by Tarah Scott
“No’ many about, eh?” Lennox glanced from beneath his ‘plaid hood’ at Cailean.
Cailean nodded. “Cannae say I blame them.”
Julianna snorted. “As I told ye, Cailean, we havenae had a serious illness here at Reay Abbey—or Heatheredge—in fifteen years. Only those poor men whose battle wounds are great enough to end their lives are tended in the leper house. Ye need no’ worry.”
“I cannae help worry about ye, lass, as you clearly don’t worry about yourself.”
She said nothing, but Cailean glimpsed her pleased smile beneath her hood. The woman was a handful. His handful…for a little while, at least.
They neared a covered walkway that appeared to lead to the infirmary’s communal latrine block and continued to their destination. As expected, they found the leper house deserted.
Lennox nodded to their guard, who’d been instructed to wait for them at the rear of the building, behind the brothers’ small medicinal herb garden and workshop or, if anyone appeared, to hide in the small grove of crab-apples just beyond. They only needed to avoid the priests they knew. Anyone else would take them for a group of wayfarers who’d fallen ill and sought treatment in the abbey. Still, to have encountered no one at this hour was amazing. Cailean hoped to God their good fortune lasted. They couldn’t withstand a barrage of questions from Rathais, or worse yet, Crowe.
Once inside the abbey proper, they could enter the scriptorium through the rear, well away from the gardens, courtyards and cloistered walkways that fronted the abbey. That meant they had to search behind the main buildings to find the subterranean sewers Lennox said ran beneath Reay. The monks had learned from the Romans how to supply running water to their bath-houses, toilets, and kitchens. And such a plumbing system required a service access for repairs.
They began a search and, five minutes later, Lennox called them to a low wooden door set into the monastery’s fortified back wall where undergrowth had been cut back. No guard barred the way, nor did a lock stop him from lifting the latch and opening the door. A rush of cold, damp air fanned around them and they stared at steep stone steps that wound down into darkness. The distant murmur of running water filtered up.
Cailean looked at Julianna. “Perhaps you should wait here, lass.”
She rolled her eyes. “Stand aside.” She stepped onto the landing.
“Julianna,” he began, then broke off when she lifted a basket that hung from a hook just inside the door. Candles and hand-held rushlights, complete with flint, lay in the basket.
“The good brothers provided light.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “It would be rude to refuse their hospitality.”
Cailean couldn’t prevent a smile. “That’s my lass.”
Lennox lit the rushes, one for each of them, plus a spare, and then replaced the basket on the hook.
Cailean began the descent with Julianna behind him and Lennox in the rear. He didn’t care for the slippery stones.
“Watch where you step, Julianna,” he warned.
“Sweet Jesu, but ye like giving orders,” she muttered.
Cailean snorted. “Isn’t that a husband’s duty?”
“So a man thinks,” she said, but he detected the humor in her voice. Still, after half a dozen steps, Cailean discerned a tug on the back of his plaid and realized she’d grabbed on for support.
The descent seemed to go on forever. At last, they reached a maze of stone pillars and vaults. Rushing water cut between the pillars and disappeared to their right. Cailean would bet the underground river ran the length of the abbey.
“Come, lass.” He took Julianna’s hand and started along the central aisle of the passageway. “Now we just need to find a way up to the scriptorium.”
“I think we will.” She tugged on his hand and pointed toward the stone pillar they approached.
Their rushlights illuminated the ancient walls and the carving on the pillar’s side: a simple etching of a rabbit, a cluster of carrots, and a kettle. And just beyond the pillar was an opening with steps leading upward, obviously to the kitchen.
“Do you see it?” She glanced at him, her eyes glittering in the firelight.
“Aye.” Cailean chuckled, shook his head. “By all that’s holy, lass, have I told you how smart ye are?”
Lennox let out a low whistle, holding his light to better see the carving.
“Now we only need to find a pillar with scrolls or a quill,” she said, quickening her step.
