Chapter 9
Chapter 9
It was still dark when Hew roused to the sound of the normally silent monks gathering to pray at matins. Tonight, however, their soft footfalls were accompanied by a low rumble of murmurs which slowly grew into a rolling thunder of exclamations.
With a sigh, he sat up, scrubbing at his gritty, sleep-deprived eyes. He wrapped the coverlet around himself and prepared to face the mob. He’d hoped to catch a few more hours of sleep before this confrontation. But it was apparently not meant to be. The abbot would want to know immediately why on earth there was a coo in the cloister.
It was tempting to claim it must be a miracle. Clearly, God had seen how the monks suffered from a lack of meat and had gifted them with provender on the hoof.
But he’d promised Lady Carenza he’d keep Hamish safe.
So he had to come up with a different story.
Hew hated lying. It was dishonorable. Cowardly. Sinful. And it felt like a lie told in a monastery was more damning than one told on less holy ground.
But when a man was faced with the prospect of twisting the truth in order to salvage the reputation of a lady as lovely as Carenza, the price of his soul seemed fair.
The instant Hew emerged from his cell, the abbot demanded, “Do ye know aught about this beast?”
He pointed to what admittedly resembled a hulking horned demon guarding the church well. To his credit, Hamish sat in quiet compliance, looking as tame as a lady’s palfrey.
The other monks waited to hear Hew’s answer, probably glad to be distracted from their usual boring prayers.
But Hew decided the less said, the better. “I do, but…” He glanced meaningfully around at all the other witnesses.
The abbot received his unspoken message and waved the others off. “To matins.”
The prior looked particularly displeased at being excluded from the conversation, but he obediently herded the others along.
When they were gone, the abbot asked, “So what’s this about?”
“’Tis part of my investigation into the thefts.”
His brows shot up. “A coo?”
“Aye.”
“How? Do ye think a coo stole the treasures?”
“I can’t explain yet,” he said grimly. “But I assure you in time ’twill become clear.”
“A coo.”
“Aye,” Hew replied with even more conviction.
The abbot gave his white-tonsured head a dubious shake, but mumbled, “I suppose ye know what ye’re doin’.”
Just then a sharp and piercing wail came from across the yard.
The abbot frowned in concern.
But warrior Hew’s instincts kicked in first. He bolted forward, leading the way toward the sound, wishing he’d brought his axe.
As it turned out, there was no need for a weapon. One of the young novices had simply tripped over his robes in the dark passage. He’d fallen and broken his arm.
It was severe enough that the prior decided the lad would need the services of the physician from Dunlop.
Carenza woke with a silent scream stuck in her throat. Her heart pounded like a fuller’s mill. She’d had the chilling nightmare again, the one where the Viking of Rivenloch was chasing after Hamish with his great axe. Only this time, since she’d met the warrior face-to-face and hefted his formidable weapon herself, the details were far more vivid.
“’Tis only a dream,” she rasped out, repeating it thrice to convince herself.
She rattled her head, still clouded with cobwebs. She felt as if she’d lain awake all night. But she could see light through the shutters. She had to rise at her usual time if she didn’t wish to arouse suspicion.
Her eyes burned, her muscles ached, and her head throbbed. Still, her father would expect her to break her fast with the clan. And Troye the hound would expect his usual scraps. So she staggered out of bed and splashed water on her face, shivering as the icy drops shocked her awake.
She chose her rose-colored surcoat. The one her da liked so well. The one that would best disguise her sleepless pallor. Then she quickly braided her hair into two plaits, fastening them with the new ribbon she’d bought in the village.
She pinched her cheeks to give them some color and dabbed a generous amount of rosewater onto her skin to hide any lingering scent of cattle.
Her main task today was to act oblivious. To be her own cheery self. To behave as if nothing unusual had happened. And to be completely dumbfounded and appalled when it was discovered that a cateran had stolen one of her father’s coos.
Emerging from her chamber and down into the great hall, however, she realized it was later than she thought. The castle folk were already finishing up their ale and oatcakes and leaving to do their chores.
Meanwhile, the Boyle brothers had been discovered and freed from their bonds. They stood in the midst of the hall. Red-faced with indignant fury, they gesticulated wildly, explaining to her glowering father what had happened.
Her first instinct was to hide, to retreat up the stairs and tuck back under her coverlet until they were gone.
Then she reminded herself they had no idea she was the cateran. In their minds, the laird’s daughter had likely spent a peaceful night slumbering in furs and dreaming of faeries.
So she glided forward with her usual serene smile and placed a hand upon her father’s sleeve.
“What’s happened, Da?”
“Naught to worry ye,” he said, patting her hand.
But Gilbert Boyle was eager to impress her. “Caterans stole a Dunlop coo, m’lady.”
“Sweet Mary!” Carenza exclaimed, pressing a hand to her bosom.
