Laird of Flint: A Forbidden Love Scottish Medieval Romance Adventure (The Warrior Lairds of Rivenloc

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The lass was so breathtaking, so knee-weakening, so heart-melting, Hew actually let the axe slide off his shoulder. It almost hit the man standing beside him.

“Hey, mind your blade,” the man growled.

“Sorry,” Hew mumbled, fixated on the impossibly lovely woman.

Then the man saw where he was looking. “Och. Lady Carenza. She’s a head-turner, for certain.”

Carenza.

In the village, her name had been on everyone’s lips. The alewife’s lad’s. The parchment-maker’s. The butcher’s son’s. In The Bell, the cooherd had been talking about her.

What had he said? That the Boyle lads wanted to court her, but her father had his sights set much higher.

No doubt. An angel that magnificent deserved nothing short of a king. Maybe a saint.

Traffic moved around him as he stood in stunned admiration.

Her father had her in a close grip. Hew couldn’t blame him. If he owned such a treasure, he’d hold onto her tightly too.

She looked as pale and delicate as an apple blossom. Her forest green gown clung to her gentle curves. She walked with such grace, she seemed to glide through the hall. Her dark waist-length braid was draped coyly over one shoulder.

But what caught at his heart and stopped his breath was her brilliant smile. Welcoming, warm, and full of delight, it made everyone around her smile in return. Like a candle moving through the shadows, she lit up everything she touched.

Hew could feel his heart stirring, waking, coming to life. A rush of emotion surged through his veins, warming his blood. The familiar gush of pleasure filled his body, melting his bones. His eyes softened as he gazed at her with the sudden certainty that he was sincerely, deeply, helplessly in love.

Again.

This time, however, she was The One. He was sure of it.

She continued on while he stood there, dumbfounded. Perhaps it was best that her father steered her up the stairs, for if Hew had crossed paths with her at that moment, he might have done something foolish. Like fallen to his knees and begged for her hand on the spot.

He gave his head a sobering shake.

What the hell was wrong with him? Had he no bloody self-control?

He’d vowed he was not going to fall in love. Not again. And he meant it. He had no intention of subjecting his heart to damage again just because he’d seen a lass with a bonnie face.

He took a deep breath. Gathered his wits.

When the laird emerged from the stairwell again, he was alone. Thank God.

But before they could engage him, a pair of merchants called Dunlop aside.

As they drew near, the laird’s eyes widened at the sight of Hew’s axe. Hew lowered his weapon, planting it harmlessly between his feet. The laird resumed his conversation with the merchants, finally dismissing them to greet the prior.

“Prior,” the laird said, “I hear ye had a rough night at Kildunan.”

“Aye, we lost another man o’ faith,” the prior said, making the sign of the Cross, “God rest his soul.”

The laird glanced at Hew. “And who is this?”

“M’laird,” the prior intoned with a bow, “may I present Sir Hew o’ Rivenloch. He’s stayin’ at the—”

“Rivenloch,” the laird interrupted. “Ye’re a Rivenloch warrior?”

“Aye, m’laird,” Hew replied.

The laird reached out to clasp Hew’s hand in both of his. “’Tis an honor, sir.” Hew couldn’t help but remember those hands had just touched the sleeve of that beautiful angel. “Your reputation precedes ye.”

Hew belatedly realized that the prior probably shouldn’t have revealed his clan name. His presence at the monastery was supposed to be a secret.

Nonetheless, he gave the laird a polite nod. “The honor is mine, my laird.”

“Your pardon, m’laird,” the prior interjected, “can ye tell me where I might find the physician?”

“Peris? Ye’ll likely find him near the kitchens, tendin’ to John’s burns.” He shook his head. “I suppose all kitchen lads get a baptism o’ fire, aye?” He gave the prior a wink.

The prior didn’t see the humor. “Ah.” He held up the jar of honey he’d brought and said, “Shall I leave this with the cook then?”

“Is that Kildunan’s famous honey?” the laird said. “Pray do so.”

Then the prior turned to Hew. “I’ll fetch the physician for ye.”

“Ye need the physician?” the laird asked when the prior had gone.

“I just have a few questions.”

“About last night?”

Hew gave him the easy answer. “Aye.” Then he changed the subject. “’Tis a fine castle ye have, m’laird.”

“Not nearly as fine as Rivenloch, I’m certain,” the laird argued. “Is it true the armory is the size of a tournament field?”

Hew chuckled at that. “Not quite, though ’tis nearly as big as your great hall.”