They passed a pillar with table and trestle benches clearly intended to note the steps to the refectory, while another pillar carving showed rows of narrow beds, surely indicating that the abbey guesthouse was just above. Then, at last, they came to a pillar with an inkpot and quill. Cailean’s heart rate kicked up as they hurried up the narrow steps to a simple wooden door. It opened onto a small garden with the scriptorium to the right—and nary a soul in sight.
At the scriptorium door, they pushed inside. Candles burned on a lone table where an old man sat, bent over an open book, a quill in hand. This had to be Father Symon. They blew out their rushlights and set them on the nearest table. As planned, Julianna hurried ahead. She neared the priest, but he remained intent on his work. She stopped beside him and touched his shoulder. His head snapped up and he started.
“Forgive me, Father,” she said.
“Lady Julianna?” He blinked at her, as if uncertain.
“Aye, ‘tis me.”
The old man looked past her at Cailean and Lennox. “Is that ye, Lennox?”
They reached him and Lennox smiled. “It is I, Father.”
Julianna wrapped an arm around Cailean’s arm. Sadness squeezed his heart. All too soon, he would lose forever her sweet touch on his body.
She looked up at him, eyes trusting, and said, “This is my husband, Father.”
“Husband?” The old man’s jaw dropped open.
Father Symon frowned, as if he hadn’t understood, then his expression cleared and he stood. “I didnae know ye had married. That is wonderful.” He kissed her on the cheek, then grasped Cailean’s hand and squeezed. “She is a fine woman. Ye are well blessed, my son.”
Cailean nodded, unable to reply.
Father Symon looked from them to Lennox. “What brings ye here?”
“We wanted to look at a few books,” Julianna said.
He blinked. “No’ many people come here to see our books. But ye are welcome to read anything ye like.”
“In fact,” he added, “I had been meaning to eat. I will fetch us some food.”
“Father,” Julianna laid a hand on his arm, “we would prefer no one know we are here.”
He frowned, but this time a shrewd light gleamed in his eyes. “There is much to learn here.” He indicated the room with a wave of his hand. “It is a wise man and woman” –he tweaked her chin— “who searches in the right places for answers. I have had a long day,” he said. “I believe I will retire for the evening. Be sure that the fire doesnae go out.”
She kissed his cheek. “Thank ye.”
Cailean glimpsed pleasure in the old man’s eyes an instant before he turned and crossed the room.
When the door closed behind him, Lennox said, “Where do we begin?”
“With Father Phillip’s chronicle of the attack on Heatheredge.”
“I have never read it.”
Before Cailean could start toward the books, Julianna hurried forward and pulled the book from its place on the shelf. She brought it to the table where they’d sat the first time they’d visited and Cailean fetched two candles from the table where Father Symon had been working. The three of them sat down and Cailean began to reread the account as Lennox read over his arm.
When Cailean read the passage, I was surprised that a healer wore a sword, but he did, along with a Viking-style battle ax and a long dagger made in the style of a massive two-handed sword, he paused, covertly observing Lennox.
Lennox’s brow furrowed and he muttered, “By God,” then looked at Cail
ean. “Did ye read this?”
He nodded. “Aye.”
Lennox’s eyes shifted back to the book and he read the passage aloud.” He again looked at Cailean. “This sounds like the dagger Crowe carried the other night.” His head snapped in Julianna’s direction. “The dagger ye pricked your finger on.”
“The dagger he was using the night I saw him in the woods,” she replied.
Lennox frowned. “Last night, after he left, ye mentioned the similarities in the dagger and this account.” Before she could respond, he went on. “Crowe said it was his father’s blade. Is it possible Valdar Ross is Crowe’s father?” Lennox shifted his gaze onto Cailean’s gaze. Suspicion glinted in his eyes. “Ye spoke of a friend, Val Ross.”
Cailean was taken aback. He had forgotten that. Bloody hell, it hadn’t occurred to him that Lennox would make a connection between Valdar Ross and his mention of Val.
“Ye know Valdar Ross,” Lennox said.
