by Diana Cosby
Elspet gasped. “A secret hideaway?”
“Aye,” the priest replied. “If ’tis necessary to remain there for a few days, a candle and flint are in the chest below, along with supplies and several blankets. If a threat requires that you escape, the chamber narrows to a tunnel that exits a distance into the forest.”
Her shoulders sagged with relief. Though danger still existed, to know they couldn’t be trapped inside… “You have thought of everything.”
“I canna accept the praise of the design. “The cottage was prepared for my use,” he said. “I but live here, and I assure you, I am immensely grateful for the details considered in the planning.”
“As I and pray we dinna need to use the hidden chamber or tunnel.” Elspet glanced at Cailin, perplexed at the lack of surprise on his face, as if he’d expected some such twist, then gave an internal shrug as exhaustion set in. He was as tired as she, and his concerns were no doubt focused on his uncle’s men in search of them.
She picked up her mug and plate and cleaned them off before heading to her bed. As she climbed in, she glanced over, noted that Cailin and the priest were deep in conversation.
Wind howled outside, reminding her of their night in the cave, of how he’d held her and the comfort she’d felt in his arms. For that brief time, in contrast to the terror of the past few days, she’d felt a sense of rightness.
After making the sign of the cross, Elspet pressed her hands together in prayer. “ʻHail Mary, full of grace,’” she whispered, pouring her soul into each word, each verse drenched with regret. After she finished, she repeated the prayer two more times, then again made the sign of the cross. Though she’d completed her penance, guilt twisted in her gut.
What of Blar? Please God let him be alive, and let them find a way to save him.
Her lids heavy with sleep, Elspet turned toward the wall. She ached for her parents as well, wished back the time, wished that she could tell them how much she loved them.
The quiet voices of Father Lamond and Cailin reached her, a reminder that she wasn’t alone.
More than ready to erase her thoughts, she closed her eyes and succumbed to sleep.
* * * *
Hours later, at the slide of parchment, Cailin withdrew his sgian dubh and sat up, forcing the remnants of sleep from his mind. A fire blazed in the hearth, and Elspet lay unmoving on the small bed facing the wall. He glanced toward the hearth. A sliver of morning light slipped from beneath the cloth covering the window and fell upon the priest as he sat before the hearth.
The cleric glanced over. “I didna mean to wake you,” he whispered, nodding at Elspet, who still slept nearby, her face relaxed and looking impossibly innocent.
Cailin sat up and rubbed his face, the grittiness of his eyes assuring him that he could sleep several more hours, a luxury he couldn’t take given the situation. “’Tis time I was awake. I need to make another search of the surroundings to ensure nay one is about.”
The priest raised a brow. “Again? But you went out several times during the night.”
“Aye, and will continue to do so as long as Elspet and I remain here. Though I havena seen anything suspicious, with my uncle’s men in search of us, we are far from safe.” He paused. “How long have you been awake?”
“But a short while. I was gathering a few documents you will need.”
The gravity in his voice had Cailin shoving up from the pallet and crossing the room to join the priest. In front of the aged wood chest, a complex Celtic design was carved around a cross. Inside lay several rolled parchments, one of them stamped with King Robert’s blood-red royal seal.
Father Lamond lifted the one bearing the sovereign’s stamp. “’Tis for you.”
Cailin frowned. “King Robert mentioned no other documents than the detailed map of Tiran Castle.”
“Our sovereign decided that due to the dangerous travel, ’twas best to say naught until you arrived. Open it; ’tis proof to reclaim your inheritance.”
“I have proof,” he said, more confused. “The sword you recovered years ago and gave to the Bruce bears my family’s coat of arms.”
“Indeed, but this will end any questions of those who dare challenge you once you seize Tiran Castle.”
Cailin broke the seal. Wax snapped and red shards scattered upon the wooden floor. He unrolled the document and scanned the contents. His fingers tightened on the parchment as he lifted his gaze to the priest. “’Tis a writ bestowing on me the title of earl and the holdings of Dalkirk, signed by my father.”