The laird whistled in amazement. “How are ye kin to the laird?”

“Laird Deirdre? She’s my…” He faltered as, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the vision in green emerging again from the stairwell. But he dared not let his gaze drift to her. “My aunt.”

“So your mother is…”

Hew couldn’t think. Not while the green blur behind the laird was smiling and carrying on with the maidservants. “My mother is…” he repeated. Fierce? Hot-tempered? Deadly with a sword? What did the laird want to know? Ah, her name. “Helena.”

“So your father is…Colin?”

“Mmm.”

It took all Hew’s willpower to keep his gaze trained on the laird when he heard a trickle of gentle laughter that had to belong to the delicate lass. Laughter like a bubbling burn. The soft sprinkle of spring rain. The melodious plucking of a harp.

“…are ye not? the laird said.

Hew flushed. He hadn’t heard a word. And the swelling in his trews was proving a powerful distraction. “I’m sorry. What was that?”

The laird grinned. “I think we need a larger hall. The Dunlops are a noisy bunch. I said, then ye’re cousin to the great tournament champion, Gellir, are ye not?”

“Aye.” Hew stiffened. He hoped the laird wouldn’t ask him where Gellir was. He’d already said too much.

“He’s got quite the reputation with a sword.” The laird pointedly lowered his gaze. “Though ye seem impressively endowed yourself.”

Hew’s eyes widened with horror. Was his arousal so obvious? Then he realized the laird was looking at the axe he’d planted betwixt his feet.

Expelling a relieved breath, Hew hefted the axe up, holding it so the laird could inspect the handle. “She’s served me well in battle.”

The laird ran his fingers over the carvings. “Vikin’ runes, aye? What does it say?”

“’Tis the Rivenloch motto. Love conquers all.” Hew furrowed his brows. At the moment, he didn’t exactly believe that.

“Curious inscription for a weapon o’ war.”

It wasn’t the first time someone had told Hew that. Nor the first time he’d quipped in reply, “No one forgets the kiss of my axe.”

“No doubt,” the laird agreed, eyeing the sharpened deadly blade.

A few yards away, the lass giggled again. Hew clenched his jaw as he focused on the laird, trying not to look at her. But in his peripheral vision, he saw the green gown weave in and out and finally disappear into the crowd. Now perhaps he could think.

“Supper?” the laird suggested.

Hew silently cursed. His eyes might have been trained on the laird, but his mind had wandered again. What had he missed? “Supper?”

“Aye.” The laird drew close to confide, “I hear they don’t feed a man enough to fill a flea at Kildunan. My cook can make ye a proper meal.”

“’Tis a tempting offer,” Hew said. “But the prior needs to return for the burial on the morrow.”

“Send him back to Kildunan. Ye can stay for supper and return on the morrow if ye like. ’Tisn’t every day we get a renowned warrior at Dunlop. Ye could regale the clan with tales o’ Rivenloch.”

The last thing Hew needed was to be the center of attention. No one was supposed to know he was here.

“I’m grateful for the offer. But I promised the abbot I’d return this eve.”

“Perhaps another time then?”

“Perhaps.”

“Well, ye should at least meet my daughter, Carenza.” He began to scour the hall. “Where’s she gone?”

Hew was saved from that unthinkable ordeal when the prior returned with the physician.

As the prior had warned, Peris was as skittish as a dove loosed among hawks. He licked his lips. Darted his shifty eyes. Clasped and unclasped his hands before him.

“Peris,” the prior said, “this is Sir Hew. He wishes to ask ye a few questions.”

“Peris,” Hew said by way of greeting.

The physician’s eyes flitted to Hew’s weapon. He visibly gulped. Hew wondered, if the man was so bothered by the sight of an axe, how he managed to do surgery.

“Sir Hew wants to ask ye about your visits to Kildunan,” the prior said.

The laird was still casting about for his daughter. “I’ll leave ye to your questions then. I’ve got to find out where Carenza’s gone.” With that, he left.

“’Tis loud in here,” Hew told the physician. “Is there someplace we can be alone? Perhaps the wall walk?”

Peris gave the prior a panicked glance, as if he thought Hew intended to push him from the battlements.

The prior assured him, “I’ll come with ye.”

They climbed the steps to the top level of the keep, where a single guard patrolled the wall. There, the only sounds were the rippling of the banners and the distant chatter of the bustling courtyard below.

“I did all I could, sir,” Peris volunteered out of nowhere. “I swear. It must have been God’s will.”

