“’Twould indeed have been remarkable,” the master conceded, “though all those years in Outremer should have persuaded you that many incredible things are possible.” He smiled primly. “Is there any other?”
“Iain?” Duncan prompted. “Can you speak for him?”
“Who is this?” the master demanded and Iain stepped forward.
“I am Iain, son of Cormac MacQuarrie, who was the chieftain of clan MacQuarrie and a sworn enemy of Fergus MacGillivray.” He frowned. “And for this reason, I cannot say whether this truly is Angus or not. I knew Angus, but we were mere boys when our fathers quarreled. I have not seen him in over twenty years and ’tis impossible for me to say with any certainty whether this is him or not.”
“I see.” The master looked over the assembly.
“Can the order itself not vouch for the man?” Rodney asked indignantly.
“Though ’tis true you two were hosted at our board but a month past, I have no evidence that either of you are who you claim to be.”
“But there must be records!” Rodney protested.
“There are records of Angus MacGillivray serving the order with distinction, however they do not carry a description of the man in question. And none of us hearken from Outremer. The same argument applies, for even if one of us had been there some fourteen years past, there is no guarantee that his word was of merit then.”
“There is one guarantee,” Father Aloysius declared as he rose to his feet. “I was here at Airdfinnan and have been here almost forty years. I knew Angus MacGillivray and I sewed the crusader’s cross upon his tabard.” He pointed a finger at Angus. “And I know that this man is not Angus, for I do not recognize him.”
“Ah.” The master sat back and templed his fingers together as he looked between the two men. “So ’tis one man’s word against another.”
“Not quite.” Edana spoke with sudden clarity. Indeed, she straightened beside Jacqueline and stepped forward with surety. She cast back her hood and her hair shone white in the sunlight. The years seemed to have slipped from her shoulders and Angus stared at her in astonishment.
Father Aloysius paled. “Annelise!” he hissed. “But, but...”
Edana smiled, turning to survey the assembly. “I thank you, Father Aloysius. I did so fear that since you did not recall my son, you also would not recall me.”
Jacqueline and most of the company gasped in surprise.
“But Annelise is dead.” Father Aloysius shook himself. “I simply mistook you for her. She is long dead and buried in the village.”
The woman shook her head. “One old woman is so much like another, is she not?” she mused. “I fled to Edana, for I had no where else to go. But she was dead when I arrived, an ancient crone cold in her hut in the woods. I waited and then I sent her body to you, claiming ’twas me.” She smiled. “I was so afraid you would be curious enough to look within that sack and that my plan would fail.”
“’Twas putrid and stinking! I could not look within it.”
Edana, who was truly Annelise, laughed. “I so hoped you would not be a man of the same ilk as my Fergus. Fergus would have looked,” she said, looking suddenly as grim as her son could look. “He might have lost a meal, but he would have been certain.”
She offered her hand to Angus, who still shook his head in astonishment. “Mother! I never guessed,” he murmured.
“You never truly looked,” she chided. “You assumed you knew what you would see, so can it be any surprise that you found what you expected?”
“I am sorry, Mother.”
“I am not. In truth, I have dreamed long of this moment.” She gripped his hand tightly and looked back at the Templar master. “This is my son. This is Angus MacGillivray, fruit of my womb, wrought of Fergus MacGillivray’s seed. I shall swear it before you upon any relic you so choose.”
“She lies!” Father Aloysius cried. “She has admitted that she bears a grudge against me. She has joined with a brigand to see her vengeance fulfilled.”
“For what reason would she seek vengeance against you?” the master asked mildly. “I understood that Annelise went mad after the untimely death of her spouse.”
“Because my father and my brother did not die without this man’s aid,” Angus declared, his grip fast upon his mother’s hand.
“All men have need of priest afore they die!” Father Aloysius declared.
“Not all men die because of another man’s intervention,” Angus retorted. “I learned much of poison in Outremer and I know now that the figs you claimed to have been delivered by the favor of Cormac MacQuarrie were poisoned by your own hand.”
“Why? Why would I do such a foul deed?” Father Aloysius appealed to the master. “This is madness!”
“What proof is there of these charges?” the master demanded.
Silence reigned. “There is none,” Angus admitted. “Save the evidence of our own eyes, we who watched two vigorous men wither and fade to naught without warning.”
“So there is no certainty of poison?”
“We were too innocent in those days to have discerned such wickedness.”
The master frowned, Father Aloysius looked triumphant.
Then Father Michael cleared his throat and stepped forward. Jacqueline had not realized he was there and she wondered which side he had chosen in this dispute.
She did not have to wonder long.
“With respect, I must add my commentary in this. ’Tis true that I was not here in those days and witnessed naught, but I have some skill with herbs.” He heaved a sigh. “It may mean naught, but Father Aloysius has oft asked me about the poisons that can be derived from the plants in garden which I tend.”
“I seek only to ensure that none are inadvertently wounded.”
“Perhaps, but I must confess that I find your persistence in seeking such details to be troubling.”