Cailean shook his head. “Nae. I have never met Valdar Ross.” Not a complete lie.
Lennox’s mouth thinned. “Val is no’ a common name.”
“Not terribly so,” Cailean agreed.
“Are ye sure your Val isn’t Valdar Ross?”
Cailean hesitated as if the thought had never occurred to him. “That isn’t what he called himself.” At least not in twenty-first century Heatheredge.
“Does he carry a dagger like this one?” He tapped the book.
“They sound similar, but I cannae be sure,” Cailean replied.
“I do no’ like this,” Lennox said.
Cailean nodded. “Neither do I.”
Lennox stared for three heartbeats, then returned his attention to the book. He finished reading and closed it. “Other than the dagger, there is nothing here that tells us more than we already know. Let us see if that cursing bone is still here.”
The cursing bone sat in its place and Cailean felt certain it hadn’t been moved. At least Crowe had no idea they were onto him. They searched the remainder of the shelves but found only books, scrolls, parchments, and writing paraphernalia. Why had Crowe left the cursing bone in the scriptorium? Why only the cursing bone? Didn’t he fear Father Symon finding the bone? Was the priest a member of the secret society? No. Otherwise, he never would have left them alone. Had Crowe hidden the cursing bone there only temporarily? Maybe he hadn’t had time to stash it in a better hiding place. Where would that be? Cailean scanned the room.
He turned to Lennox and Julianna. “Is there a secret passageway anywhere in this room?”
“A secret passageway that leads to the priests’ quarters, mayhap?” Lennox glanced about.
Cailean grunted. “I can see one leading to Father Andrew’s quarters.”
“Lennox,” Julianna said in a recriminating voice, as her brother began to feel along the wall, then she frowned. “Father Andrew does seem to have championed Crowe.”
Emotion rammed through Cailean. Where was he going to find a woman like her in his world?
Nowhere. And that truth gutted him. Pushing that pain aside, he flattened his hands on a section of ancient stone wall and felt for any odd protuberance or depression, something that might release a hidden door. He scanned the whitewashed wall for any telltale seam of an opening. His gaze caught on an untidy stack of parchments on a nearby shelf. All other books, scrolls and parchments were aligned with the precision of foot soldiers. The small tapestry he’d noticed three days ago hung to the left of the shelf. He’d admired the colorful woodland grove filled with fanciful animals. But this time his attention fixed on the crows perched among the trees. His blood chilled. The damn birds also filled the sky and the ground, clearly making the wood their own.
“Of course,” he murmured.
Julianna paused and looked at him. “What is it?”
Why hadn’t he seen it before? Cailean took half a dozen steps to the tapestry and whipped back the fabric. Julianna gasped and they all stared at a tiny niche carved in the stone wall.
“Look,” Julianna cried. She reached into the niche and flipped a small lever. The moment her fingers touched the well-oiled switch, a section of wall popped open. A burst of damp, musty air rushed past them and stirred the parchments on the nearby shelf.
“That will be his lair.” Lennox pushed the released door wider, then leaned in to peer down the steep and narrow stairs that disappeared into gloom.
“Let’s find out.” Cailean looked at Julianna. “Move more than an inch from us and I’ll lock you in our bedchambers.”
“I am not a fool,” she said, though Cailean could see he’d pricked her pride. Dammit, he was a lousy medieval husband. “Let us go and put this behind us,” she said.
Each of them took a candle and Cailean led the way down the steps with Julianna following and Lennox at the rear. At the bottom, they entered a large, low-ceilinged circular area made wholly of stone, cold, damp, and old. Like the sewer system, clusters of rock pillars supported the ceiling. Cailean’s gut clenched. For the first time in his life, he was glad he carried a weapon. He didn’t like being in tunnels with Julianna. If they happened upon more than four men looking for trouble, things could go bad very quickly.