“O’ course ye did,” the prior said. “No one is blamin’ ye for his death.”

“Right,” Hew agreed. “I want to ask you about the others.”

“The others? What others?”

The prior placed a calming hand on the man’s shoulder. “Like I said, he wants to know about your visits to the monastery, that’s all.”

“I’m not blaming you for any deaths,” Hew clarified.

The physician rubbed his chin. “All right. What do ye want to know?”

“How often do you come to Kildunan?”

“Not often. Just every time there’s a…” He paused to glance at the prior.

The prior finished for him. “Every time there’s a serious illness.”

“Right.”

“Do you come alone?” Hew asked.

“Aye.”

“And where do you go?”

“Where do I go?” Peris said. “To…to the infirmary, o’ course.”

“O’ course,” the prior echoed.

“And do you go anywhere else?” Hew asked.

“Think hard,” the prior suggested.

While the physician was thinking, a furtive movement from the courtyard below caught Hew’s eye. It was her. The angel. The vision. Carenza.

She had slipped behind the wall of the stable and was hunkered down in the shadows beside a small animal. He couldn’t make out what it was. A kitten? A pup?

“The refectory,” Peris said, “if I’m there for more than half a day.”

“To take your meals,” the prior explained.

“Aye, and the garderobe,” he said, “in case I…ye know.”

What was that creature? It was very small but quick and reddish in color. She seemed to be feeding it.

“The library.”

That caught Hew’s ear. “The library?”

The prior explained. “The monastery has a few medical texts.”

“That’s right,” Peris said.

“Where else?” Hew said.

“The cloister.”

“The cloister. Why?”

“To fetch water from the well.”

Hew nodded. “Go on.”

Peris continued trying to recall all the places he’d gone.

Meanwhile, the creature Carenza was feeding scampered onto her lap. He could see now it was a squirrel. How she’d convinced the wild thing to let her feed it by hand he couldn’t fathom. But she was playing a dangerous game. If it bit her…

“I think that’s all,” Peris concluded.

Hew hadn’t really been listening. But it was clear Peris basically had access to the entire monastery. After all, a monk could fall ill in any quarter of Kildunan.

“Do you know on which days you’ve come to the monastery?” Hew asked.

“The days?” Peris chewed at his lip.

“’Tis all right if ye don’t remember exactly,” the prior said. “Ye’ve been comin’ to the monastery for a long while now.”

“Aye,” Peris said. “Nigh a year.”

Hew frowned. A year wasn’t that long. And the thefts had taken place within the last year. “What days do you remember?”

“I remember the first time was a few days after Candlemas. I was there just before Beltane and sometime in midsummer…”

The prior finished, “The last time ye came was on Michaelmas. I remember that.”

“Aye, for Sir Patric,” Peris recalled. “That was a big one.”

The prior gave him a sharp look. “His…size…is no doubt what led to his demise.”

“Och.” The physician nodded. “Aye.”

Hew would have to compare the dates of the physician’s visits with the dates of the objects’ disappearances.

He glanced down toward the stable. The lady was gone now. He saw the trailing hem of her gown disappear between two holly bushes. The squirrel, its belly full, was skittering across the stable roof, probably on its way back to the forest.

He furrowed his brows. The lass shouldn’t have fed the creature. Now it would return, expecting more. And one of these days, if she didn’t have a morsel to give it, it would likely take a bite out of her hand.

“Is that all?” Peris asked.

He looked over at the physician, who was sweating as if he thought Hew might grab his axe and behead him at any moment.

“For now.” He didn’t have anything else to ask the physician. Not yet.

He might return if the dates seemed to coincide. But he felt like Brother Cathal or Father James were more likely suspects. Their visits were scheduled. They had plenty of time to plan a robbery. They didn’t have to rely on someone falling ill.

“Carenza! There ye are.”

Carenza nearly jumped out of her skin. She hastily nudged the squirrel away from her. It skittered under the holly bush. Then she rose to greet her father, dusting the dirt from her skirts.

“We should have plenty o’ holly boughs for Yuletide,” she proclaimed, as if she’d been inspecting the holly and not feeding a wee wild beast a few oatcake crumbs out of the palm of her hand.

“Ah. Good.” Then he sighed. It was a sigh of mild disappointment. “I wish I’d found ye earlier.”

She hated disappointing him. “Why? What’s happened?”

“Ye missed our guest.”

“Guest? What guest?” She’d been too busy feeding her squirrels to notice anyone’s arrival.

