ginessa curtsied to himself.”
The other girls gaped. Usually, only book merchants came to the convent.
“The servants were driving a covered wagon,” Sorcha continued, then dropped her voice to a dramatic whisper. “And ye won’t believe what was inside. A coffin!”
The other girls gasped just as a booming crack of thunder sounded overhead.
“May Luna and Lessa protect us.” Brigitta lifted her hands to her chest, thumbs pressed against forefingers to form two circles, a gesture of supplication to the twin moon goddesses.
As the other girls made the sign of the moons, Luciana peered at her injured thumb. The bleeding had stopped, thank the goddesses, but her nerves were becoming increasingly tense. The arrival of a coffin did not bode well. It had been three years since one of the nuns had died. Three years of peace from her accursed gift.
A pounding on the door made them all spin around.
“Open the door, please,” the voice outside called. “This is Sister Fallyn.”
Sorcha pulled back the bolt, then unlatched the door, carefully jumping back as the wind slammed the door open.
Sister Fallyn’s gown of cream-colored wool was soaked and smelled like a wet sheep.