Herbert chimed in, “Lucky we were watchin’ o’er the fold, or it might have been more.”
“Ye were watching o’er the fold?” she asked.
“Aye,” Gilbert said, puffing out his chest to explain, “’Tis the neighborly thing to do.”
“We would have caught the filthy dastards too,” Herbert boasted. “But they outnumbered us.”
Carenza’s brows shot up.
“Aye,” Gilbert agreed. “And they had an arsenal o’ weapons.”
“Faith!” Carenza bit her twitching lip. “How…how many were there?”
“Dozens,” Gilbert said.
“At least,” said Herbert.
“And they took just one coo?” she asked with ingenuous wonder.
Her father cleared his throat. It was clear he didn’t believe the magnitude of their story. But he was a good diplomat who wouldn’t expose the Boyles’ penchant for exaggeration. Instead, he gave them a look of concern. “I’m just grateful they didn’t use their arsenal o’ weapons on the two o’ ye.”
Herbert gave Carenza a sidelong glance. “They did tie us up, though, and left us for dead.”
“How dreadful.” Carenza clucked her tongue in sympathy.
“But ne’er fear, my lady,” Gilbert announced. “We’ll find them. We’ll track the brazen scoundrels to the ends o’ the earth.”
“Anythin’ for the Dunlop clan,” Herbert added.
Her father nodded. “Your dedication is appreciated.”
Carenza, however, didn’t like the sound of that. She didn’t want the Boyles poking around, looking for Hamish.
She clasped her hands under her chin and furrowed her brows in feigned worry. “I pray ye don’t endanger yourselves. Better the loss o’ one coo than two of our dear neighbors.”
The Boyle brothers beamed at that. But she feared it would only renew their determination to get to the bottom of the cattle theft.
Eventually they left, mollified by her father’s praise and Carenza’s attention.
When they’d gone, the laird murmured to her, “Do ye think they hired someone to do it—steal the coo and tie them up?”
“Why would they…” Then she realized what he was thinking. “Ah. So they could get the coo back and save the day.”
“Seems likely. Men will go to great lengths to impress a lady.” He gave her a wink.
She grinned. A man would certainly have to go to great lengths to impress her. After all, she’d been raised by a man who was clever. Kind. Honorable. Patient. It would take a special person indeed to be the sort of man her father was.
Unbidden, the image of the Rivenloch warrior’s face crowded into her thoughts. Was he that sort of person? He had definitely been clever, outwitting the Boyles. He’d also been kind, agreeing to take care of Hamish. There was no question he was honorable, the way he’d offered to take the blame for her crime.
But patient?
That he was not. She’d seen the spark of anger flash in his eyes, like a knife striking flint. Felt it rippling off of him like waves of heat off a fire. With that kind of rage boiling inside him, he seemed ill-suited to be a man of the cloth. She wondered how long he’d last at the monastery before his temper betrayed him.
“Heavens! That’s thrice in a fortnight,” her da said, shaking his head. “What is it this time?”
She hadn’t been listening. What was he talking about?
Then she realized he was addressing Peris the physician.
“One o’ the novices fell and cracked his arm,” Peris said.
The laird frowned. “Perhaps the monastery should get its own physician, save ye the trouble o’ makin’ the trek.”
“Och, ’tis no trouble,” Peris hastened to say. “I’ll be back in a wink.”
“Ye’re goin’ to Kildunan?” Carenza asked.
“Aye.”
“I need to send somethin’ with ye.”
“Oh?” her da asked. “What are ye sendin’ to the monastery?”
She was sending the coin for Hamish’s hay. But thinking quickly, she told him instead, “Ye wished to invite the Rivenloch knight to Samhain supper, aye?”
“Och, aye. Good plan. Peris can take the invitation.”
Returning to her chamber, she scribbled out a hasty missive. Her father would have found her sloppy hand atrocious, considering the small fortune he’d spent on her education. It said simply, Rivenloch – Purchase hay. Come to Samhain supper. Lady Carenza.
She squinted at the words. Would he think he was to bring hay for supper?
No matter. There wasn’t time to rewrite the note. Besides, the warrior would assume someone else had penned the missive for her. Her ability to read and write was a rare talent in a woman.
She tucked the note into a purse with the silver she’d promised him and gave it to the physician to deliver.
Aside from struggling to stay awake, the rest of Carenza’s day was fairly ordinary.
She stitched a row of daisies along the hem of a coif. Took Troye the hound out for a game of fetch the stick. Played chess with her father. Left crumbs for her usual menagerie of pets. Sent lads out to gather wood for the Samhain bonfire. And recited the tale of Beira, the goddess of winter, to a group of wee children.
By supper, she began to flag. She fought to keep her eyes open, fearful she might fall face first into her pottage.
