Wine was a luxury that must be imported from more southern climes and cursedly expensive here where few trading ships came. Indeed, Eglantine and Ceinn-beithe’s priest had long past decided that circumstances demanded water would serve for communion. ’Twould be changed to the blood of Christ regardless.
Jacqueline took another sip, marveling at the memories the taste provoked in her and how very far away France and Crevy seemed to be. Yet even distant Crevy was not a quarter the distance that Angus had traveled.
In spite of the silver chalice and wine, Father Aloysius seemed to keep an austerity typical of the Cistercian order. Jacqueline glanced up to find the priest watching her, a benevolent smile upon his features.
“There, you look more at ease.”
“Are you of the Cistercian order?” she asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I had thought that you were the abbot and priest of a monastery hereabouts and the simplicity of the hall puts me in mind of the Cistercians who shun worldly riches. To what order is the monastery a daughter house?”
“’Tis not a daughter house any longer,” he said firmly. “I cede to the authority of none.”
Jacqueline hid her surprise at this. She fingered the chalice and considered those three vows of which Angus seemed determined to remind her.
What of poverty?
“Save Rome itself,” she could not help but chide.
He smiled. “Of course. Do not misinterpret me—I simply do not believe that the will of God is well served by tiers of authority. The tithes then rise proportionately to support administration, instead of being spent upon the sick and the needy, as must be truly God’s will.” He waved a hand at the interior of the hall. “Similarly, there is no merit in lavish spending upon plate and ornament when there is labor of substance to be done in the world.”
“Is Airdfinnan a monastery now?”
“Nay.”
Jacqueline frowned. “But how then does a priest come to hold sway over such a key fortification? Surely the concerns of the secular world are not your own?”
Father Aloysius shook his head. “If only they were not. I hold Airdfinnan in trust, and ’tis a fearsome burden to be sure.”
“In trust for who?”
“In trust for a man who in all likelihood is dead.” Father Aloysius sighed with the weight of his burden. “The second son of Fergus MacGillivray, that illustrious chieftain who put his trust in me, is named Angus. He departed on crusade some fifteen summers past and there has been no word of him. Only God knows if he has gone to his reward or if he someday will return.” The priest smiled. “We can only remain vigilant and protect his inheritance in the hope of his return.”
Servants brought bread and cheese to the board, as well as cold sliced meat. Jacqueline was ravenous after her days of meager fare with Angus and needed no encouragement to eat, even as her thoughts whirled.
Father Aloysius ate little himself but evidently took delight in watching her sate her own hunger. “You have endured much, I would wager. How long has been your ordeal?”
Jacqueline frowned. “I am not certain. Four days perhaps.”
“You must have been terrified at what such a man might do to you.”
“Aye, at first I was.”
His white brows rose. “Only at first?”
Jacqueline held his inquisitive gaze. “I quickly realized that he was not only a knight but a man of honor. He is Angus MacGillivray, but then you must know the truth of it, for you all recognize his steed.”
The priest shook his head and leaned forward. “Oh, my child, you are indeed too trusting of the world and the wickedness of men. ’Tis true enough that a man came here, upon the steed you now ride, and also true that he made his claim of being Angus MacGillivray. He is not that man. He is naught but an imposter, a thief who would steal what is not his to claim.” He leaned over to pat her hand. “He has a certain confidence in his lies. I am not surprised that an innocent maiden like yourself was so readily deceived.”
“But how do you know that he is not who he claims to be?”
“I knew Angus MacGillivray.” The priest’s gaze hardened. “I sewed the crusader’s cross upon his tunic with my own hands. And I do not know this man. He lies, ’tis as simple as that.”
He spoke with heat, then drained his cup, setting it back on the board with a thump as though he would challenge Jacqueline to disagree. A boy hastened forward to the fill the cup once more.
Jacqueline stared at the remnants of her meal and wondered if she had erred. Could Angus have deceived her? Was it possible that he was not who he claimed to be? He could have lied to Rodney, who was not of these parts.
