Chapter 4 #2
As she watched the hedgepig continue on toward her discarded slipper, she felt a tingling at the back of her neck.
They weren’t alone. She was being watched.
Sliding her gaze warily to the left, she glimpsed a second spiny beast huddled on her bed, regarding her with beady eyes.
“Pokerounce,” she scolded in a whisper, “ye’re not allowed on the bed, and ye know it.”
She picked up the wriggling hedgepig and placed her on the floor next to her sister.
“Ye two are naughty wee lasses tonight.”
Then she smirked. They weren’t the only ones.
She clucked her tongue at the adorable pair of hedgepigs. She’d rescued them last spring when their mother had been killed by a hound.
Lately they’d had a strong nesting instinct that had led them to snuggle in her skirts, hide in the peat pile on the hearth, and burrow into her pallet. She supposed she’d have to do something about that soon.
Meanwhile, she plucked out the vials of bath oils from her willow basket and propped the basket upside down in the corner for them. They immediately toddled over and made themselves at home within the makeshift nest.
The boots proved roomy but serviceable. She snatched up the hood she’d fashioned out of brown scraps and pulled it over her head. It was perfect. Deep enough to both warm her ears and keep her face hidden under the cold, bright moon.
When she held her mirror out at arm’s length, a wave of shame washed over her again. She looked nothing like the daughter her father was so proud of.
The woman in the reflection was someone even Carenza hardly recognized. A wayward, willful, disobedient scruff of a lass who was about to embark on a mission that was disgraceful. Dishonorable. Deceitful. And dangerous.
When Hew awoke the next morn, it was over.
The man had died in the middle of the night. The abbot had delivered last rites. The monks had prepared the body. And the physician had gone home.
At the midday meal, Hew was finally able to ask the bleary-eyed abbot where the physician came from.
“Peris? Dunlop Castle,” the abbot replied. “He’s the laird’s own physician.”
Dunlop again.
“Why do ye ask?” the prior said.
“The physician wasn’t on your list,” Hew pointed out.
The prior gave him a humorless smile. “I didn’t feel it necessary to include him. He’s here only on occasion.”
“Of course. Still, we must leave no stone unturned in the pursuit of justice.”
“O’ course.”
“I’ll need to make a visit to Dunlop,” Hew decided, “to speak with him.”
“He’s likely exhausted,” the prior argued. “He was up all night, carin’ for a dyin’ man.”
“He’s right,” the abbot agreed, which pleased the prior, until he added, “But ’tis a few hours walk, and ye could go later today.”
“I’ll go with him,” the prior volunteered. “I can make introductions.”
The abbot’s brow creased. “I may need ye here. We still have the burial to complete.”
“The burial will be on the morrow, aye?” the prior reminded him.
“Och. Aye.” The abbot rubbed at his sleepy eyes. “I’ve lost track o’ the days.”
“Besides,” the prior said, “I can take Dunlop a jar o’ the honey he likes so well.”
The abbot waved his approval.
Hew was not happy with that decision. He’d hoped to make the journey alone.
As expected, the dour prior proved poor company. The instant they passed through the gate, ’twas as if the prior was no longer bound by the silence of the monastery. He began to chatter incessantly, preparing Hew to meet the physician as if he were going to meet the Pope.
He warned Hew that Peris was a nervous man who didn’t like to be questioned about his methods. He said that a death was always traumatic for a physician, so he should not be judged by his fragility today. He stressed that the monastery appreciated the physician’s services and wanted to keep them.
To make matters worse, the prior’s sandal-shod shuffle lengthened the journey. What Hew could have covered in an hour of long strides took twice as long at the prior’s slow pace.
But as long as the prior had insisted on accompanying him, Hew supposed he should make good use of the time.
“Tell me what you know about Brother Cathal.”
“Brother Cathal? He collects the alms once a week, on Thursday, and distributes them to the poor.”
“Where does he go to collect them?”
“The chapter house.”
“So he goes within the monastery walls?”
“Aye, but…” The prior halted on the road and drew his brows together. “Ye don’t think Brother Cathal is the thief?”
“He has access.”
