Synne is revealed

Synne ran into the hall as she always did, but Murchad saw at once that she was not as she always was.

“Murchad! Did they tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“About my uncle.”

“Oh… Synne…”

He had not come expecting this. He had not been told anything, but the truth seemed obvious. Her eyes were red, and her very lashes were wet. He had not the slightest idea how to comfort a grieving young lady, and he knew she would want to be comforted. His hands began fumbling towards hers.

“He woke up,” she said.

“Ah?” His hands dropped.

“When he first woke he told us what he saw.” She took his arm and led him to a bench. “Now Father Brandt is in there, and now he won’t talk to us about anything. They’re speaking Latin or Greek or something so we won’t understand, Estrid and I.”

“What did he see?”

She sniffed and turned to fumble in a pile of cloth on the table behind her. “There!” she said with a timid laugh. “Your thoughtless-​​head-​​drying towel. I hope you don’t mind.”

She lifted the square of cloth to her face and dabbed at her eyes, and he suddenly realized that he was missing his chance to do it for her. His hands went up too late, but somehow they came to be holding hers, though the towel was between them. Oh, the towel! But it was not just any towel, and he could feel the warmth of her hands through the linen, and she did not try to pull them away.

“I don’t mind,” he said.

“I should make a Synne-​​tear-​​drying towel for myself,” she said with another little laugh.

“No, no, never,” he said impulsively. “I hope you won’t need one.”

“That is asking a lot of this cruel world,” she said, but she smiled.

He could not guess how she had ever come to be so wise – and she a girl!

“I’m certain I shall be homesick at first,” she said thoughtfully. “But then – I don’t know!” She shuddered. “Perhaps I shall be glad to get out of this valley. Sometimes – ”

She closed her eyes as if she were trying to hold back tears. She might have lifted the towel to her face again, but he still held it – and held her hands.

“What did your uncle see?” he asked, suddenly reminded of what she had meant to tell him in the first place.

She leaned her head closer to his and took a deep breath. He could see that she was trying to collect herself, trying to be brave. “A demon,” she said softly. “He told Estrid he saw a demon in the church – a real demon, with horns on its head, and great wings like a bat, and – ”

Her mouth shrank into a tiny, trembling crease, and her eyes were wide and imploring. He felt her hands stir under the towel, but he held them still.

He realized then that he was seeing the face that women always hid behind their hands when they were frightened or greatly upset. He saw that it was not done out of coyness. It was not done merely to shield their eyes from horror.

He did not want to let go of her hands, so he leaned forward until his head nearly rested on her shoulder, and her head came gratefully to rest on his, her face hidden in his neck.

All her vulnerability had been revealed on her face, and any man or beast or monster that saw it would know what easy prey she would be. He did not know what he could do against a demon, but he thought he would do anything to protect her. She was wise, she was brave, but she was a girl, and the world was cruel.