They searched the entrances to the tunnels leading from the crystal room. The dirt floor of the crystal cave was frozen and the crystals themselves were like chunks of ice. Still, Morrigan searched around the tunnel entrance, feeling the cold, rough cave walls for any clues.
“What kind of marking would they leave?” asked Morrigan.
“I know not,” answered Dragonet, standing on a rock to look up at the top of a long, narrow tunnel entrance. “Anything that looks man-made.”
Morrigan grunted a response and went on to search the next tunnel. This one was small, a round hole barely large enough for a person to fit through, and a trim person at that. She brushed aside some debris on the floor and searched along the outside of the tunnel but found nothing. With considerable reluctance, Morrigan went down on hands and knees and put her head in the tunnel to inspect the inside. It was black and damp. Resisting the urge to crawl out, Morrigan felt around the inside of the tunnel, freezing slime oozing through her fingers. She shuddered, the inky blackness of the tunnel closing in on her.
She couldn’t breathe. She needed air. Backing out of the tunnel in a mad scramble she scraped her knees and hit her head on the top of the tunnel.
“Ow! Hell and damnation!”
“What is wrong?” Dragonet was immediately at her side.
Morrigan grabbed the back of her head with one hand and a rock on the top of the tunnel with the other, and heaved herself to her feet. The rock came off in her hand, causing her to stumble, but she was caught in the strong arms of Dragonet.
“Stupid cave! It’s too dark and too small and too repulsive. I canna do this.”
Dragonet pulled her close in embrace. She opened her mouth to complain, but sighed instead. Fool she was, but everything seemed better when she was in the warm arms of her lover… monk… enemy. Damn, she hated her life.
Morrigan tipped up her head, instinctively hoping for a kiss, but he was looking at something over her shoulder. “What are ye looking at?”
“Look, you uncovered a mark.”
Above the tunnel where the rock had broken off in her hand was indeed a small mark carved into the stone. They both drew closer and inspected the mark, Dragonet holding up the candle to see it clearly. It was made by human hands, engraved into the stone in the shape of a V.
“What does it mean?” asked Morrigan.
“Maybe there are more,” said Dragonet. He moved to the next tunnel entrance and pulled at the stones above the entrance. One came off easily. They converged on the space, putting their heads together and inspecting it with the candle. With growing excitement, Morrigan saw there was another mark, this one a letter L.
In unspoken agreement, they went around the glimmering room and pulled rocks from the top of each tunnel. Each tunnel had a letter. There were five tunnels leading away from the room, with the letters, V, L, T, P, and S.
“Vltps? What is that?” asked Morrigan.
“Lptvs?” Dragonet pushed his hair out of his eyes with a dirty hand.
“Stplv? I am no’ the best with my letters, but do we no’ need a vowel?”
“Pray the hours,” murmured Dragonet. He turned toward her with a flash of a smile. “Pray the hours!”
“What are ye saying? Have ye gone daft?”
“The last words of the dying Templar to the Mother Enid were, ‘Pray the hours.’”
“And?” Morrigan shrugged.
“The hours for prayer are Vigils, Lauds, Prime, Terce, Sext, None, Vespers, and Compline. I suppose they did not have enough tunnels for all of them but see—VLPTS—Vigils, Lauds, Prime, Terce, and Sext!”
Morrigan’s pulse quickened. “So which tunnel do we want?”
“We should start with the first hour of the day, Vigils.”
Naturally it was the small, grimy, panic-inducing tunnel. Morrigan stood in front of the passage, peering down into the dark, dank hole.
“Do you wish for me to go first?” asked Dragonet.
“Nay, I am taking mental accounts of my brother and deciding if he is worth this bother.”
Dragonet raised an eyebrow.
“Give the candle, I’ll go,” groused Morrigan. The last thing in the world she wanted to do was crawl down a cold, slime-filled passage, leading deeper into the bowels of the cave. She gritted her teeth, kneeled down, and did it anyway.
She expected it to be unpleasant. It was that and more. The cold, the walls rubbing against her shoulders, the freezing slime she crawled through, any of it alone she could have handled, but in combination with the suffocating, trapped feeling of being in a small tunnel, it was too much. Her breath came in rapid gulps, her heart pounded until she feared it would explode and she would die in that squalid tunnel.
“Panting for me, my love?” teased Dragonet behind her.
“Wh-what?” Morrigan tried to turn to confront him, but was unable due to the confines of the tunnel. “Ye fool bastard. I coud’na care less about yer sorry self.” Morrigan crawled faster through the tunnel, determined to find a larger space where she could confront the conceited Frenchman. Did he believe her thoughts contained nothing but him?
After crawling over several large rocks, the tunnel opened into another room-like space in the cave. This cavern was not so brilliant, just dark and damp, with large stalagmites and stalactites. Morrigan whirled around to face Dragonet, her hand on the hilt of her sword.
“You are out of the tunnel, Morrigan,” noted Dragonet calmly as he stepped into the cavern.
Morrigan opened her mouth to berate him, then closed it again. “Ye did that on purpose to distract me.”
Dragonet gave a half smile. “I noticed you are not overly fond of caves.”
“That is one way to put it.” Truth was she was terrified. She knew in her core she could not do it without him. “Which way now?”
This cavern had four tunnels leading from it, but once again they found, beneath easily removable rocks, letters above the tunnels and chose the one marked L for Lauds. This tunnel proved short, only a few feet, opening into another cavern. The cavern was not of even footing, having large slabs of crumbling rock dividing the cave into several levels.
They repeated the same process, but this time there were only three tunnels marked S, T, and V.
Dragonet shook his head. “Prime should be next.”
“Well it is not here. Let’s go to the next one, there is a T for Terce.”
