Chapter 11 #3
On his knees, a bishop with his head bowed, adorned in long flowing robes, flanked by two priests, continued with their prayers.
Colyne walked forward, the thick woolen rug muting his steps. Several paces from the altar, he halted.
Melodic chants filled the chamber.
Familiar with the prayer, he silently followed along, saddened by his dual purpose here. He’d come to request aid in ensuring Alesia’s safety and future travel to France. But he also needed to break the news of the loss of their mutual friend, a man who had saved the bishop’s life.
Over the years he’d always anticipated his visits and enjoyed their time together.
But he’d never considered that he’d offer Robert Wishart, a man who’d acted as his mentor throughout the years, such heartbreaking news.
Though his friend wore the robe of a bishop, it wouldna protect him against the grief of learning about Douglas’s death.
With a heavy heart, Colyne brushed his hand against the place where the document lay hidden. Nay, he wouldna fail their friend. The writ would be delivered to King Philip.
The murmurs ended. Whispered strains of the prayer faded.
“Leave us,” Bishop Wishart said to the two members of the clergy without turning.
Colyne smiled at his friend’s ability to sense the presence of others.
Another reason he’d chosen Robert to watch over Alesia.
His innate sense would add another layer of safety against those who sought her.
And though a bishop, with his broad shoulders and sturdy frame, his friend appeared more as if a knight.
Both priests rose. As they noticed Colyne, surprise, then recognition flashed on their faces. They nodded and then walked past. Moments later, the door closed with a soft swish behind them.
Robert made the sign of the cross. He stood and turned, his wizened face wrought with concern. “I am surprised to see you. The last I had heard, you were attending a secret meeting of Parliament in the Highlands.”
“Aye,” Colyne replied, nae shocked his friend would be so well informed. His station provided him with many venues in which to gather news of importance to Scotland’s fight for freedom. “You have heard about the abduction of King Philip’s bastard daughter?”
The bishop gave a solemn nod.
Hope filled Colyne. “Have they found her?”
Thick, shaggy brows dipped in worry. “Nay. Wherever the Duke of Renard has hidden her, ’twas with a crafty hand.”
“I had hoped they would have found her by now.” Colyne paused, hating the sad news he brought.
He frowned. “What is wrong?”
“Douglas is dead.”
The warmth in Robert’s eyes shattered to sorrow. “How?”
“By Robert Bruce, Earl of Carrick, Guardian of the Realm of Scotland’s dictate, Douglas was carrying a writ to King Philip, explaining the English duke’s treachery,” Colyne replied. “En route to the coast to sail to France, Renard’s knights attacked him.”
His friend’s face paled. “God in heaven! Renard has the writ Robert Bruce intended for King Philip?”
With a hard swallow, Colyne touched his cloak. “Nay, I have it. I came upon Douglas wounded and dying. I swore to him that I would deliver the writ.” He stepped forward and clasped a firm hand upon the bishop’s shoulder. “I give you my oath that his death will nae be in vain.”
Wishart’s fingers trembled as they touched the cross hanging from his neck. “I thank God you made it here safely.”
Silence hung between them.
Colyne stared at the crucifix secured behind the altar, at the blood weeping down Christ’s body. “I need to ask three favors of you.”
“Anything.”
A muscle worked in his jaw as he held Robert’s anguished gaze. “The only way the English duke could have known of the missive was if one of his informants were seated in the private meeting.”
“A traitor?” Though a whisper, the bishop’s question cut through the room like a curse.
“Aye,” Colyne replied, his own anger as fierce at deducing the reason. “I mention it as Robert Bruce needs to be informed of this news.”
“Consider it done.”
“My thanks.”
“Would your second request be to secure passage for you aboard a ship to France?”
“Aye, but if possible, I would sail with someone trustworthy instead of an unknown merchant.”
“The writ is too important to risk falling into untrustworthy hands,” Robert agreed, his voice trembling, evidence he struggled to contain his grief.
“I shall send a runner to learn who is in port. If any captain’s ship we trust is moored at the pier, once he learns of the graveness of this matter, I am confident he will adjust his itinerary and sail to France posthaste.
” He rubbed his thumb over the cross. “And the last?”
“There is a woman.”
Robert’s brow lifted. “A woman?”
“During my escape with the writ, I was wounded,” Colyne explained. “A French missionary named Alesia found and cared for me. Her party was attacked while traveling in the Highlands. She said they were returning from Beauly Priory.”
With a frown, the bishop rubbed his jaw. “I was nae aware of missionaries visiting from France.”
Unease swept him. “You did nae know?”
The bishop shook his head. “I have heard naught of such an arrangement.”
That didna make sense. One would think with the strife between England and Scotland, Alesia’s party would have taken every precaution to ensure their safety. So why hadn’t they informed the bishop of their arrival?