by B. J. Scott
A sigh of relief slipped past her lips. “Fraser,” she said softly. She did not recognize the name, so as far as she knew, he had nothing to do with the MacLean or Morgan clans. “I’ll admit it was kind of him, but things could have turned out very differently than they did.”
“Fortunately, nothing bad happened, so you can put it behind you,” Lazarus replied. “Fraser and I arrived in time to keep those two blackguards from violating you, and that is what is important. Granted, you did sustain injuries, but your body will heal. No further harm came to you or Quinn. For that we can praise the Almighty.” He crossed himself and uttered a prayer.
“Can we go to town, Sheena?” Quinn asked again.
She brought a hand up to stifle a yawn. Her strength was waning and she was having a hard time staying awake. “It appears I’m outnumbered and dinna have much of a choice,” Sheena conceded while glaring at Lazarus. “But only for a short time and you must return before dark. After which, I want your word that you will go back to the abbey.”
“We will make a quick visit to the vendors in the village for some oats and a few other things you require,” Lazarus said. “But as for leaving, I willna promise you anything.” He tucked the pelt under her chin. “Are you warm enough? Would you like some of the brew I made to ease your pain and help you to relax?”
“Nay. I willna have a problem falling asleep and want to keep my wits about me,” she said. It was becoming more difficult to remain cross with a man who was trying so hard to be sweet and kind.
Lazarus grabbed his hooded cloak and wrapped it around his shoulders. “Try to get some rest. We willna be gone long.”
Sheena watched as Lazarus and Quinn left the hut. She’d rest, but with one eye open, and when they returned, she’d insist Lazarus take his leave.
Lazarus stepped outside, pausing to draw in a deep breath of fresh air. Going into town was risky, but he’d promised the lad and they were in desperate need of supplies. “Have you had any luck catching fish in the stream?”
Quinn shook his head. “I like fishing, but Sheena doesna let me go near the creek alone. She’s afraid I might slip in and drown. Sometimes I’m sure she thinks I’m still a wee babe.”
“Your sister is only looking out for your welfare, lad. We will set some rabbit snares before we go to town, then try our luck at fishing on the way home.” Lazarus tugged the hood of his cloak lower on his brow. “Best we make haste. I’d like to return before Sheena wakes up.”
After setting two traps in the woods behind the hut, Lazarus and Quinn headed to town. He found the lad’s nonstop, lighthearted chatter amusing, but as they approached the village gate, a strong sense of foreboding washed over him.
Every time he visited Berwick, something happened, and Lazarus hoped this day would prove uneventful. He’d remain in the shadows as much as possible, reducing his risk of being seen. He’d narrowly escaped being captured by French soldiers the day he’d rescued Sheena and he planned to keep his head on a swivel. But if he should be recognized, he’d surrender without a fight. He’d do nothing that might jeopardize Quinn’s safety. He clutched the Celtic cross he wore around his neck and said a quick prayer, asking the Lord to guide their way and protect them.
“Do you think we’ll have enough coin to buy some sweetened nuts?” Quinn asked. “I tasted one once at a village fair. The vendor let us sample them, hoping we’d make a purchase. But we dinna have enough money for what Sheena called frivolous things. I know she would enjoy them. And it might help to make her feel better.”
“We’ll have to see. Your sister is right. Getting necessary supplies must take priority, but you never know,” Lazarus replied, smiling. “While in the village, you must stay close to me at all times, and when I say it is time to leave, you must mind.” He glanced down at his monk’s robe, wishing he had a tunic and trews, making him less conspicuous.
“I will.” Quinn led the way through the town gates, then dashed toward the vendor carts.
Lazarus raced to catch up, then grabbed Quinn’s shoulder, halting the lad in his tracks. “I told you to stay close. If you’re not going to listen, we’ll return home right now.”
Quinn lowered his gaze and kicked at a rock, his bottom lip stuck out in a pout. “I’m sorry. But when I saw the sweets, I got excited. I willna run off again. I promise.”
Lazarus could understand Quinn’s enthusiasm, and the lad knew nothing about his risk of being captured by the French Guard, but he needed him to stay close. “See that you dinna dart off again.” He faced the vendor. “We came to town for oats and a few other supplies, but how much for a small sack of sweetened nuts?”
The merchant scratched his chin, then smiled at Quinn. “If you buy your other supplies from my brother’s cart, I’ll throw in a few nuts for a very good price.” He pointed to the vendor next to him. “It is a family business and we share the profits.”
“Can we?” Quinn folded his hands as if in prayer and peered up at Lazarus, while doing his best to keep from bouncing up and down.
Lazarus wandered over to the other cart and glanced at the man’s wares and produce. “I suppose his prices are as good as any.” The quicker they made their purchases and could be on their way home, the better.
The second vendor cocked his head and studied Lazarus. “Are these for the abbey?”
“Nay. Why do you ask?”
“It is odd to see a monk in town with a lad in tow. Is he an orphan?” the man asked. “I’ve heard the monks take in strays.”
Lazarus glared back at the man, his heartless comment hitting a nerve. “Bairns who have lost their parents are na strays. They’re people with the same needs and feelings as any other. It just so happens, his older sister is ill and I offered to escort him to town.”