The prior looked troubled. He stroked his chin thoughtfully and resumed walking. “Brother Cathal.” He shook his head. “’Tis possible, but…”
“Did any of the thefts occur on Thursdays?”
“They may have. ’Tis hard to say. Sometimes the objects aren’t missed for days.” The prior mulled over the idea for a moment. Then he said, “Ye don’t suppose he’s been stealin’ the alms as well?”
Hew shrugged.
“Sweet Mary,” the prior said, “if he’s been stealin’ alms all this time…” He let out a pained sigh. “Brother Cathal’s been collectin’ from Kildunan for two years.”
Hew thought the prior was getting ahead of things. Brother Cathal’s guilt hadn’t been established. Access didn’t prove the crime.
“What about Father James?” Hew asked.
“Father James?”
“He was on your list as well.”
The prior straightened indignantly. “Father James is beyond reproach. I only put him on the list because he makes regular visits to the monastery.”
“Random visits, not regular visits.”
“Well, aye. But he comes every month.”
“And what is his access?”
“He has access to all o’ Kildunan,” the prior scoffed. “As he should. After all, he’s in charge o’ the monastery.”
“Have any of the valuables gone missing after his inspections?”
The prior gasped at the suggestion. “Are ye insinuatin’—”
“I mean no offense. But you can’t flush out quarry without beating about the bushes.”
The prior huffed at that. Then he said in hushed tones, “Ye mustn’t let Father James know ye’re ‘beatin’ about the bushes.’ The abbot has made it clear. The father is not to be alerted to the thefts. Not yet.” He added sharply, “Especially since ye’re accusin’ him o’ bein’ the thief.”
“I’m not accusing him. I’m only crossing the names off your list,” Hew pointed out.
The prior muttered something under his breath.
“Tell me this,” Hew said. “Are there times when Father James and Brother Cathal come to Kildunan together?”
“Aye. Sometimes. Wait. Ye don’t think…”
Hew filled in the possibility. “They could be working together.”
He expected an outburst of disbelief from the prior.
But there was none. To Hew’s surprise, the prior’s voice was distraught as he murmured, “As much as I don’t want to believe it, ye may be right.
No one else has the access they do. No one would question their goin’ into the church. Or the library. Or the cloister.”
Hew suddenly felt sorry for the prior. The possibility that Father James, a man revered by the monks, might be a common thief was obviously upsetting to a man who lived and breathed his faith.
He was about to offer a morsel of compassion when the prior pointed and announced, “Ah. There ’tis.”
Through the thinning trees, Hew glimpsed a castle strategically perched atop a hill.
It was of modest size, compared to Rivenloch.
But its sandstone walls gleamed golden. Proud banners topped each corner of the keep, snapping crisply in the breeze.
And dozens of figures dotted the hillside, as busy as ants.
The castle was small, but it seemed efficient and well-maintained.
Dunlop likely owned much of the land surrounding it as well.
At the barbican, the guard waved the prior through the gate, though he gave Hew and his axe a dubious scowl. Indeed, once they were in the courtyard, several clanfolk gave Hew a dubious scowl. Women with children also gave him a wide berth.
The prior plunged ahead to address a pair of men-at-arms standing beside the keep. “Do ye know where Dunlop is?”
“Inside,” one of them said, nodding toward the great hall.
“Come,” the prior said to Hew. “I’ll introduce ye. While ye’re makin’ the laird’s acquaintance, I’ll find out where Peris has gone.”
The great hall was packed with people. Maidservants wielded besoms, polished tables, and carried trays of oatcakes.
Lads placed candles in sconces, wrangled loose hound pups, and poked at the coals on the hearth.
Wee children played with wooden dolls. Noblewomen giggled over them. Warriors drank ale by the fire.
“There he is,” the prior said, nodding toward the far stairs.
Hew followed his gaze. A middle-aged nobleman towered several inches above the rest of his clanfolk.
He was pleasant-looking, with a neatly trimmed black beard and fine clothing, as crisp and well-maintained as his castle.
Though he wasn’t built like a warrior, he looked confident and calm.
It was clear he was the leader of this clan.
Then Hew’s eyes fell to the young maid on his arm.
Suddenly he couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.
She was The Most Beautiful Woman He Had Ever Seen in His Entire Life.