But he knew the land as one raised here and she could not imagine that he lied when he finally told her his tales. Surely if he sought to fool others, he would quick to confess his concocted tales and seek to convince all within earshot?
And how would Edana have recognized him on sight and call him by his name if he were not the man he claimed to be?
She glanced around herself once more and decided that Airdfinnan was not so small of a prize. Edana had to pay no price for acknowledging Angus, but Father Aloysius would have to cede Airdfinnan. She wondered how many monasteries in Scotland could afford to indulge the priest’s taste for wine.
A lump rose in Jacqueline’s throat for she realized the tenuousness of her situation somewhat too late to repair it. ’Twas not reassuring to realize that Angus had tried to warn her.
She glanced up to find the priest’s gaze bright upon her and forced a smile as though naught troubled her. “I did not realize there was a monastery in these parts,” she said, her tone light. “Where is your foundation?”
“’Twas nestled in the woods on the far side of the valley, but we moved within these walls at the request of Fergus himself when he knew himself to be leaving this life.” Father Aloysius crossed himself at the mention of his deceased benefactor. “And shortly thereafter, much of the foundation burned to the ground, a tragic incident but perhaps a sign of God’s intent that we should remain protected by these walls in such times of turbulence. There are still a few monks who choose to live there.”
The armed guards thus kept not only that turbulence at bay but ensured that none could recapture Airdfinnan.
“What will happen to Airdfinnan if Angus never returns?”
Father Aloysius smiled. “That remains to be seen. The King of the Isles would have Airdfinnan held by hands he can trust, though I believe we have shown our trustworthiness these fifteen years. And King William of Scotland would make it his own to grant to one of his allies, if he had the choice. Perhaps ’tis better for all to have such a key holding in the hands of the just authority of the church.”
So ’twas not only Angus who chafed for possession of Airdfinnan.
“’Tis fortunate indeed that you were still here, that you might recognize an imposter for what he was.”
Father Aloysius’ smile was cold. “He was not the first and he will not be the last. ’Tis my sacred duty to protect Airdfinnan from all who would seize it for their own greed alone.”
Their conversation was interrupted by hoof beats on the wooden bridge beyond the gates. The sound echoed so loudly that it could not be missed.
Father Aloysius rose, his gaze bright. “And? What has been discovered? Bring the men here to me, immediately!”
In short order, the three men he had dispatched made haste to the board. All three fell to one knee in homage to the man acting as their liege lord. Jacqueline wondered what pledge of fealty Father Aloysius had demanded of them. She then frowned as the one furthest from her flicked back his cloak.
’Twas of deepest crimson and she knew the price of red dye well enough. Nay, this man could not have afforded this cloak.
And indeed, he had not worn it when he left. She would have remembered as much. Her mouth went dry, for she feared she knew precisely where he had found it.
Though the man who had worn i
t this morn would not have surrendered it easily. Jacqueline gripped the board, fearing the news they brought.
“He is dead, my lord. Cut down in the road and left to the picking of beggars.” The middle one then offered a sword and a familiar though blood-stained tabard.
Jacqueline leapt to her feet. “You killed him!” she cried in outrage. “You killed him to ensure he could not press his claim to Airdfinnan! You are no priest—you are a murderer!”
The accusation was out before she considered the wisdom of uttering it. Jacqueline clapped her hand over her mouth in horror and stared at Father Aloysius.
That man waited, then responded with surprising calm. “You must forgive our guest for her outburst. She has endured a most fearsome ordeal these past days.” Father Aloysius shook his head. “And indeed, ’tis not uncommon to hear that captives become sympathetic to the aims of their captors.”
Jacqueline did not believe her trust of Angus was displaced but she held her errant tongue.
The priest took the tunic that had once been white and shook it out, ensuring that all saw the fullness of the stain. Jacqueline knew the color drained from her face, for none could have survived any wound that would make the blood pour with such vigor.
