’Twas only a fortnight since he had crossed that bridge himself, seeking the same justice from Airdfinnan’s guardian. ’Twas only a fortnight since he and Rodney had barely escaped with their lives.
Clearly, he was not welcome and just as clearly, any attempt he might make to plea Jacqueline’s case would not be heard.
Not if it was made openly.
Angus pursed his lips. Lucifer, he was certain, would be remembered by the sentries. There were not many of his ilk in all of Christendom, fewer still in these hills. Perhaps that was why Jacqueline had been admitted so readily. Even if pursuing her meant his own demise, he had to try to see her free.
Angus would be remembered as well, which would compound the difficulties of retrieving the damsel from an impregnable fortress.
But he had once heard it said that men were more likely to remember the distinctive features of an individual than that man’s face. His eye patch would be recalled, his tunic with its red cross, his flaring red cloak. The accouterments of knighthood would also reveal Angus’s rank and possibly his identity.
He hastily shed his spurs, his cloak, his broadsword, his tunic. His helm was in the stallion’s saddlebags, so ’twas already accounted for. He cast his leather gloves into the pile, then pulled off his boots, for all were too fine to be unremarkable.
He knotted his simple belt again, this time over his chemise and dark tabard alone. He cast aside the scabbard for his dagger and stuck the blade into his belt. ’Twas old and honed many times, sturdy but without ornamentation.
Angus stood, barefoot and garbed in naught but his dark chausses and tabard and his white chemise. Even cleanliness could reveal his station, so he scooped up handfuls of mud and smeared himself with it. He rubbed it into his face and his hair, shoved it under his nails as if he had been filthy for a long time. He tore his chemise in a few places and worked the dirt into its weave as well, then rolled like a pig in the mud.
He separated the white tunic with its red cross, the broadsword, and his red cloak from his belongings. The rest he concealed in the undergrowth, hoping they would remain undiscovered. He stabbed his dagger into the tunic, then cut his hand and let the blood stain around the tear. He had to milk the blood from his own flesh that the mark would be large enough to be convincing, and even then he wished for more.
A weasel had the misfortune to peer at him inquisitively in that moment. The creature gave a merry chase, but it had not Angus’s determination to see Jacqueline freed. Shortly thereafter the tunic boasted a bloodstain of a size sufficient to cast its wearer’s survival in doubt.
Angus bundled it up, gripped his father’s blade, and cast the cloak over his shoulders. He strode through the woods and stole down the steep path to the main road.
But when he stepped out of the shadow of the woods there, he was as a man transformed, so hobbled in one leg that he dragged it behind.
He also dragged his broadsword, as if unable to bear its weight. Angus was loath to lose the heirloom blade, but naught less would persuade his opponent that he ceased to draw breath.
He pledged with every step to see the blade sharpened anew if ever he regained it. Then Angus lurched away from Airdfinnan, knowing ’twould not be long before Father Aloysius sent sentries out in search of prey.
But that man would not find the victim he sought.
Chapter 15
Airdfinnan was more imposing than Jacqueline expected. The walls rose higher and the river was both wider and more agitated than had been visible at a distance. It churned as it passed, murky and heavy.
The sentries barred the bridge with their swords and she reined Lucifer to a halt. They were fully armed, a surprising detail in this apparently peaceful corner of the realm.
Perhaps their guardian took the trusteeship of the King of the Isles most seriously.
Or perhaps he defended Airdfinnan for another reason. Jacqueline wished she had pressed Angus for more of the tale.
One sentry pushed up his visor to consider her, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What happened to the knight who owns this steed?” he demanded by way of greeting.
Jacqueline’s heart sank. Angus had been here, and, worse, she did not know what had transpired. Curse her impatience to see matters righted!
She had best disguise the truth until she was before the priest himself, when she could plea his case.
“I stole his steed and fled,” she declared, which was not entirely untrue. “I seek sanctuary here, and would request an audience with Father Aloysius.”
“How do you know our lord’s name?”
Jacqueline feigned a laugh. “All have heard the repute of Father Aloysius at Airdfinnan, as well as the justice of his administration.”
The men exchanged a glance, then lowered their blades. One took the reins of Lucifer and led the beast across the bridge. Though the bridge was sturdy enough, the surface of the swollen river was treacherously close. Indeed, at one point the water swelled between the chinks of wood.
Lucifer shied when the wood was not fully visible, fighting the bit. The sentry cursed the steed and made to force him onward, but Lucifer was more stubborn. He planted his hooves and refused to move farther. As the sentry cursed and tugged, Lucifer showed his teeth and snorted. When the sentry raised his hand to strike the horse with the ends of the reins, Jacqueline cried out.
“Let me,” she insisted. She slipped from the saddle, waving the man away. He went but two paces and the destrier eyed him balefully. “Leave us,” Jacqueline suggested. “He will not move whilst you are here.”
“He would move if given a sound whipping.”
Jacqueline stroked Lucifer’s nose. “Nay, he probably would not,” she said quietly. The beast exhaled and a shiver rolled over his flesh. She spoke to him quietly as Angus had done, slowly easing away from him. He stretched his neck after her, seeking the reassurance of her touch.
And when she moved beyond his reach, he stepped after her, so intent upon pursuit that he did not note the water swirling around his hooves. Jacqueline whispered and coaxed, rubbing his nose then retreating, until the length of the bridge was behind them. Her own shoes were sodden, as was the hem of her kirtle, but they had made the crossing.
Lucifer snorted and pranced a little when he was on the solid footing beneath the portcullis. Jacqueline smiled and gave his ears a congratulatory scratch, nigh jumping from her skin when a throat cleared behind her.
“And who might you be?”