Cailean began walking. He marveled at the smooth stone walls. Of course, the medieval tunnels he’d seen were ancient, and most were in disrepair. The manpower required to build such a labyrinth must have been immense. Their flickering candlelight illuminated a few feet of floor and wall and nothing more distant. He stopped at sight of a Y that yawned into darkness. They stared. Nothing about either opening indicated which choice would prove the best.
“Good God,” Lennox muttered.
Cailean glanced left, then right. “Which way do we go?”
“Left,” Julianna said.
He looked at her. “Why?’
She shrugged and started forward. “Why no’?”
They walked five minutes and Cailean was sure the tunnel was veering left. They came to another Y.
“To the right,” she said, and they began walking.
Minutes later, they again stood before another Y-shaped fork.
Julianna looked at Cailean. “To the right?”
Cailean exchanged a look with Lennox, who shrugged, then said, “Why not?”
They walked no more than two minutes when voices reached them from the darkness ahead.
They halted.
“Back,” Lennox hissed.
They whirled and retraced their footsteps. At the Y, they paused and Cailean strained to listen.
A few muffled words drifted toward them.
“Get her out of here.” Lennox ordered.
“Lennox,” Julianna began.
Lennox cut her off, “Cailean, ye have my leave to beat her if she resists.”
She shot him a dagger-filled look, but didn’t resist when Cailean grasped her elbow, turned right and drew her along the passage.
Lennox angled left with a heavy step that could have woken the dead. Cailean rushed Julianna to the next turn and headed right. Moments later, they came to another Y and he cursed. The place was a damned maze. They had encountered only two intersections. They should have reached the steep set of stairs leading to the scriptorium. But nothing. Frowning, he turned right, went a dozen paces, then halted at the sight of dim light illuminating a bend up ahead. Cailean drew his sword and urged Julianna behind him, then crept forward. They followed the curve and found themselves in a large cavern. Twenty feet away, water lapped the edge of the rock floor.
“Sweet Jesu,” Julianna breathed in unison with his, “Bloody hell.”
Generous light lit the cavern. At the far end, a waterfall was visible beyond an arch of stone.
Bootfalls echoed down the corridor they’d traversed.
Julianna’s head snapped in Cailean’s direction. “Do you hear?”
He nodded, then scanned the room. On the right side of the cavern a rowboat bobbed gently in the deep-looking pool. To the left, water lapped a scattering of stone r
ubble. Cailean sheathed Triumph, then grasped Julianna’s arm and hurried toward the spot. A section of wall had fallen, creating a depression large enough—he hoped—to conceal them from view. Cailean tightened his grip on Julianna’s arm and urged her past the tiny jetty of rock that formed near the rim of the vertical slit. He caught his breath when the rubble shifted under her weight, but she maintained her balance and edged toward the lapping water, leaving enough room for him to squeeze in behind her.
“Gather your skirt tight about your legs,” he whispered, and grabbed her arm when she slipped.
The water lapped around her ankles. Dammit, her feet would be chilled within minutes. Cailean stepped past the boulder onto the ledge then hugged her close as he listened to the approaching bootfalls.
“God’s teeth, ye are taking too many chances.”
Cailean recognized Rathais’ voice. Dammit, the man was a plague.
“I am taking too many chances?”
Julianna tensed and Cailean knew she recognized Crowe’s voice. Cailean gave her shoulders a reassuring squeeze. A thought struck. Crowe’s voice, why hadn’t he recognized it as Val’s? Because Val’s voice was deeper, he realized. Did that happen with age? Why not? A lot changed in six hundred years.
“Whose fault is it someone found our tunnels?” Crowe demanded. Their voices were closer, as if they’d entered the cavern.
“I dinnae know,” Rathais snapped. “But give it no more thought. Breac will find and dispense with the man. I am more concerned about you.”
Julianna stiffened. Cailean tightened his hold and shook his head. She looked up at him, fear stark on her face. Cailean pulled her close and forced his own raging anger into submission.
“I do not need your advice,” Crowe said.
“By God, none of this would have happened if ye had controlled your desire to fuck that bitch,” Rathais said.
“’Tis more than that, as ye know,” Crowe said.
