Chapter 9 #2
Aside from struggling to stay awake, the rest of Carenza’s day was fairly ordinary.
She stitched a row of daisies along the hem of a coif.
Took Troye the hound out for a game of fetch the stick.
Played chess with her father. Left crumbs for her usual menagerie of pets.
Sent lads out to gather wood for the Samhain bonfire.
And recited the tale of Beira, the goddess of winter, to a group of wee children.
By supper, she began to flag. She fought to keep her eyes open, fearful she might fall face first into her pottage.
But when Cainnech the cooherd approached the laird after supper, she grew instantly alert.
“’Tis my fault,” he said to the laird. “I should have been watchin’ o’er the fold.”
“Nay.” Her father put a hand on Cainnech’s shoulder. “’Twas a scheme by the Boyles. I’m sure of it. They’ll miraculously ‘recover’ the coo in a day or two and expect to be rewarded for their efforts.”
Carenza gulped. She’d forgotten. If Hamish never returned, poor Cainnech would hold himself accountable.
“But ye won’t do that, will ye, m’laird?” Cainnech asked, glancing pointedly at Carenza. “Ye won’t reward them?”
“Hardly,” the laird said, arching his brow at her.
“Good.”
Inside, Carenza bristled at the idea of the two men discussing her as a reward. But she dared not betray her affront. She gave her father an indulgent smile instead.
Then, hiding a yawn behind her hand, she wondered how soon she could steal off to bed without arousing suspicion.
The door of the great hall suddenly opened, letting in a breath of fog along with the physician, returned from the monastery.
He looked concerned as he rushed forward through the throng.
“M’laird, I fear I have unwelcome news.”
“The lad’s arm,” her father said on a sigh. “Was it beyond repair then?”
“Nay, ’tis splinted.”
Carenza guessed, “Rivenloch refused the invitation?”
It wouldn’t surprise her. She’d told him her father’s intentions. He certainly wouldn’t want to waste the laird’s time wooing her if he meant to take holy vows.
“Nay. He said he’d come.”
Her father frowned at her. “Now why would ye think he’d refuse? He’s a healthy man in need of a wife. And ye’re the loveliest eligible lass in the Highlands.”
“Och, Da,” she chided, squeezing his arm with affection.
“’Tis somethin’ I saw at the monastery,” the physician said.
“What is it?” the laird asked.
“They’ve got a coo in the cloister, one that wasn’t there before, and I’d swear its ear was notched with the Dunlop mark.”
Carenza couldn’t breathe. Her smile congealed on her face.
“Is that so?” her father said in surprise, chuckling. “So I’m to believe the caterans are an army o’ monks?”
“M’laird?” the physician said, blinking in confusion.
“Ne’er mind, Peris. Perhaps I’ll pay a visit to the monastery myself in the morn,” he decided, “save the Boyle lads the trouble o’ retrievin’ the beast.”
“I’ll come as well,” Carenza blurted out. Why she said that, she didn’t know. It wasn’t as if she could stop the ugly confrontation sure to occur. It just didn’t seem fair to leave the Rivenloch man without an ally.
“Is that to your likin’, Laird Hamish?”
Hew scratched the beast behind its ear as it chomped down a breakfast of fresh hay. It was a pleasant enough animal, despite its intimidating girth.
Lady Carenza had sent coin along to keep the coo fed. So while the physician tended to the novice’s broken arm, Hew picked up a cartload of hay from the village.
By the time he returned, Brother Cathal had arrived as scheduled to collect the alms.
Hew questioned the brother with careful diplomacy, commending him on his charitable profession and feigning an interest in how the funds were equitably distributed.
Brother Cathal, however, was reluctant to share details.
Unwilling to make conversation, he wouldn’t even meet Hew’s gaze.
He was a man of few words and little time.
Driven to do his work and move along, he picked up the donation from the chapter house, slung the satchel over his shoulder, and made his way briskly across the cloister.
He flinched in surprise just once when he saw Hamish grazing beside the well, then continued on his brusque way out of the monastery.
Hew wasn’t sure whether the man’s manner was efficient or suspicious.
Brother Cathal had unlimited access to the monastery. The monks let him come and go as he pleased. He could have easily stuffed something extra into his satchel on any of his visits.
But he didn’t seem conniving enough to pull off such a theft.
He wasn’t exactly feeble-minded. But there was something different about him.
An odd sort of self-absorption and disconnection from the world around him.
He seemed intensely focused on one thing, the task at hand.
And anything that distracted him from that task—like a coo in the cloister or a layman asking too many questions—rattled him.
If Brother Cathal was involved in the thefts, it could only be as an unwitting accomplice. An accomplice to someone aware he had access to the monastery’s wealth. Someone who could be directing him to bring them certain items.
Could it be Father James?
It wasn’t out of the question. But anyone on the outside might be capable of manipulating Brother Cathal.
Hamish lowed suddenly, and Hew jumped, startled by the loud sound. A moment later, the bell at the gates of the monastery rang out, indicating a visitor.
A pair of monks bustled to open the gates.