But when Cainnech the cooherd approached the laird after supper, she grew instantly alert.
“’Tis my fault,” he said to the laird. “I should have been watchin’ o’er the fold.”
“Nay.” Her father put a hand on Cainnech’s shoulder. “’Twas a scheme by the Boyles. I’m sure of it. They’ll miraculously ‘recover’ the coo in a day or two and expect to be rewarded for their efforts.”
Carenza gulped. She’d forgotten. If Hamish never returned, poor Cainnech would hold himself accountable.
“But ye won’t do that, will ye, m’laird?” Cainnech asked, glancing pointedly at Carenza. “Ye won’t reward them?”
“Hardly,” the laird said, arching his brow at her.
“Good.”
Inside, Carenza bristled at the idea of the two men discussing her as a reward. But she dared not betray her affront. She gave her father an indulgent smile instead.
Then, hiding a yawn behind her hand, she wondered how soon she could steal off to bed without arousing suspicion.
The door of the great hall suddenly opened, letting in a breath of fog along with the physician, returned from the monastery.
He looked concerned as he rushed forward through the throng.
“M’laird, I fear I have unwelcome news.”
“The lad’s arm,” her father said on a sigh. “Was it beyond repair then?”
“Nay, ’tis splinted.”
Carenza guessed, “Rivenloch refused the invitation?”
It wouldn’t surprise her. She’d told him her father’s intentions. He certainly wouldn’t want to waste the laird’s time wooing her if he meant to take holy vows.
“Nay. He said he’d come.”
Her father frowned at her. “Now why would ye think he’d refuse? He’s a healthy man in need of a wife. And ye’re the loveliest eligible lass in the Highlands.”
“Och, Da,” she chided, squeezing his arm with affection.
“’Tis somethin’ I saw at the monastery,” the physician said.
“What is it?” the laird asked.
“They’ve got a coo in the cloister, one that wasn’t there before, and I’d swear its ear was notched with the Dunlop mark.”
Carenza couldn’t breathe. Her smile congealed on her face.
“Is that so?” her father said in surprise, chuckling. “So I’m to believe the caterans are an army o’ monks?”
“M’laird?” the physician said, blinking in confusion.
“Ne’er mind, Peris. Perhaps I’ll pay a visit to the monastery myself in the morn,” he decided, “save the Boyle lads the trouble o’ retrievin’ the beast.”
“I’ll come as well,” Carenza blurted out. Why she said that, she didn’t know. It wasn’t as if she could stop the ugly confrontation sure to occur. It just didn’t seem fair to leave the Rivenloch man without an ally.
“Is that to your likin’, Laird Hamish?”
Hew scratched the beast behind its ear as it chomped down a breakfast of fresh hay. It was a pleasant enough animal, despite its intimidating girth.
Lady Carenza had sent coin along to keep the coo fed. So while the physician tended to the novice’s broken arm, Hew picked up a cartload of hay from the village.
By the time he returned, Brother Cathal had arrived as scheduled to collect the alms.
Hew questioned the brother with careful diplomacy, commending him on his charitable profession and feigning an interest in how the funds were equitably distributed.
Brother Cathal, however, was reluctant to share details. Unwilling to make conversation, he wouldn’t even meet Hew’s gaze. He was a man of few words and little time. Driven to do his work and move along, he picked up the donation from the chapter house, slung the satchel over his shoulder, and made his way briskly across the cloister. He flinched in surprise just once when he saw Hamish grazing beside the well, then continued on his brusque way out of the monastery.
Hew wasn’t sure whether the man’s manner was efficient or suspicious.
Brother Cathal had unlimited access to the monastery. The monks let him come and go as he pleased. He could have easily stuffed something extra into his satchel on any of his visits.
But he didn’t seem conniving enough to pull off such a theft. He wasn’t exactly feeble-minded. But there was something different about him. An odd sort of self-absorption and disconnection from the world around him. He seemed intensely focused on one thing, the task at hand. And anything that distracted him from that task—like a coo in the cloister or a layman asking too many questions—rattled him.
If Brother Cathal was involved in the thefts, it could only be as an unwitting accomplice. An accomplice to someone aware he had access to the monastery’s wealth. Someone who could be directing him to bring them certain items.
Could it be Father James?
It wasn’t out of the question. But anyone on the outside might be capable of manipulating Brother Cathal.
Hamish lowed suddenly, and Hew jumped, startled by the loud sound. A moment later, the bell at the gates of the monastery rang out, indicating a visitor.
A pair of monks bustled to open the gates.
Hew gave Hamish one last pat and then retreated to his cell. Unless it was a sickly patron, the visitor probably wouldn’t be let in. But one day, he feared, it would be the king’s men coming with an English bride for him.
So it surprised Hew moments later to hear the sounds of raised voices coming from the cloister. Seizing his axe, he peered out through the crack of his cell door.