“Aye. Before your father and mother were killed, there was deep unrest upon Dalkirk lands. Your father confided in me that something was greatly amiss. Livestock was being slaughtered, homes burned, and families killed. Several times, your father found tracks leading away from the crimes. Even with the help of his brother, Gaufrid, he couldna discover who was behind the violent acts.”
“Of course not,” he scoffed, furious anew at his uncle’s black heart, “as ’twas my uncle who was behind the evil. Then, once I, too, was dead, Gaufrid could claim my inheritance without challenge.”
“Wisely, in case something untoward were to happen to your father, he drew up this document.” The priest’s gaze narrowed. “You need to know that your uncle was riding with your parents and me and several others during the hunt when the accidents occurred. Your father was horribly injured, but before he was taken to the castle with your mother, he confided in me ’twas your uncle who had attacked them. A short time after we reached the stronghold, Gaufrid came to me, visibly upset. He shared that both your mother and father had died, and due to your father’s horrible wounds, he had already made arrangements for them to be buried and asked that I say a prayer where they now rested.”
Images of standing beside his parents’ gravestones flickered in Cailin’s mind, and a fresh wave of fury surged through him. Aye, despising his brother and sister-in-law so, Gaufrid had even deprived his parents of a proper burial. Cailin ached to wrap his hands around his uncle’s neck, to watch as the life ebbed from the bastard’s eyes. “He will pay for his betrayal by my hand,” he hissed, “that I swear.”
The priest laid a hand on Cailin’s shoulder. “I shall pray for you, but naught will be easy about reclaiming your birthright.”
“It willna, but whatever risk it takes, I will prevail.” Jaw tense, he returned the parchment to the trunk, then closed the cover. “Keep this, along with any other important documents that I will need until I have defeated my uncle.”
“Aye.” Father Lamond walked to the hearth, ladled out a bowl of porridge for Cailin, another for himself, and brought them over to sit on a nearby bench. “Here, ’tis a bit of ground cinnamon.” The cleric stirred a pinch of spice into his food, then a touch into his own.
Though not hungry, Cailin swallowed a bite of the warm honey-and-oat mixture, enjoying the taste of the flavorful spice.
Father Lamond ate several scoops, then lifted his gaze to Cailin. “You have grown into a fine man. Your parents would have been proud of you.”
His fingers tightened on the spoon as he stirred the dark brown spice.
“You lived with the Templars after you were rescued?”
“I found a life there, but then,” he said, realizing the priest’s source, “King Robert probably told you my story.”
He shrugged. “While talking about our Templar ties, he may have mentioned the fact.”
Incredulous, Cailin’s hand on his spoon stilled. “Our Templar ties?”
“Aye.” Father Lamond’s gaze grew faraway. “Many years ago, I was of the Brotherhood and fought in the Holy Land. But during battle, I was injured. I was blessed to find a home, along with the title of priest and a post at Tiran Castle. A position offered through the Bruce’s influence.”
And apparently another reason Rónán had visited. What else had King Robert not revealed t
o him? “Did my father know?”
“Know what?” Elspet’s sleepy voice asked.
Cailin shot the priest a warning glare. “Of my uncle’s treachery.”
The pad of footsteps grew closer as she walked over, favoring her right ankle. She knelt beside the hearth, her chestnut hair neatly braided as she held up her hands to the flames.
Cailin’s body tightened with awareness.
She glanced at the bubbling stew. “The porridge smells wonderful.”
The cleric filled the bowl, sifted the spice atop. “Here, my child.”
“I thank you.” Pleasure shimmered in her eyes as she inhaled the rising steam. “Cinnamon!”
“’Twas always a favorite of yours when you visited,” he said with a smile.
She sat in a chair opposite the bench, and her eyes warmed with appreciation as she took a taste. “’Tis wonderful.”
