Chapter 16
Chapter 16
While Carenza freshened up in the solar, she considered the identity of the second thief.
Reason said it had to be someone Peris knew well at the monastery. Someone he’d known for a long time. Someone he trusted.
That ruled out the oblates and novices.
It also ruled out Father James, whom the thief had mentioned was taking too keen an interest.
That left the abbot, the prior, and the few dozen older monks who resided there.
Peris had been Dunlop’s physician for as long as she could remember. Her father, hearing he was the best in the land, had summoned Peris when her mother had first become ill. But though his medicines and methods had been expert and thorough, she flagged under his care and eventually succumbed.
Still, her father had been grateful for his efforts. Peris had been the resident physician at Dunlop ever since. Aye, he had a sour, impatient nature. She attributed that to working with the ill and dying all the time. But he’d served the clan—and the monastery—with skill and devotion.
All she had to do was remind him of that loyalty. Of the great good he’d done in his lifetime. Once flattered, he’d naturally be too humble to take all the credit. He’d share it with those who had helped him. His closest companions. His most loyal allies. His oldest friends at the monastery. Theirs were the names she needed.
When she emerged in the great hall, the servants were already up, shooing the layabeds out of their way as they stoked the fire and brought in bread from the kitchens. And to her surprise, taking a cup of ale from a blushing kitchen wench with his unbandaged hand was Sir Hew.
She furrowed her brows. What was he doing up and about? He should rest. He should heal. And he should get out of her way.
“Carenza, my dear,” her father murmured as he approached. “Ye’re frownin’.”
She pressed fingers to her forehead. “Am I?”
He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Also, I fear ye have rats in your chamber.”
She froze.
He added, “I’ll have to summon the rat-catcher from the village.”
Thinking fast, she said, “I’ll do it on the morrow, Da. I have to go to the village anyway.”
She had no intention of summoning the rat-catcher. But once her father was back in his own bed—an event that appeared to be imminent, if Hew’s appearance in the great hall was any indication—she was sure he’d completely forget the matter.
“Fine.” He glanced around the hall. “Och. I see our warrior friend is already up and about. He seems to have flourished under your tender care.”
Had he flourished? Or had he forced his way out of bed out of pure stubbornness, just to keep an eye on her? She was beginning to think Peris was right. The Rivenloch warrior was meddlesome.
Before she could stop him, her father called out to Hew. Hew raised his cup in greeting and came toward them.
“I’m surprised to see ye recoverin’ so well,” the laird said.
Hew nodded. “Thanks to your generosity, m’laird, and some expert care.” His gaze was warm as it slipped over to her.
“Indeed,” her father said with a knowing smile.
Carenza found herself immediately furious again. How dare Hew feign affection for her—in front of her father, no less—when he clearly had no intention of following up or making any serious overtures toward her?
Her jaw was tight as she smiled and intentionally misunderstood him. “Oh aye, Peris is the best physician in Dunlop.”
“Och, Carenza,” her father chided, “ye know very well—”
“And here he is now,” she interjected, grabbing Peris’s arm as he passed. “We were just talkin’ about your expert care o’ Sir Hew.”
Peris looked rattled. Anxious. And exhausted. Clearly, the last thing he wanted to do was talk. Especially not to the meddlesome man he’d tried to poison.
“Ye shouldn’t be out o’ bed,” he grunted at Hew.
Whether he was referring to Hew’s health or his meddling, Carenza wasn’t sure.
“I feel fine,” Hew said.
“That’s the opium.”
“I stopped taking it.”
A look of disapproval crossed Peris’s face. Still, he was a physician with a physician’s concerns. “Must hurt like the devil.”
“’Tisn’t so bad,” He gave Peris a wink. “Not as bad as having your heart broken.”
Carenza almost groaned at that. The magnificent warrior had probably left dozens of heartbroken maids in his wake. But he’d surely never been the victim of a broken heart.
Her father, however, had.
“That,” the laird agreed, growing suddenly solemn, “is the worst pain of all.”