Shite.
On one side of Hamish stood the Laird of Dunlop. On the other appeared to be the Dunlop cooherd. The cooherd was inspecting the animal’s ear notch.
The Boyle brothers paced nearby, bellowing and pointing accusatory fingers at the abbot and the prior, who paled in shock.
Monks milled about in distress and confusion.
And in their midst, like a delicate flower blossom dropped onto a field of thistles, stood Lady Carenza, looking distraught. Out of place. Achingly beautiful.
Though she uttered not a word, he could see the silent misery in her face. Her eyes filled with tears, but she bravely held them back. And she had a white-knuckled grip on the stones of the well.
Hew couldn’t let her languish. He had to come to her rescue.
Without a second thought, he flung open the door and stormed out.
The monks gasped and scattered.
He felt an instant of remorse. After all, monks weren’t used to seeing a warrior crossing the cloister with an axe. Not since his forefathers had raided monasteries centuries ago. But when he beheld the gratitude in Carenza’s face, he knew he’d done the right thing.
The Boyles behaved like a pair of untrained hunting hounds, uncertain whether Hew was a fox for them to chase or a wolf they should fear, and looking to each other for support. They ultimately decided to stand their ground.
“That’s him. That’s the cateran,” the bearded one declared. Then he glanced at Carenza. “The main cateran. There were dozens.”
“Dozens,” the beardless one confirmed. “Aye, but I recognize this one’s axe.”
“Now hold on,” the laird said, stopping them. “So ye’re sayin’ this man and dozens of his fellows reived my coo last night, and he brought the beast here?”
“Aye,” the Boyles replied together.
The laird shook his head. “Lads, I think ye want to be careful who ye’re accusin’ of—”
“They’re right,” Hew intervened before the laird could reveal his name. He lowered his axe, planting it between his feet.
“What?” The laird’s jaw dropped open.
The Boyles looked astonished as well.
The abbot was mortified. “Explain yourself, sir.”
Silently praying for mercy for telling yet another half-truth, Hew said, “’Tis fairly simple. Last night, I was unable to sleep. While ranging afield, I happened upon three caterans fighting over a coo.”
“What?” the bearded Boyle exclaimed.
“We told ye last night we weren’t caterans,” said the beardless one.
His brother gave him a hard elbow in the ribs, realizing he’d said too much.
Hew continued. “I seized the beast, and they scattered, so I ne’er got a good look at their faces.” He glanced at the Boyles, who were wisely silent. “Then, not knowing who the animal belonged to, I brought it to the monastery until the matter could be sorted out.”
The laird nodded, satisfied. Then he turned to the Boyles. “Ye see? A perfectly reasonable explanation.”
Hew noticed Dunlop asked no further questions of the Boyles. He was a wise laird indeed, not wishing to stir up trouble with neighboring clans.
As for the Boyles, they didn’t dare reveal any more of the story and seemed happy to let it lie. Indeed, they decided to leave straightaway for home.
As the laird bid them farewell, Hew let his glance fall on the woman for whom he’d just borne false witness.
He expected her to be relieved. Awestruck. Grateful.
She was none of these. Instead, she looked more miserable than before.
He frowned. Then he realized, of course…
He hadn’t solved her problem.
He’d only solved his.
The laird of Dunlop would take Hamish home now. He’d slaughter the beast along with the rest of the six-years, as planned.
In her eyes, all of it—her efforts, their plan, his rescue—had been for naught.
“Ye can take the hay for your cattle, m’laird,” the abbot offered. “We won’t have any use for it.”
Hew kept hearing the lady’s words in the back of his mind. Hamish saved your life. Ye owe him his.
It was that haunting refrain and the hopeless look in Carenza’s eyes that made him act impulsively yet again.
“How much for the beast?” he blurted out.
“What do ye mean?” the laird asked.
“How much would you take for it?”
The laird blinked. “Ye wish to purchase it.”
“Aye.”
The tightfisted prior scoffed. He had an opinion on that. “We can’t keep a coo.”
The abbot lay a hand on the prior’s forearm, probably envisioning months’ worth of roasts in his future. “If Sir Hew wishes to purchase the animal, who are we to argue with his generosity?”
“How much, my laird?” Hew repeated.
The laird gave him a figure, far less than the beast was worth, perhaps thinking to endear himself to the powerful Rivenloch clan.
“Here is double that,” Hew said, handing over his purse to the laird.
“Double?” the laird exclaimed. “Ye’re certain ye want to do that?”
“Aye.”
One glimpse of Carenza’s relieved smile made it all worthwhile.
It was hours later—watching Hamish in the midst of a diminishing pile of hay and increasing piles of coo shairn—that he realized he was now the proud owner of a beast about which he knew almost nothing.