Cailin ate another bite, wanting more time alone to speak with Father Lamond. Though injured, that the priest had knowledge and experience in the Brotherhood was a boon. A fact King Robert would understand and no doubt the reason he’d sent him to meet with the cleric.
Elspet dipped her spoon into the fare, then lifted her gaze to Cailin’s with concern. “You slept well?”
He shrugged. “In between rounds.”
She sighed and swallowed several more spoonfuls of porridge. “Have you decided what to do next?”
“’Tis imperative that I gain entrance into Tiran Castle, take stock of what I am up against: men, arms, defenses.”
“I agree,” the priest said. “I have a way for you to enter the stronghold without suspicion.”
Cailin finished the last of his meal, then set the bowl aside. “How?”
“You will”—mischief glinted in the priest’s eyes as he buttered a chunk of bread—“dress as a monk.”
“And easily move about the castle without suspicion,” Cailin said.
“Indeed. I will make you a list of trustworthy contacts within the stronghold and, hopefully,” he said, his eyes shifting to Elspet, “you can find out about Blar.”
“’Tis perfect,” Elspet said. “No one will question us if we are but traveling through.”
Cailin shook his head. “’Tis too dangerous. You will stay here.”
Green eyes narrowed. “Nay more dangerous than for you. More importantly, too many years have passed since you saw anyone within the castle. As I said before, I doubt you will recognize, if you are lucky, but a few people. Nor do you have the luxury of time to covertly discover the answers you seek or the people you need to find.”
Father Lamond raised his hand as Cailin opened his mouth to argue. “However dangerous, the lass is right. She has a good head about her, nor is she weak-willed.”
Not weak-willed; stubborn. The lass would give a mule a run.
“And,” the priest continued, “she is skilled with weapons.”
“Skilled with weapons?” Cailin asked, his voice dry. “Why am I not surprised?”
“I am proficient with a blade and a bow,” Elspet said, pride in her voice. “Plus, Father Lamond taught me how to use herbs to treat wounds.”
And make a man succumb to sleep. God’s blade, the last thing Cailin wanted was to keep Elspet with him as he traveled in harm’s way.
“I wouldna recommend her accompanying you,” the priest said, as if sensing his hesitation, “if I didna think she would be an immense help. As important, she is someone you can trust.”
Cailin bit back a host of protests, recognizing the need to focus on the greater good of their mission. However much he wanted her to remain here, taking her along made sense. “She will go with me, but we willna travel until her injury has recovered. Time I will use to go through the documents in the chest and discuss the details of the plan.”
The priest nodded.
* * * *
Elspet noted the slide of clouds in the purple-orange sky as the sun set. Two days had passed, and between the priest’s herbs and rest, thankfully, her ankle was almost healed.
She tightened her cape as she walked to the stable, the whip of wind harsh across her face. Though she struggled with grief, the time with Father Lamond had allowed her to begin to improve.
With one last look at the fading sunset, she walked inside. The scent of horse and hay greeted her as she tugged the door shut.
With the stealth of a predator, Cailin stepped from the side, his red hair secured behind his back in a leather tie, his face taut.
Heart pounding, she jumped. “I didna see you.”
His brows slanted. “I told you to remain in the hut. ’Tis dangerous.”
“If I stay inside another moment without seeing the sun, breathing fresh air, I will go mad.”
“You should have waited until I returned.”
She scowled and walked past him to his horse. “I am far from a helpless lass.”
Steps crunched on hay behind her as she stroked the horse’s soft muzzle. With any issues of trust between them erased, too often these past two days her eyes had strayed to his mouth.
“How is your ankle?”
“The pain is all but gone.”
He gave a rough exhale. “Still, I dinna like your placing yourself in danger.”
She scoffed. “With your uncle’s men trying to find me, I am already in danger.”