The priest accepted the broadsword with a satisfied smile, a blade that Jacqueline not only recognized but knew that Angus would not surrender willingly, she could not take a breath.
Surely Angus was not dead? But ’twas unmistakably the sword of Fergus MacGillivray. There could not be two thus in all of Christendom. What had happened to its bearer? Jacqueline swallowed and prayed for Angus with such fervor as she had never shown in prayer before.
“You have brought his corpse?” the priest asked, his fingertip trailing over the distinctive hilt of the blade. He flicked a glance to Jacqueline and smiled coolly. “’Tis our Christian duty to ensure that even this criminal might be buried with some grace.”
“Nay, my lord, we never saw it.”
Father Aloysius’ eyes flashed even as Jacqueline caught her breath with new hope. “What nonsense is this?”
“We found the tunic and the blade.”
“Found? Found?” He crumpled the tunic in his fist and cast it on to the board. “How does a dying man shed his belongings, without leaving his corpse?”
The men looked between each other. “’Twas an old beggar, a leper, who found him in truth. He was dragging his plunder all away, intent on having compense for his find from the Templar house some ways east of here. We relieved him of his booty.”
“And you let him go?”
At their sheepish nods, Father Aloysius roared. “But what of the corpse?”
“His directions were so garbled, my lord, that we could not retrace his steps and indeed, night was beginning to fall.”
“We desired only to bring you the news you awaited with all haste.”
Father Aloysius was not pleased by this, though Jacqueline was delighted. At least there was not proof that Angus had died—which meant she could hope anew for his survival. “Why did you not bring the man here? How else are we to be certain he speaks the truth?”
The men grimaced, and only one had the courage to speak in a hushed whisper. “But he was a leper, my lord.”
“We could not bring him here, lest he infect all.”
“Edmund was the only one to touch him, and look how he scratches at his hand already.”
The man who must be Edmund, the one who wore Angus’ red cloak, scratched his wrist furtively. “Would you bless me, my lord?”
“And why should I bless you when you have failed in such a simple task?” the older man snapped. “You have no evidence that a man is dead unless you see his body with your own eyes.”
The men stared at the priest in silence, until Father Aloysius heaved a sigh and rubbed his brow. “I apologize for my anger. I am most vexed that we are tormented by this criminal and would merely have assurance that he will plague us no longer.”
“Aye, my lord.”
Father Aloysius placed a hand upon Edmund’s brow and muttered a blessing, which seemed to relieve the man in question. Then he spoke firmly. “You will return to the site where you found this leper. You will bring me the body of the man who wore this tunic, or you will bring me the leper, or you will not return to this hall. Do you understand?”
“But my lord...”
“But naught! I must have proof that this brigand who feigns to be the heir of Airdfinnan is truly dead. Already he abducted this novitiate traveling to her convent and deceived her fully. Truly, there is no telling what other wicked deeds he has performed. I must know that he draws breath no longer if I am to sleep at night.”
“Aye, my lord.” They bowed and backed out of the hall, Edmund pausing to scratch his hand.
Jacqueline knew she had not heard the last of her outburst, though she understood that Father Aloysius would say naught before others. She took a step back when he turned to face her, his expression so ominous that she feared her own fate.
“Rest assured, Jacqueline,” he said smoothly, “that I shall not let you depart from this keep until I am assured of your safety.”
“But I thought to go immediately to Inveresbeinn.”
“’Twould be most treacherous.” The boy refilled the wine goblets and Jacqueline understood that this show of concern was for his benefit. “As your host, I cannot allow you to risk your own life so foolishly. Let us see this matter resolved fully first.”
Father Aloysius smiled, but his expression no longer seemed so kindly. “I am certain the abbess will understand. In the meantime, I will pray that you are released from the wicked delusions this man has obviously fostered within you.”
Jacqueline realized that she would not be suffered to leave Airdfinnan without Father Aloysius’ approval, and that he would not give it. She was a prisoner here, and at his dictate.
