The promise in a kiss

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MIDNIGHT had come and gone. Helena heard the small bell of the church chime as she paused in the doorway of the infirmary. Three o’clock. Ariele, her younger sister, was at last sleeping deeply; her fever had broken—she would be safe enough in Sister Artemis’s care. Reassured, relieved, Helena could again seek her own bed in the dormitory beyond the cloisters.

Drawing her woolen shawl about her shoulders, she stepped out from the shadows of the infirmary wing. Her wooden pattens clacked softly on the stone flags as she crossed through the gardens filling the convent’s grounds. The night was icy, clear. She was wearing only her nightgown and robe—she’d been asleep when the night sister had summoned her to help with Ariele. Common sense urged her to hurry—her shawl was not that warm—yet she walked slowly, comfortable in the moon-drenched gardens, confident in this place where she’d spent most of the last nine years.

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