Carenza felt horrid for forgetting her father’s suffering. She placed a gentle hand on his arm. “And we’ll all pray for her today, Da.” Then she turned to Peris. “Ye’ll come as well, aye?”
He grunted in reply.
“If ’tis all right,” she said to Peris, “once we’re there, I’d like to talk with ye about…my mother.”
She could immediately feel the tension in Hew. Like a wildcat about to spring.
His voice, however, reflected none of it. “Where is the graveyard?”
“Och,” she said, knitting her brows with false regret, “’tis too far to go in your condition, I fear. But don’t fret. We’ll be sure to pray for the souls o’ your clan as well. Won’t we, Da?”
“O’ course.”
Fury flickered in Hew’s flinty eyes. Fury and just a hint of reluctant admiration. He nodded his head, accepting his defeat.
Unfortunately, her father had an idea. “But…ye can ride a horse, aye?”
“Not well, with this hand, but serviceably enough, I suppose.”
Her father decided, “Ye’ll ride Carenza’s palfrey then.”
Carenza blinked. She wanted to scream. But laird’s daughters didn’t scream. They didn’t even frown. And they definitely didn’t complain when their father wanted to loan their palfrey to a distinguished guest.
Still, she almost choked on the smug look Hew gave her. She seized the cup from a passing servant’s tray and buried her rage in a swig of ale.
The trek to the graveyard was delayed by a violent thunderstorm. Hew couldn’t help but wonder if Carenza had summoned it to foil his plans. Lightning crackled overhead. Rumbling followed soon after. Fat drops of rain bounced off the courtyard grass. The clanfolk huddled in the great hall.
Meanwhile, Carenza’s duty appeared to be comforting the young children frightened by the roar of the storm. She hugged them. Told them stories. And let them sit on her lap. But Hew could see tension in her mouth. She too seemed anxious. Who was there to reassure her?
It was a calling Hew couldn’t resist. When she took a break in her storytelling, he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“Are you all right, my lady?”
For an instant, he glimpsed raw fear in her eyes. In the next, it was gone.
“I’m fine.”
“You need not fear the lightning,” he murmured. “You’re safe in here.”
“I am. Aye.” Her chin quivered once before she stilled it. “But what about the animals?”
Was that what she was worried about? The animals?
His shoulders softened. What a selfless and tenderhearted woman she was. What a rare and precious quality. He supposed he should have known. After all, who would go to such lengths to save a coo from slaughter?
“Don’t worry about them,” he said. “They seem to know how to stay out of harm’s way.” Then he tipped his head to whisper, “Otherwise, you’d see dozens of charred sheep by the side of the road after a storm.”
One side of her mouth quirked up at that.
“Blackened ducks by the roadside,” he added.
The other side curved up.
“And roast pigs ready for the table,” he said.
She gave him a full smile then. A smile so brilliant and warm that he almost couldn’t resist bending near and capturing her lips with his own.
But he had to resist. He had to bank the burning coals of his affection. Take his time. Temper his passion. He couldn’t afford to make mistakes. The last thing he wanted was to drive her away by scorching her in the fiery blaze of his feelings.
So he mumbled, “I’m sure Hamish is fine.” He gave her a nod of farewell before going to douse the flames of his desire with a second cup of ale.
Eventually, the weather cleared. The clouds shredded apart like wool, leaving patches of clear blue. The earth smelled ripe and mossy and fertile. And a few brave birds chirped defiantly from the woods.
The afternoon ride to the graveyard wasn’t so bad. The church was to the west, an hour’s walk away. Carenza’s palfrey was mild and easy to handle, even with one hand. Hew maintained a slow pace, riding behind most of the clanfolk, who traveled on foot. They carried offerings of bread, as well as candles, which they would light in the churchyard to help guide any lost souls and use later to guide themselves home.
Carenza and her father led the procession. The physician positioned himself in the middle, far from them and far from him. He clearly wasn’t interested in any interrogation today. Which made it even more critical that Hew keep Carenza from prying.
