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.