“Then you are lacking in caution,” the older priest maintained crisply. “Any to fall ill within these walls would be my burden to heal. It only makes sense to ensure that I know the risks that surround us, and the symptoms of their appearance.”
“Perhaps. But then, how would one explain this?” Father Michael removed a box from his sleeve, one so familiar that Jacqueline caught her breath.
“’Tis the one from the kitchen!” a boy cried. “The one kept always on the top shelf.”
Father Aloysius turned on the boy. “I told you to guard it with your life!”
“I thought someone else had put it away.” The boy retreated red-faced from the glare Father Aloysius bestowed upon him.
“You are concerned with this box,” the master commented.
Father Aloysius smiled. “’Tis rare indeed to have such a rich gift sent to us. I would not see it wasted.”
“From whom was it sent?”
“I do not recall.”
The cook cleared his throat. “’Twas not a gift, my lord. You requested we send for figs when next we ordered wine from the shipyards in London.”
“Ah. Of course.” Father Aloysius smiled. “I had forgotten. All the more reason to savor a treat acquired with one’s own coin.”
Father Michael shook his head. “I would not suggest that any partake of this fruit. It has been poisoned, just as this knight suggests was done before.”
He offered the box to the master who took one fig and sniffed it. “You are certain?”
Father Michael nodded.
The master looked unpersuaded.
Father Aloysius smiled. “’Tis whimsy.”
“Perhaps you would care for a fig, then,” the master offered solicitously and none missed the way the priest shrank back from the box.
“’Tis not my taste.”
“I thought it might not be.” The master surveyed the documents before himself, then nodded. “There is another item of which we must speak. You should know, Father Aloysius, that I have received some correspondence from the archbishop himself.”
“How pleasant.”
>
“Perhaps not. He expresses concern with the lack of tithes delivered from your holding to the coffers of the diocese. It seems that many promises have been made, but no coin has been forthcoming. He asked me to visit you—though indeed, these matters have hastened my arrival—in order to determine the root of the problem.”
Father Aloysius licked his lips then glanced from one knight of the order to the next. ’Twas clear to all involved that the archbishop believed some persuasion was necessary to encourage the delivery of those tithes.
“We have had a number of poor years here at Airdfinnan. Tithes are not what they were.”
The master’s gaze never swerved from Father Aloysius. “Cook, when did you last order wine from London?”
“In March.”
“Is this customary?”
“At least twice a year, sometimes thrice.”
“And how much did you order?”
The cook named a quantity that made the brows of more than one man rise.
“Does the entire household drink of this wine?”
“Nay. Not regularly.”
“How much did you spend?”
The cook answered dutifully.
The master sat back and Father Aloysius looked somewhat less confident than he had before. “How remarkable that there would be such a sum available for wine, when the land was so impoverished.”
“Revenue from previous years.” Father Aloysius smiled. “Skillfully managed.”
“Yet not so skillfully managed that a single denier has made its way to the archbishop in five years. I suspect he will be skeptical of the skill of your management.” The master snapped his fingers, pointed to four of his men and flicked his hand toward the hall. “Fetch the contents of the treasury.”
“Nay!” Father Aloysius sprang to his feet, his dismay evident.
“I would suggest you be seated, Father Aloysius. They are most clever men and undoubtedly do not need your aid in this matter.” He smiled coolly. “Especially as there is so little wealth here in Airdfinnan, according to your own claim.”
Jacqueline would have wagered the opposite, by the priest’s agitated manner. His fingers worked incessantly, his composure considerably less than it had been. He straightened when two of the men reappeared, settling back when he saw that they carried only a small chest between them.
’Twas laid at the master’s feet and opened. The master reached in and metal gleamed in his palm. “Three silver pennies. ’Twould indeed seem that matters are most dire.”
Father Aloysius smiled but had no chance to speak before Angus turned and strode toward the hall. “Where is he going?”
Annelise smiled. “Angus MacGillivray knows this keep better than any other. There are none more inquisitive than young boys.” She raised her brows and continued mildly. “Though, of course, as you are certain that he is an imposter, you have naught to fear.”
Father Aloysius, on the contrary, looked most fearful. Angus called for help and Jacqueline was not alone in watching the door. The Templars soon reappeared, lugging heavy sacks.
“I see that loose board has yet to be repaired,” Angus murmured and his mother chuckled. The men cast the sacks on the ground. The master untied the top one, reached in and removed a gold coin. He bit it, nodded at its authenticity, then turned to Father Aloysius for an explanation.
“Nay!” Father Aloysius cried and leapt to his feet. “’Tis mine, all mine! ’Tis wealth I deserve and wealth I shall spend for the greater glory of God!”
He snatched at the top sack but the master grabbed it. Father Aloysius seized the one immediately below and fled through the courtyard. To Jacqueline’s astonishment, the men parted ranks and let him go. She looked at Angus in consternation and he smiled slowly at her.
What did he know that she did not?