He expected, like a child with a clam, she would poke and prod and annoy Peris rather than gleaning any useful information. And her prodding would make him close his shell even tighter.
So Hew determined to stay close to her. He could draw her attention away if she became too inquisitive. Divert her probing questions with lighthearted commentary. Distract her when she began to cross the line of safety.
Most of the day, she prayed with her father. Not only as an example to the rest of the clan. But because he seemed grief-stricken, as if he’d lost his wife, not years ago, but yesterday. Between prayers, she patted his hand and leaned her head against his shoulder, murmuring words of comfort to him.
But Hew wondered, who comforted her? Carenza had lost her mother. Hew couldn’t imagine what it would have been like to grow up without the love of his mother. Lady Helena was a fierce fighter, but her love was just as fierce. And the things Hew had learned about women—about their vulnerability, their strength, their hearts, their minds—he could never have learned without his mother.
The All Souls Day rituals were unfamiliar to Hew. In his clan, descended from Vikings, they celebrated Alfablot, which likewise honored their ancestors. But it was a quiet and private affair conducted in one’s household.
Nonetheless, he prayed silently for his grandfather Gellir. He’d never known the white-bearded giant. But the great warrior had been an inspiration to the Rivenloch clan.
It was nearly dark when, halfway through a prayer to Odin—for his grandfather had never much cared for the gods of the Scots, Hew glanced up to see Carenza ambling toward Peris. She whispered something to the physician. Then the two of them rounded the corner of the church, disappearing from view. He quickly ended his prayer and moved in their direction.
Halting behind the corner of the wall, just out of sight, he didn’t hear her first words, but he heard the next.
“I don’t remember much. I was so young at the time. But I do remember how ye stayed with her, day and night. How ye worked tirelessly, tryin’ to save her.”
Peris cleared his throat. “Your mother was a good woman.”
“And ye were so kind and attentive. It must have made her final hours a comfort.”
He was clearly discomfited by her praise. “I hope so,” he muttered. “’Twas hard for the laird to see her go.”
Carenza sighed. “But how much more difficult it must be for those who don’t have a carin’ physician to attend them in their final hours.”
All at once, Hew felt awkward and out of place. She obviously didn’t have an interrogation in mind. She was only sharing personal memories with her mother’s physician and thanking him for his service.
Uncomfortable and unsure what to do, Hew took a sudden keen interest in the crow perched on the top of the churchyard wall.
Then he overheard Carenza say, “But ye do that at Kildunan, don’t ye? Ye give all those wretched souls ease in their final hours.”
“’Tisn’t only me, m’lady,” the physician protested. “All the monks are there to provide comfort.”
“Och aye. But they don’t all attend a dyin’ man, do they? Is that not the purview o’ the physician and perhaps the most senior clergy?”
The sly lass was prying. Poking her nose where it didn’t belong. But she was doing it in such a clever way, Peris couldn’t detect it. Indeed, the physician was answering her as readily as beer flowed from a tapped barrel.
“Certainly the abbot and prior are there,” he told her. “And often the senior clergy take their turns at watchin’ o’er the man.”
“Ah. ’Tis so encouragin’ to hear.” Then she lowered her voice so Hew had to strain to make out her words. “In truth, I’ve often wished to give a tithin’ to those who offer such charitable services. But my father insists ’tis an act of mercy, to be rewarded in heaven.” She clucked her tongue. “Do ye think ye might give me the names o’ your closest acquaintances among the clergy? I’d like to make a generous donation in their name.”
Genius. The lass was as smooth as his axe blade. Her innocence and earnestness was allowing her to collect exactly the information they needed without the appearance of prying.
Once she got the names, of course, that would be the end of it. The rest was far too risky for her. He’d commend her for her efforts. Then he would take on the mantle of the mission, question the suspects, and solve the crime. Alone.
Carenza watched three emotions flit through the physician’s eyes.
The first was annoyance, as if he resented being tasked with making a judgment about which acquaintances were his closest.