Hew gave Hamish one last pat and then retreated to his cell. Unless it was a sickly patron, the visitor probably wouldn’t be let in. But one day, he feared, it would be the king’s men coming with an English bride for him.
So it surprised Hew moments later to hear the sounds of raised voices coming from the cloister. Seizing his axe, he peered out through the crack of his cell door.
Shite.
On one side of Hamish stood the Laird of Dunlop. On the other appeared to be the Dunlop cooherd. The cooherd was inspecting the animal’s ear notch.
The Boyle brothers paced nearby, bellowing and pointing accusatory fingers at the abbot and the prior, who paled in shock.
Monks milled about in distress and confusion.
And in their midst, like a delicate flower blossom dropped onto a field of thistles, stood Lady Carenza, looking distraught. Out of place. Achingly beautiful.
Though she uttered not a word, he could see the silent misery in her face. Her eyes filled with tears, but she bravely held them back. And she had a white-knuckled grip on the stones of the well.
Hew couldn’t let her languish. He had to come to her rescue.
Without a second thought, he flung open the door and stormed out.
The monks gasped and scattered.
He felt an instant of remorse. After all, monks weren’t used to seeing a warrior crossing the cloister with an axe. Not since his forefathers had raided monasteries centuries ago. But when he beheld the gratitude in Carenza’s face, he knew he’d done the right thing.
The Boyles behaved like a pair of untrained hunting hounds, uncertain whether Hew was a fox for them to chase or a wolf they should fear, and looking to each other for support. They ultimately decided to stand their ground.
“That’s him. That’s the cateran,” the bearded one declared. Then he glanced at Carenza. “The main cateran. There were dozens.”
“Dozens,” the beardless one confirmed. “Aye, but I recognize this one’s axe.”
“Now hold on,” the laird said, stopping them. “So ye’re sayin’ this man and dozens of his fellows reived my coo last night, and he brought the beast here?”
“Aye,” the Boyles replied together.
The laird shook his head. “Lads, I think ye want to be careful who ye’re accusin’ of—”
“They’re right,” Hew intervened before the laird could reveal his name. He lowered his axe, planting it between his feet.
“What?” The laird’s jaw dropped open.
The Boyles looked astonished as well.
The abbot was mortified. “Explain yourself, sir.”
Silently praying for mercy for telling yet another half-truth, Hew said, “’Tis fairly simple. Last night, I was unable to sleep. While ranging afield, I happened upon three caterans fighting over a coo.”
“What?” the bearded Boyle exclaimed.
“We told ye last night we weren’t caterans,” said the beardless one.
His brother gave him a hard elbow in the ribs, realizing he’d said too much.
Hew continued. “I seized the beast, and they scattered, so I ne’er got a good look at their faces.” He glanced at the Boyles, who were wisely silent. “Then, not knowing who the animal belonged to, I brought it to the monastery until the matter could be sorted out.”
The laird nodded, satisfied. Then he turned to the Boyles. “Ye see? A perfectly reasonable explanation.”
Hew noticed Dunlop asked no further questions of the Boyles. He was a wise laird indeed, not wishing to stir up trouble with neighboring clans.
As for the Boyles, they didn’t dare reveal any more of the story and seemed happy to let it lie. Indeed, they decided to leave straightaway for home.
As the laird bid them farewell, Hew let his glance fall on the woman for whom he’d just borne false witness.
He expected her to be relieved. Awestruck. Grateful.
She was none of these. Instead, she looked more miserable than before.
He frowned. Then he realized, of course…
He hadn’t solved her problem.
He’d only solved his.
The laird of Dunlop would take Hamish home now. He’d slaughter the beast along with the rest of the six-years, as planned.
In her eyes, all of it—her efforts, their plan, his rescue—had been for naught.
“Ye can take the hay for your cattle, m’laird,” the abbot offered. “We won’t have any use for it.”
Hew kept hearing the lady’s words in the back of his mind. Hamish saved your life. Ye owe him his.
It was that haunting refrain and the hopeless look in Carenza’s eyes that made him act impulsively yet again.
“How much for the beast?” he blurted out.
“What do ye mean?” the laird asked.
“How much would you take for it?”
The laird blinked. “Ye wish to purchase it.”
“Aye.”
The tightfisted prior scoffed. He had an opinion on that. “We can’t keep a coo.”
The abbot lay a hand on the prior’s forearm, probably envisioning months’ worth of roasts in his future. “If Sir Hew wishes to purchase the animal, who are we to argue with his generosity?”
“How much, my laird?” Hew repeated.
The laird gave him a figure, far less than the beast was worth, perhaps thinking to endear himself to the powerful Rivenloch clan.
“Here is double that,” Hew said, handing over his purse to the laird.
“Double?” the laird exclaimed. “Ye’re certain ye want to do that?”
“Aye.”
One glimpse of Carenza’s relieved smile made it all worthwhile.
It was hours later—watching Hamish in the midst of a diminishing pile of hay and increasing piles of coo shairn—that he realized he was now the proud owner of a beast about which he knew almost nothing.