The man held his hands up in front of him. “I meant no offense. I was merely asking. There have been some French soldiers in the village of late, inquiring about the clerics who live in and around Berwick. They are looking for escaped fugitives, and said to be wary of men posing as priests and monks.”
Lazarus focused on the peddler’s cart rather than looking him in the eye. “I have no knowledge of any such men at Ayton Abbey. I have lived there since I was orphaned and left for dead following the Battle of Berwick-upon-Tweed.”
“A dark day in Scottish history,” the vendor said.
“Aye, it was.” Lazarus quickly changed the subject. “I’ll need some oats, several turnips, and an onion.” He paused, then turned to the first vendor. “And a small sack of sugared nuts.” He nodded at Quinn. “Pay the man.”
Quinn opened his money pouch, plucked out pieces of silver, then placed them on the second vendor’s palm. “I hope this is enough. My sister has been ill and I want to make a gift of the sweets.” He nibbled on his lower lip as the man counted the coins.
“Aye, you have plenty and some to spare.” He handed the change back to Quinn, then quickly gathered the purchased items and gave the bundle to Lazarus. “I hope there are no hard feelings.”
“None. But in future, I hope you’ll think before you pass judgement or speak ill of those less fortunate.” Lazarus tucked his purchases under his arm, then glanced down at Quinn. “Let’s be off. Your sister is awaiting your return.”
“Dinna forget your nuts.” The first vendor held a small canvas bag. “I threw in a few extras to make up for my brother’s loose tongue. This way the lad can have some and give the rest to his ailing sister.”
Quinn snatched the sweets and held them protectively against his chest. “Thank you.”
“That was kind of you,” Lazarus acknowledged. “I have no doubt he will enjoy them.”
As they turned to leave, Lazarus stopped dead in his tracks when he came face-to-face with a man wearing the attire of a French Guard—a sight he’d seen often during his incarceration in the palace pr
ison and something he would never forget.
“Bonjour, friar.”
Lazarus’s mouth went dry when the guard spoke, then he quickly tucked his hands under his arms, hiding the Templar ring he wore and had forgotten to remove before heading into town.
“I see by your attire you are a monk. Might I ask your name?” the guard asked.
Lazarus lowered his gaze, his heart hammering. He had to think fast, but he would not risk putting Quinn in any danger. “I’m not sure why you wish to know, but I’m Brother Thomas,” he lied, hoping the Lord would forgive him, and that Quinn would not contradict him.
“Where are you headed, Brother Thomas?” The guard widened his stance, his hand resting over the hilt of his sword.
“He is taking me home to my sister,” Quinn piped up. “She has been caring for me since my mam died giving birth to me. Sheena has been ill and the brother was kind enough to bring me to town for supplies we need to tide us over until she recovers.”
The guard narrowed his gaze and stared at Lazarus. “Have you or anyone you know had any connection or affiliation with the Knights Templar?”
Lazarus shook his head. “Nay. I spent my whole life at the abbey and have never been beyond Berwick. You are on Scottish soil and a long way from home. These must be dangerous men you seek. Should we be afraid?”
“They escaped from a French prison and made off with a fortune in gold and priceless religious artifacts belonging to the Catholic Church,” the guard replied. “We are here on behalf of King Philip the Tall, and have been granted permission by the King of Scotland to search the towns along the English and Scottish border for these fugitives. And if found, to return them to France to stand trial.”
“I wish we could be of assistance, but I know naught of the men you seek,” Lazarus said. “Now if you would be kind enough to let us pass, I must get the lad home.”
The guard stared at them for a moment before stepping aside. “If you hear of anyone who fits the description, you will be sure to report it, will you not?”
“Of course. May God by with you, my son,” he answered. He made the sign of the cross in the air before ushering Quinn down the path.
“Halt!” the guard called out.
Lazarus stopped and slowly turned around, certain the man had realized he was in fact one of the men he sought. “Aye. Is something amiss, my son?”
“You dropped this.” He held up the sack of nuts.
Before Lazarus could speak, Quinn raced back to the guard. “Thank you. These are a gift for my sister.” He clutched the sweets to his breast and peered up at the guard. “I hope you find the bad men you’re looking for and see them punished.”
“We will ferret them out. No matter where they are hiding,” the guard replied as Quinn sprinted back to Lazarus’s side.
“Thank you and God’s speed,” Lazarus said, almost choking on the words, then he motioned for Quinn to join him. “Let us be away. Sheena is waiting.”
Chapter 7
“Hurry along, lad, and dinna look back.” Lazarus planted his hand on Quinn’s shoulder, urging him forward. The sooner they were out of plain sight, the better.
Quinn moved quickly in response to Lazarus’s prompt. “Why are we in such a rush?”
“The hour grows late and I wish to get back to check on Sheena,” Lazarus replied. “I promised to have you home before dark.”
Quinn looked puzzled. “There is plenty of daylight left and I’m sure Sheena is still asleep. I thought we were going fishing.”