He gave her a smug grin. “None other than a warrior o’ Rivenloch.”

Rivenloch. She thought she knew the name. But not as well as her father apparently did. She pretended to be impressed. “Rivenloch? Really? Here?”

“I know,” her father said, his eyes gleaming. “And he’s stayin’ at the monastery.”

“Ah.” Why a warrior would be staying at a monastery, she couldn’t guess.

“But ye’ll be glad to know I’ve invited him to supper.”

“Tonight?” She was absolutely not glad to know that. First, his timing was awful. She had to finalize her plans tonight. And second, why was it men always expected a woman could whip up a special supper for guests with a snap of her fingers?

“Nay, not tonight,” he said. “Sadly, he had to return to the monastery.”

Sadly for her father. Carenza was relieved. “Another time then.”

“As soon as possible.”

Carenza smiled, but she was doing calculations in her head. She needed to be sure nothing conflicted with her scheme. And a supper guest sounded like a conflict.

“He’s cousin to Sir Gellir, the tournament champion,” he told her.

“Ah.” That name sounded familiar. Her father may have mentioned it before. But he followed tournament contestants. She did not.

“And a nephew o’ the laird.”

Her smile grew brittle. Why was he going on and on about this Rivenloch man? A man who was the cousin of a champion and the nephew of a laird, yet somehow resided at a monastery?

“I think ye’d be quite impressed,” he said with a knowing lift of his brow.

Then she understood. He wanted her to meet him because he thought the man might make a suitable suitor.

Part of her wanted to scream. She had far too much on her mind to feign fascination with a possible future husband.

But part of her felt a tender admiration for her father. It must be difficult for him to consider marrying her off. In vulnerable moments, he’d often said she was all he had. The idea of giving her up to another man couldn’t be easy.

“Ye know,” he continued, “the Rivenlochs are one o’ the oldest border clans in service o’ the king. The oldest and the richest. Plenty o’ land. A formidable keep. And the warriors…well, if ye’d seen this one…” He shook his head in wonder.

A border warrior sounded like the sort of man Carenza despised. Violent. Overbearing. Heartless. That kind of man certainly would have no patience for a maid who rescued spiders and fed squirrels and saved coos.

Her father continued. “Ye could see the Norse in his blood. Tall he was. Golden-haired. And broad o’ shoulder. With a great battle axe that had runes carved into—”

“An axe?” she choked out.

It couldn’t be. Could it? Was this Rivenloch warrior the man she’d seen on the road?

“Aye, just like a Vikin’.”

“What was he doin’ here?”

“He and the prior had some questions for the physician.”

“What kind o’ questions?” She wondered if he’d asked Peris how best to preserve the head he was carrying about in a sack.

He shrugged. “Somethin’ about the death at the monastery last night. But that’s not important. What’s important is he’s stayin’ nearby for a while.”

Carenza could see she wasn’t going to weasel out of hosting the man for supper. It seemed she’d find out what he looked like after all. But there was one way she could both please her father and put her own heart to rest. She could manage the timing.

“I know, Da,” she said, her eyes sparkling with feigned enthusiasm. “Do ye think he’d like to celebrate Samhain with us?”

“Brilliant, lass!” he exclaimed, lighting up. “I daresay Samhain at Dunlop Castle will be a bit more…festive…than All Saints Day at the monastery.”

“Wonderful,” she said, clasping her hands together under her chin. “I look forward to meetin’ him then.”

Her father kissed her brow in farewell.

Good. For a few days at least—until Samhain—she could put her mind at ease. She could banish all thoughts of warriors and marriage and focus on what was truly important.

By nightfall, she had her plans well in hand. She managed to drift off to slumber and dreamed of happier times when Hamish was a wee calf.

Unfortunately, her dreams curdled into nightmares. She woke in the dark, gasping from a horrifying vision of a Viking with an axe chasing after her beloved coo.

She couldn’t get back to sleep after that. So she wrapped her arisaid about her and opened the shutters to stare up into the cold heavens, where stars winked through the threadbare clouds.

She’d make her move tomorrow night when the moon was full.

Once it was dark, she had to escape unnoticed from the castle. Locate the fold of cattle. Lead Hamish to his new home beyond the hills. And return without getting caught.

She sighed. The task seemed impossible.

But she had no choice. She wasn’t going to let her father kill Hamish.

The wind rose, stirring strands of her loose hair. The cold air made her eyes water. The stars, once steadfast, now blurred and shimmered, untethered and unstable, as if to show her her fate was likewise uncertain.