She spun to find an elderly man standing in the shadows. He was garbed in dark robes that fell to the ground and his head was tonsured, what remained of his hair as white as snow. His eyes were a merry blue, his gaze sharp but kindly. “Father Aloysius?”
“Aye, though I have not the pleasure of your name, child.”
“I am Jacqueline and I seek an audience with you.”
“Indeed.” His gaze flicked over the stallion. “When last I saw this steed, it was ridden by a man claiming to be a knight.”
His choice of words gave Jacqueline pause. “Aye, ’tis a knight’s steed and I confess that I stole the beast, so great was my desire to flee.”
Again, a half truth. The priest watched her carefully. “The roads are thick with brigands in these times.”
“Aye, ’tis true enough.”
“But ’tis uncommon for a woman to travel alone. What brings you so near our gates?”
“I was traveling to the convent of Inveresbeinn, where I am to become a novitiate. I was kidnapped by the man who rode this steed.”
“And you escaped him when?”
“Just this very day.”
Her host pivoted and immediately dispatched a trio of men-at-arms with a command too low for her to overhear. The men mounted their horses and galloped through the gates. He then smiled at her, summoned another man to tend to Lucifer, and gestured through the portal. “Come in, my child.”
Jacqueline looked after the men uncertainly. “Where are they going?”
“It mat
ters not You must be weary. Come in.”
“But—”
“But naught.” The elderly priest shook his head. “Why trouble yourself with the vagaries of the world of men?” His voice was soft and soothing, and he moved slowly, the darkness of his robes making him look frailer than he probably was.
He led her past the heavy wall that encompassed the gates and into the enclosed space. The ground was hard trodden within what of the courtyard she could see, the square building that had seemed so small from a distance looming up before her.
She looked for the garden that she knew must be here, but could not glimpse it. Perhaps ’twas behind the hall. Perhaps ’twas gone. The prospect saddened Jacqueline.
Perhaps Angus spoke aright and Edana truly knew naught of what she spoke.
The shadows of the hall embraced them as they crossed the threshold. This building was only a single story in height, a board set simply in its midst. There was a screen that no doubt hid the living quarters of the priest, and a fire smoked in a brazier. Lanterns flickered, for the windowless hall was dark even in the afternoon. The decor was so plain as to be monastic, with the exception of the large embroidered tapestries adorning the walls.
“Welcome, welcome to Airdfinnan.” Father Aloysius gestured. “If it pleases you, I would have you join me at the board. I would much like to hear of your ordeal and your escape.”
Jacqueline glanced over her shoulder, her head still spinning at how rapidly she had been ushered into the hall and Lucifer led away. “I did not know that monasteries kept men-at-arms.”
Father Aloysius chuckled. “Traditionally they did not, of course. But times change and we are forced to adapt. ’Tis a burden thrust upon us in holding Airdfinnan in trust.”
“But what of the destrier? I should ensure he is settled...”
“Child! ’Tis not fitting labor for a demoiselle. Indeed, you must be sorely troubled after what you have endured at the hands of a lawless rogue.”
He clapped his hands and gave instructions tersely, smiling upon Jacqueline when he was done. “Though ’tis not our custom to entertain women, I shall surrender my corner of the hall to you. I beg of you to consider this as your own home and refresh yourself accordingly.”
Though the bath supplied was only a bucket, Jacqueline delighted in it. Behind the screen, she shed her garments, reassured by the silence that followed the retreat of the men, and gave herself a hearty scrub. The washing cloth supplied was rough, though most effective in scouring away the dirt that covered her.
Even having to dress again in her travel-stained garments did not trouble her, for she felt much better. She rebraided her hair, then stepped out behind the screen once more.
Father Aloysius spoke to one of his charges on the far side of the room, laying a hand upon the man’s head, then turned to Jacqueline when the man retreated. The priest smiled paternally and crossed the hall.
“I thank you for that courtesy,” she said politely. “’Twas most welcome.”
“And I apologize for the simplicity of what we have to offer.” He poured red wine into a waiting silver chalice, then turned and offered it to Jacqueline. “A restorative,” he said with a smile. “I confess ’tis my weakness, wrought of years living in Rome.”
Jacqueline accepted the chalice, surprised by the weight of the silver. ’Twould have been expensive to make, despite its simplicity, and she wished that her brother-in-law Iain, who labored in fine metals, could have the chance to see it.
Though that only made her miss Ceinn-beithe with unexpected vigor.
Another chalice was brought, its lines as simple as the first. Father Aloysius poured himself a draught, then raised his cup to Jacqueline. “To the prevailing of goodness throughout all of Christendom.”
“As God wills it,” Jacqueline replied, then sipped of the wine. ’Twas rich on her tongue and unfamiliar. She had a vague recollection of wine drunk at celebrations at Crevy-sur-Seine, but she had been six years at Ceinn-beithe and was more familiar with their own ale.
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 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 and at how very far away France and Crevy seemed. 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 to an austerity typical of the Cistercian order. Jacqueline glanced up to find the priest watching her with a benevolent smile.
“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 whom?”
“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 as well as cold sliced meat. Jacqueline was ravenous and needed no encouragement to eat, even as her thoughts whirled.
Father Aloysius ate little himself. “You have endured much, I would wager,” he murmured. “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. ’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 down with a thump as if challenging Jacqueline to disagree. A boy hastened forward to refill the cup.
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 be quick to confess his concocted tales and seek to convince all within earshot?
And how would Edana have recognized him on sight and called 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 a prize. Edana had to pay no price for acknowledging Angus, but Father Aloysius would have to cede Airdfinnan. 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 if 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.
Stolen Brides: Four Beauty-and-the-Beast Medieval Romances Page 117