“That will have to wait for another day.” Lazarus didn’t want to disappoint the lad, but he’d taken a risk by going into town, and in his monk’s robe, he stood out in the crowd. He was lucky the guard didn’t question them any further and had let them leave.
“I am grateful you dinna contradict me when I was speaking to the guard,” Lazarus said.
Quinn shrugged. “Sheena taught me never to ask questions when she says something. Even if it isna true. I find it odd though. If I were to lie, she’d tear a strip off my backside.”
“Sometimes the rules for bairns differ than those for persons grown. There are times, when a man must do or say what is necessary to protect himself or his family.”
“Is that why you fibbed to the guard? To protect us?” Quinn asked. “He seemed nice.”
“Looks can be deceiving, and I dinna want to give him any cause to detain us.” Lazarus glanced over his shoulder, then slowed his pace, relieved no one was trailing them. “Your sister was correct when she said you should never lie to your elders or question what they say. She was also right when she advised you against trusting strangers.”
“I dinna know you when you first came to our hut,” Quinn replied. “I let you in and things worked out just fine.”
“That was different. Your sister was injured and needed a healer. You dinna know what that French soldier motives for stopping us might have been.”
“I dinna understand why.” Quinn stopped walking and peered up at Lazarus, scratching his head.
“It is difficult to explain, but the man we met today isna from around here. He is actually from a country called France. Did you na hear the accent when he spoke?”
“Aye. He had an odd brogue I hadna heard afore and I dinna know where he was from. Are you afraid of people from France? Do you know the men he is searching for?”
“Nay. But not all men who visit from other countries are here for honorable reasons. Promise me in future you willna speak to the French guards when in the village.”
Quinn clenched his fist and thumped it against his chest. “I promise. Now can we go fishing?”
Lazarus laughed as he tousled the lad’s hair. “I really think we have been gone long enough. Your sister might need something.”
Quinn pouted. “I suppose you’re right. But I thought some fresh fish would do her well. Aside from a bit of dried venison, it has been a long time since we tasted anything but oatcakes and turnip.” He rubbed his belly.
“We might have caught something in the snares. But we willna know unless we check,” Lazarus said. “Besides, I thought you wanted to surprise your sister with the sweetened nuts you purchased.” He hoped by changing the topic the lad would stop badgering him about fishing and not resume their conversation about the guard. “Perhaps you should try one and make sure they are as good as the vendor promised.”
Quinn needed very little coaxing. He reached into the sack, a broad grin tugging at his lips. “Maybe just one,” he said, then plucked out a nut and popped it into his mouth. He closed his eyes and chewed.
“Well?” Lazarus inquired.
“This is the best thing I have ever tasted. Even better than I remember. Would you like one?” Quinn offered.
“Nay. Save them for Sheena,” Lazarus said, smiling. “Speaking of which, we best get home. She will be wondering what happened to us.”
Quinn nodded and carefully tucked the sack into his belt before sprinting down the path toward the hut.
Lazarus wished he had half the lad’s energy and enthusiasm. He trudged behind Quinn. Figuring out a way to remain hidden while caring for Sheena weighed heavy on his mind.
Frustrated, Sheena stared at the roof of her hut. It wasn’t like her to spend the day abed, let alone nearly a sennight. Surely if she sat up for a bit it couldn’t hurt. The sooner she proved to Lazarus she could fend for herself, the sooner he’d go back to the abbey.
She braced her forearm against her injured ribs, sucked in a fortifying breath, then rolled to her side. So far so good, she thought as she completed the task with less pain than she’d anticipate.
A wave of dizziness washed over her, but quickly subsided. As her vision cleared, she glanced around her hut. Everything was tidy and in its place. A pot of broth simmered over the fire. Lazarus ha
d seen to it along with making countless other repairs while caring for her.
In addition to repairing the hearth so it actually cast heat, he’d patched several holes in the roof, repaired a broken chair, cooked, cleaned, and raised her pallet off the ground so she’d be more comfortable. She had to admit that having a man around had not been so bad. Quinn adored Lazarus, hanging on to his every word. But she feared her brother was getting too attached and was in for great disappointment when the monk left.
Sheena moved to the edge of the pallet, then using her elbow, she pushed herself into a sitting position. Again she waited for the dizziness to pass before dangling her legs over the side, then attempting to stand. An act she quickly regretted. When she took her first step, pain gripped her ankle and lanced up her shin. Before she could sit back down, her leg buckled and she found herself crashing to the floor, jarring her entire body.
“What in the name of St. Stephen are you doing?” Lazarus entered the croft, then dropped his purchases on the table, before rushing to Sheena’s side.
“I was tired of laying abed and wished to get up for a bit.”
“As you can see, that was a mistake. You’re not strong enough to get up on your own,” Lazarus scolded. “You’re lucky we came home when we did. Otherwise you could have lain here for hours.”
“I would have been fine, but my ankle gave way when I tried to walk.” Sheena pointed at her right leg.
Lazarus knelt beside her, then carefully lifted her foot and examined it. “Your ankle is a bit swollen and the skin discolored, but the bones look to be in the right position.” He rocked back on his heels. “I dinna think it’s broken. Why is it you never mentioned your ankle was bothering you?”