Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Splashing the cool water over his face, Owen pulled the robes over his chest and straightened the sash.
He hated the dark brown clothes that they'd given him to wear.
But wear them, he did. His face was rugged and tired as he caught a glimpse of himself in the simple mirror adorning his dresser.
Nightmares of flames and screams had kept him up all night.
They seemed to worsen the more he tried to outrun his past. It was the nightmares that prompted him to act and seek resolution.
Placing the pouch of coins in his pocket, Owen patted them down and headed for the door. He only had a little time until his uncle returned to the monastery grounds, so he rushed to the door of the small chamber where he slept.
His scout was more than likely still waiting for him in the woods, hopefully, this time bearing answers. Being a monk was proving to be far more challenging than Owen had anticipated. He was hardly ever alone and always needed to work.
The monks at Lanercost Monastery worked harder than any laborers he knew.
Even the workers at the castle back home didn't have to contend with as many chores as he did.
He grumbled under his breath and ensured everything was in order before leaving.
The bed was tidy, and all his things had been packed into the single cupboard.
Hurrying, Owen quickly slipped into the corridor and made his way down the hall. Time was of the essence as he pressed on, his sandals slapping against the cold stone floor. He glimpsed at the dark sky, the sun lost between the stars.
Perfect, they all went tae bed, and there is nae on—
"Brother Owen," an elderly monk called to his back. Damn it! "Where are you headed in such a rush?"
Thinking as fast as he could, Owen used his chance to slip behind a statue in the wall, pulling his hood over his head. His heart beat in his throat as he pressed himself against the stones. Maybe he will think it was another man.
"Brother Owen," the monk repeated as he drew nearer at a steady and even pace. His hands were tucked into the sleeves of his robe, and a wooden cross hung from his neck.
"Please, nae now, please, nae now," he whispered to himself and shut his eyes.
"Brother Owen," the monk said in a firmer tone, stopping in front of the statue with one eyebrow raised.
Seeing that his fate had been sealed, he lowered his hood and slunk back into the light. "Apologies, brother Thomas. I didnae see ye there."
"Is that so?" the man said with a knowing glance. "Because it looked to me as though you were very aware of my presence," he gestured to the corridor with its paintings and statues of saints and monks. "One would even say you were trying to hide from me."
"I would never hide from ye, brother Thomas," Owen grinned sheepishly, feeling like a fool at his failed attempts to hide. Brother Thomas had the habit of sneaking up on a person at the best of times, even more so when you were trying to hide. It's like the man kens whenever I'm out.
"Then why hiding behind the statue of Saint Francis of Assisi with your hood over your face? Looking for peace, perhaps? He was one of the world's greatest peacemakers." The older man dipped his hands back into the sleeves of his robe, waiting for an answer.
"Um… nae," Owen searched his mind for a suitable response. "I-I was just chasing a spider. I ken how much ye hate the little beasts. And brother Angus, too. The creature was larger than me hand." He held up his hand with his fingers stretched wide to illustrate his point. "The hood was because…"
"Yes?"
"I had tae sneeze an’ I didnae want the spider tae flee," he thought through his lie with regret. "On account of the noise, ye see. I was hoping the fabric of the hood would divert some of the noise."
"Very thoughtful of you. Though, I was under the impression that spiders werenae particularly sensitive to sound," Brother Thomas asked with a heavy note of sarcasm in his voice.
Owen had become known around the monastery for his strange behavior.
This fact made the older monk keep an even closer eye on him.
"Och, aye," Owen rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the weight of his foolish lies. "Now, if ye would excuse me, brother Thomas. I-I need to take care of me needs, I drunk too much ale as of this morn," he bowed and turned to leave as quickly as he could.
"Just a moment…" Brother Thomas' voice called to him again, making him stop in his tracks.
So close. He inwardly cringed. He just knew that he would be paying for his antics later. Whether through penance or prayer, the older monk would surely have something to say.
"We havenae been seeing you at evening prayers of late. Is everything well with your soul? Is there something we should be concerned about? Ye ken, this is a communal monastery; we are here to offer support to one another."
"Nae, I have just been busy. I am on garden duty, so this takes a lot of me time," he told the same lie he'd been telling since he'd come to Lanercost as a monk.
"You seem to always have far too many chores whenever there are prayers," Thomas said in the way of an accusation rather than a question. "We can always relieve your of your duties should you wish to pray.”
"I like tae dae me praying alone in me chambers, gives me time tae focus me mind on what matters."
"Very well then," Brother Thomas nodded. "Be on your way, then. But we'd love to see you there soon. Solace can often be found in prayer with a friend and nae just on yer own."
"I'll keep that in mind but, right now, I have all the solace that I need," Owen turned to leave with a burst of speed, almost running away from the man.
"Ye will be in my prayers, young man," the monk called to him as he left.
Owen waved over his shoulder as he left. "Thank ye, Brother Thomas!"
Brother Thomas had an uncanny habit of prying into people's affairs if given the opportunity to speak. When the opportunity arose, it was best to keep him at bay.
Owen hadn't spoken to any of the monks since he arrived for a very good reason.
He wasn't a monk. And lying to them hurt his heart.
How could he pray when his heart was filled with devilish sins?
That would be wrong and disrespectful to all those pure-hearted men.
His uncle had taken pity on him and given him a second chance, bringing him into the monastery as a traveling monk.
Duncan McGinn had once suggested that Owen make a change for good, but he could never truly be a monk.
They'd send him packing for the hills if anyone else found out what he'd done. Owen felt he was far too bad of a man to live a holy life; the sins of the past would never let him be.
He looked down at his hands, his mind instantly filling with screams and towering flames.
His blood spilling into the trough from his hands.
The focus abruptly shifting to an image of a man punching and punching until tiny hands tried to pull him away, screaming for help.
As he recalled the event, his vision swam in and out of focus.
There is nae point in any of that now, Owen reminded himself as he picked up the pace, the coins jingling in his pocket and spurring him on.
There was nothing he could do about anything that was done in the past. The fact that his father had drawn his last breath before finding out what he had done was his only relief.
Fraser Elliott would have been crushed if he had known what Owen had done.
Not only had he ended the lives of prominent lords, but… No, he couldn't think about it.
His only hope of staying here was to track down the wretched man, the sole survivor of the fire. He'd later learned that his name was William Dodd—a fearless bastard of a man that wreaked havoc wherever he went. Many a Lady had been left in ruins once they'd seen his face.
Owen's blood boiled in his veins as he thought of the night he'd happened upon the group at the castle. They were trying to have their way with the lass and probably would have succeeded if he hadn't come along.
He spent all the money he had left and later earned as a monk on hiring a scout to keep tabs on the man.
He'd have his revenge one day. The only other soul that had seen him that night was the beautiful girl with long golden blonde hair, but she was a matter all on her own.
She knew too much. Her light green eyes still haunted his dreams.
Reaching for the gates, he checked to see if the coast was clear before leaving the grounds. Hopefully, his scout would have good news for him. He needed a plan now to stave off the sleepless nights.
"I'll see ye get the end ye deserve," he cursed under his breath as he set off at a run. "Mark me words, 'afore I draw me final breath, ye will be dead, William Dodd."
He jogged the rest of the way to the edge of the forest before looking back at the monastery gates. The high peak of the tall steeple loomed on in the distance as though the building itself were keeping an eye on him. No matter how far or fast he ran, Owen couldn't escape the past.
The blood-curdling screams from that fateful night chased him down like a hunter following a deer. His only hope of absolution would come when he laid William Dodd to rest. He'd outrun the girl to the ends of the earth if he had to.