For a long moment he watched her, the displeasure on his face easy to read. “Once we leave here, you will follow all my commands without hesitation.”
“I am not a fool.”
The hard look on his face eased and he rubbed the back of his neck. “Nay, you are not. I want you safe.”
“I know.” Moved by his concern, she stepped toward him. He was a knight sworn to protect. It was understandable that he struggled with her taking risks. Still, she couldna help but wonder if there was something more personal in his concern. “But you need me, and I will be there.”
He blew out a rough breath. “My uncle is an evil man. He must be stopped.”
“He will be.”
Silence fell between them, the slap of wind on the wooden building echoing with a mournful sound.
She looked around the stable, and an ache built in her chest. “The last time I was here, ’twas with my stepfather. ’Tis hard to believe that.”
A strong hand gently touched her hand.
She didn’t move, didn’t dare. Emotions storming her, if she spoke, turned, she’d break down. She wanted him to leave her alone, allow her to regain her dignity.
“Elspet?”
The empathy in his voice cracked the fragile hold on her emotions. “Go…please.”
Cailin drew her against his chest and wrapped her within his arms. “I am here for you.”
Wrapped within his protective embrace, the steady beat of his heart, his gentle words a potent reminder that someone cared, that she wasn’t alone. Fighting to control the swell of grief, she held in the tears.
“’Tis the third time you have offered me much-needed comfort,” she said, her voice unsteady.
“You are naught but trouble,” he whispered, his words far from holding censure.
“I am.” She lifted her head and met his blue eyes, and the tenderness in his gaze stole her breath. Without warning, desire slid through her. Shaken by the need he inspired, she stepped back. “We should be returning. As you said, ’tis dangerous.”
“Elspet, there is naught wrong in grieving for those you love.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat and wished she was still in his arms. A reckless thought. He made her care too much. “I know, but I despise the weakness my grief brings me.” Refusing to linger on her sadness, or what he made her feel, she started toward the door. “I should finish altering the monk’s robe I will wear. With my ankle well enough, ’tis best if we leave at first lig
ht.”
“I will let Father Lamond know.” Cailin strode ahead of her, opened the door, muttered a curse. Wood scraped as he shoved it closed. “Riders are coming across the field.”
“Are they the earl’s men?”
“I didna see anyone I recognized, but there is only one reason a small contingent would dare to approach a man who is rumored to have a contagious illness.”
“Because,” she whispered, “they suspect we are here.”
“Aye.”
Heart pounding, Elspet ran toward the exit.
He caught her arm. “What are you doing?”
“We must warn Father Lamond and prepare in case we need to escape!”
Cailin’s hard gaze met hers. “’Tis too late.”
Chapter 7
Cailin hauled Elspet with him across the straw-strewn floor toward a mound of hay as the steady thrum of hooves grew outside the stable.
Fear shimmered in her eyes. “We must hide!”
“Aye. Help me, quickly.” Working in unison, they shoved armloads of hay aside to create a hole in the stack. “Get in, hurry. Once I have covered the gear, I will join you.”
Moments later, he climbed beside her, tugged hay up to shield them.
“What if they see us?”
He ignored the sharp ends of the pungent blades poking his face and withdrew his dagger. “They may not enter the stable.” And prayed he was right.
A snort from outside announced the riders had halted. “Do you think Finnean Howe is inside?” a man’s deep voice asked. “He could be out hunting.”
“I didna know as ’tis late in the day to be out, but if he doesna answer,” another man said, “we will return in the morning.”
“’Tis said that anyone who gets within an arm’s length of him will catch his malady,” the first man said, nervousness edging his voice.
“Which is why we will wait outside until he answers our call.”
Elspet unsheathed her sgian dubh. “At least they dinna know that ’tis Father Lamond’s home,” she said, keeping her voice low.
“Aye,” Cailin whispered back. “That my uncle’s knights are brazen enough to risk confronting a man they believe is contagious exposes their desperation.”