The second was envy, as if he deserved a donation for his efforts as well, despite making a generous wage from her father.
And the third was enterprise. He glimpsed a chance for profit. If not his own, at least a reward for his allies that he might leverage in the future.
Finally he nodded. “O’ course, m’lady. As ye know, the abbot and the prior are always present. But three others come to mind who have oft been by my side with the dyin’. Brother Michael. Brother Robert. And Brother William.”
“Michael. Robert. And William,” she repeated. “I shall send a donation forthwith. But I pray ye keep my confidence. If my father should hear o’ my generosity, I fear he might not wholeheartedly approve.”
“As ye wish, m’lady,” he said, stepping away.
She nodded and then whirled to leave. Rounding the corner of the church, she nearly collided with Sir Hew.
“What are ye—” she bit out between her teeth, then remembered her father might be watching. Gritting out a tight smile, she asked, “Listenin’ around corners, are ye?”
“Michael, Robert, and William,” he said. “That was brilliant.”
She was shocked into silence. She expected a reprimand, not a compliment. Yet he seemed sincere.
“Truly brilliant,” he repeated, shaking his head in wonder.
Her proud glow lasted a few precious moments.
“Now that we’ve got the names,” he continued, “I’ll question them on the morrow. ’Tis Michael, Robert, and William, right?”
“Nay!”
She winced at her own loud outburst. Then, before she could attract undue attention, she snagged Hew by the front of his plaid and pulled him around the corner of the church.
“Nay,” she repeated.
He seemed puzzled. “Those aren’t their names?”
“Aye. But nay, ye can’t question them on the morrow.”
She could see the pressure of ire building inside him, like a shaken bottle of wine, despite his steady tone. “And why is that?”
“Think about it,” she explained patiently. “Ye—the man Peris just tried to kill, the one who’s investigatin’ the thefts—go to the monastery to question three respected monks. What will they assume?”
His brow creased as he digested her words. “Fine. Then I’ll wait a day or two.”
She shook her head. “Nay. I’ll go.”
“The devil you will.”
“Listen. If I go, ’twill be to deliver the donation. Naturally, I’ll want to meet the monks, to thank them for their service. And they’ll wish to thank me for the tithin’. ’Tis far less questionable.”
He looked pained. “I can’t let you do that.”
“Why not?” She held up a hand. “And don’t tell me ’tis a knight’s duty to protect all ladies.” She still stung from that remark.
“I told you before, ’tis too dangerous.”
“There’s nothing dangerous about givin’ a tithe to a monastery.”
“If they suspect you know anything…”
“They won’t. I won’t give anythin’ away. I’m a laird’s daughter. I’m used to keepin’ up appearances.”
He seemed frustrated. “I don’t want you entangled in any of this.”
“I’m already entangled.” Then she smiled. A genuine smile this time. “But don’t worry. I’m brilliant. Or so I’ve been told.” She reached up to give him a reassuring clap on the cheek.
He seized her wrist with his unbandaged hand. “I’m serious, my lady.”
As he spoke, he began brushing his thumb idly back and forth along the inside of her wrist, the way she put a lizard to sleep by rubbing its belly.
“This is a hazardous game,” he said. “If anything should go awry… If anything should endanger you… Bloody hell, if anything should happen to the woman I love…”
She gave a little gasp.
He halted the movement of his thumb.
Had he meant that?
He’d left the sentence unfinished. He clearly hadn’t meant to blurt that out. But had he meant it?
She gazed into his eyes. Eyes that shone like molten silver. Eyes that suffered and smoldered and adored. And she saw the truth. He’d spoken from his heart. He did love her.
Carenza was never impulsive. She plotted and planned every move, every gesture, every expression. What to wear. What to say. How to comport herself. Such was the life of the clan’s heiress.
But for the first time in her life she threw caution to the wind. Acted on instinct. And followed her heart.
Curling her fists in the front of his plaid, she pushed him back against the stone wall of the church, closed her eyes, and pressed her lips to his.