Oh, she should have listened to Angus’ warnings!
Indeed, she wondered how much the old priest guessed of her regard for Angus beyond her sympathy for that knight’s plight. She realized with dawning horror that she was being kept captive here not only to keep her silent concerning Angus’s claim, but to bait the trap.
The priest believed her presence would draw Angus back to Airdfinnan. She could not be the cause of his demise!
Father Aloysius reached across and patted her hand once more, his tone sympathetic. “You are fortunate indeed to have escaped a man who scorns the law of men and God. You will see this in time, my child.” He glanced over the board. “Perhaps a sweet to end your meal?”
’Twas appalling that he could think of such social niceties at such a moment. Either Angus was dead or the departed men would ensure he was shortly. She hoped against hope that he had outwitted them and would do so again, but she feared for him.
They were three and he was one, after all.
Even worse, she knew ’twas her fault that he was hunted. If not for her, Angus would have been leagues away.
Before Jacqueline could reply, the priest had summoned a boy. “Go, Gillemichel, and fetch the box of figs for our guest, the one upon the high shelf in the kitchen.”
The boy flicked her a look that would have meant naught to Jacqueline, had she not heard Angus’ tale. As ’twas, her heart quickened in dread.
Figs! It seemed that Angus was not to be the only one who never returned from Airdfinnan.
Father Aloysius smiled at her as the boy disappeared. “We are honored to have received such a rich gift from visiting priest. You must partake of this luxury.”
“I am afraid I have no taste for figs,” Jacqueline lied, “although your generosity is indeed gracious.”
The priest’s smile faded. “Nonsense! You are merely polite in declining extravagance. No doubt your mother raised you well.”
“Aye she did, but ’tis true enough that I cannot bear to swallow figs.”
His eyes narrowed. “’Tis unusual to have such a distaste of a foreign luxury. Most would welcom
e the chance to indulge.”
“True.” Jacqueline managed a thin smile. “And ’tis foolish of me, perhaps. But I once heard a tale of a man killed by poison hidden in figs and since then I cannot force them down my throat. I would not waste your treasure, though your generosity in offering them is most appreciated.”
They stared at each other, unsmilingly, each understanding the position of the other with painful clarity. The boy slipped the box onto the table, glanced between them, then retreated.
Neither touched the box.
“You should have one,” Jacqueline suggested, the devil having claimed her tongue. “Do not desist on my account, I beg of you. I should feel terrible if my whimsy tainted your delight in such a precious gift.”
His lips tightened. “In truth, I have eaten too much this day. Perhaps another time.”
Or perhaps not. Jacqueline was glad she had eaten well before Father Aloysius guessed her support of Angus. She might not dare to eat again within these walls.
She wondered how long she would be here. None even knew of her presence here, so none would be inclined to rescue her. Save Angus, who was in no position to aid her. And if he came for her, they both would disappear. Despair swept over Jacqueline and she blinked back tears. The priest left her there, evidently confident that there was nowhere she might flee. The two guards hovering at the door watched her warily.
Jacqueline looked at the stained tunic abandoned upon the board and felt sickened by its portent. She folded her arms about herself and shivered. She had thought to do right, but had disregarded Angus’ counsel and her plans had gone sadly awry.
But ‘twas Angus who undoubtedly would pay the ultimate price. Aware of the watchful gazes of the guards but uncaring who witnessed her grief, Jacqueline bowed her head and wept for what she had wrought.
* * *
Angus had forgotten the grill.
Oh, he had a vague recollection of his father’s long ago threat to put a metal grill over the drainage hole from inside the fortress. But on that day, some twenty years before this one, he and Ewen had been so impressed with their own cleverness in breaking into the keep without the sentries spotting them that they had not paid much attention to their father’s bluster. Fergus MacGillivray has always taken such pride in his claim that Airdfinnan was secure beyond belief that they had expected him to roar when proven wrong.
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