A shout carried from beyond the gates, followed by a splash. The master rolled his documents again and refastened the ties about them, apparently unperturbed. “I make my decision in your favor, Angus MacGillivray. Though ’tis not binding, I would be pleased to add my appeal should you petition the archbishop for the release of your hereditary property.”
The master looked up as Angus bowed. “The donation of the missing tithes would, of course, strengthen your chances of success considerably. And I have heard rumors, as well, that both kings are troubled by the possibility of Airdfinnan, a particularly key location, falling under the influence of their enemies. You would be well-advised to make your allegiances soon to best clarify matters.”
“I appreciate your news, your counsel and your support.” Angus bowed again and the master smiled.
“And I appreciate your earlier counsel and your return. Welcome home, Angus of Airdfinnan. Men of your ilk are welcome where they find themselves.” He stood and they shook hands firmly. “I look forward to a neighbor upon whom we can rely.”
“My lord master!” one of the men cried from the gate. “Father Aloysius has fallen into the river and disappeared!”
“Fallen?”
“He jumped, my lord, when he saw our sentries blocking the end of the bridge.”
“But did he not swim?”
“He clutched a sack, sir, and would not release it. Indeed, we offered him aid, but he spurned us to cling to his prize. He sank and did not rise again, until his body was downriver and devoid of life.”
The assembly exchanged glances of horror, until Father Michael stepped forward. “A priest could not kill himself,” he said sternly. “For then he would be denied burial in sacred ground.”
“It must have been a slip then,” the master conceded, even as he held the young priest’s gaze steadily. “Let us be charitable to those who have departed this earth, in the hope that others will judge us with equal charity.”
“Amen,” said Father Michael and the assembly echoed his blessing.
“But what of the treasure?” Jacqueline asked in frustration, even more confused when Angus and the master began to smile. “Surely there is naught amusing in losing it to the river?”
Angus stepped forward and opened the sacks, spilling the small stones that filled them onto the ground. It seemed that only the one set directly beside the master, the small one, was topped with golden coins. “Some men are worth their weight in gold,” he said.
“While others are not,” the master concluded firmly. “One does not win the trust of kings in matters of finance by being careless with riches. Your scheme was most fitting, Angus of Airdfinnan.”
“And your men were most adept at gathering suitable pebbles as well as switching the contents of the sacks.” Chatter broke out among the other men and the master began to converse with his aide.
Angus stood then and turned to Jacqueline, his expression inscrutable as he approached her. “There then is the end of your tale, Jacqueline.”
Jacqueline’s mouth went dry for she was certain Angus would ask her a question of great import. After all, he had proven himself and she had already pledged her love. But he said naught, simply watched her.
Duncan came to stand beside her. “I will escort you to Inveresbeinn, if you so desire.” He glanced between the two of them when neither moved, a curious expression lighting his features, then addressed Angus. “I must admit that when my wife heard a knight had captured her daughter, she made certain conclusions about your intent.”
“Indeed?”
“Indeed. She is of French origin and assured me that ’tis not uncommon for knights there to seize a woman they would wed. She thought you might be seeking a bride.”
“Then she thought wrongly,” Angus said so flatly that Jacqueline could not misconstrue his meaning. “I seek naught but Airdfinnan.”
“And if ’tis returned to you?”
“Then I shall administer it. Alone.”
The two men stared at each other, each one’s gaze as steady as the other’s. “Has he touched you, Jacqueline?” Duncan asked, his voice low. “For if he has, I will compel him to treat you with honor.”
“Nay,” she said quietly, biting out the words. “He has been a man of honor.”
Angus, to his credit, flinched. ’Twas so subtle a move that Jacqueline doubted that any saw it beyond herself.
She gritted her teeth and made to turn away, furiously blinking back her tears. Duncan said naught but offered his arm, his expression grim.
“Jacqueline.”
She halted but did not turn when Angus uttered her name. He came to her side and she did not look up, for she feared he would see the expectation in her eyes.
“My mother granted me this last eve, and it seems now ’twould be a fitting token for you.” A lump rose in Jacqueline’s throat, but Angus offered a small branch of some flower.
’Twas heather, she saw as she accepted it, though the blossoms were white. It had been dried carefully, perhaps the previous autumn. Jacqueline looked up to find Angus sober. “She told me then ’twas a symbol of hope conquering adversity.” He smiled crookedly. “That seems indeed to be the gift you have brought to this endeavor. I thank you.”
Jacqueline stared at him, her heart in her throat. When he said naught more, she dropped her gaze and made to turn away.
“I would have one token from you, before you leave.”
Anything! Jacqueline’s heart cried, but she forced her voice to remain calm. “Aye?” She studied him, unable to fathom his thoughts.
“Aye. A single strand of your hair, if ’tis not too bold to ask.”
She glowered at him that he should ask for such a token. “Why?”
Angus seemed confused by her question. “Because ’tis unlike I have ever seen. It seems wrought of spun sunlight and is marvel finer than gold.”
Because ’twas beautiful. Now Jacqueline was prepared to weep in truth, but she would not do so before him. She separated a strand and wrenched it from her scalp, fairly tossing at him in her annoyance with him.
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