Dragonet remained unmoved. “We must be missing something. The monks would not forget Prime. The prayer is for early morning, before the first meal of the day. Many monks confessed the sins committed during the night before joining their brothers in the communal meal.”
Morrigan walked around the walls of the cave, climbing up and down rocks to do so, but no other opening was found. “There is no other tunnel.”
“We are missing something,” repeated Dragonet.
Morrigan bit back a caustic remark. What she was missing was fresh air and the immeasurable joy of not being in a cave. “So what would you do for this prayer?” she asked, trying to stay focused.
Dragonet lay on his stomach on the floor of the cave, spreading his arms wide.
“I canna see how this is going to help us.” Morrigan crossed her arms.
“This is how we would pray,” said Dragonet, turning his head to see her. “We would…”
“Ye would what?” asked Morrigan, wondering why he had stopped talking.
He jumped up and ran to a slab of rock. “Here, look.” Carved into the rock by the floor, only visible if one laid one’s head on the ground, was the letter P.
Morrigan smiled. “Good one. But where is the tunnel?”
Dragonet felt around the base of the crumbling rock and discovered a small hole.
“Well I’m no’ going in there!”
Dragonet reached his hand in the hole and frowned. All was silent in the cave except for the occasional drip of water from the stalactites. A slow smile warmed his face and he drew back his hand. He opened his
fist to reveal a rusted iron object.
“A key!” exclaimed Morrigan. It was large and old and smelled like treasure, if such a thing was possible. Her pulse quickened once again, but this time it was more excitement than fear. She met Dragonet’s gleaming eyes.
They were on the hunt.
Twenty-Two
“Come, let’s find what this key opens!” said Morrigan, scrambling to her feet. Dragonet stood up beside her, a smile on his dirty face. His appearance was a mite rough, with nothing but a blanket wrapped around him like a great kilt and a day’s stubble on his chin.
Except for the facial hair, Morrigan was in much the same condition. It was barely enough to keep from freezing, yet with the find of a key, she was too excited to shiver.
Dragonet’s eyes danced in the candlelight. They were going to find the treasure. He held out his hand to her. She hesitated for a moment. They were rivals for the prize they both sought. A wise person would keep her distance. Morrigan took his hand. The McNabs were rarely accused of being wise.
They walked to the tunnel marked T for Terce and entered together. The tunnel was comparatively wide, and they were able to walk two abreast. The tunnel twisted and turned a few times, and they had to go one at a time to pass through, but they continued to hold hands.
Morrigan searched for something to say, though she did not feel awkward with him in the silent cave, she thought she really ought to be. “So what is Terce?”
“Terce is the midmorning prayer done at the third hour after dawn.”
“What would ye do at these prayers?”
“We would either stop our work and pray alone or gather in the chapel if we were able and chant some psalms and pray together in spoken word and in silence. That is how I started singing, through the chants. It can be very beautiful.” Dragonet gave a wistful smile.
“Ye must be anxious to return,” commented Morrigan, wishing she was less interested in his response to her statement.
“Sometimes, but…”
“But what?” asked Morrigan, looking ahead to where he had disappeared around a tight corner.
“This cave, it is familiar.”
Morrigan followed him out into the crystal room, the sparkling minerals reflecting and magnifying the light of the candle.
“’Tis the same cavern! I canna believe we went through all that for naught.”
“Not for naught,” said Dragonet, holding up the key.
“We could have gotten the key by going through this tunnel,” said Morrigan gesturing toward the tunnel they had just traversed. “Not that awful, slimy, tiny one.”
Dragonet appeared unconcerned, walking toward the tunnel with the S without releasing her hand. “Sext is the midday prayer, set at the sixth hour after dawn,” said Dragonet in a friendly tone. “We usually chanted more psalms, prayed, and then ate our midday meal together.”
Morrigan thought “Sext” sounded a lot like “sex,” and despite the cold, her cheeks burned at the memory of their time together. She kept her adolescent musings to herself. They had done what they needed to do to survive. It was no more than that.
Except that was a lie. It had meant everything to her.
Except he was still a monk, so it would be better if she could convince herself it meant nothing.
“Getting a little cramped here,” said Dragonet, ahead of her in the tunnel. He bent down to avoid hitting his head on the rock, and soon they were both crawling on hands and knees. It was at least not wet, but very cold. The tunnel closed in, until Morrigan shook with the restraint it took her to avoid calling out for help. Her mind focused on one thing, her need to escape.
Suddenly, she ran into Dragonet’s backside. He had stopped in the tunnel.
“Move!” she shouted, on the verge of panic.
“I have nowhere to go. Dead end.”
“Nay, there must be a way, there must.” Morrigan pushed him down flat and squirmed her way over him. Despite the fear that drove her, she was painfully conscious of all the parts of her body that touched his.
She also reached a dead end, but began to scratch and push on the stone walls until she pushed herself up. “The tunnel goes up,” she said in amazement.
Dragonet stood next to her in the small space, his body hugging hers. He reached for her hand, but she wrapped her arms around his tall shoulders instead.
“Rest easy, we will find a way out,” reassured Dragonet.
Morrigan took a deep breath, mentally cursing her weakness when it came to caves.
“I am sorry,” mumbled Morrigan, trying to pull away, but having nowhere to go. “Which way now?”
“Only one way to go,” said Dragonet looking up.
“Aye.” Morrigan took the candle with one hand, and with Dragonet’s help she climbed up and stood on his shoulders. “Ah, here! There is another tunnel wi’ an N. If I can get a little higher, I can reach it.”
Dragonet pressed up her feet in his hands from his shoulders. Morrigan scrambled inside the tunnel, wondering how Dragonet would manage. She need not have worried. In a moment he appeared, shimmying up the rock.
“Clever,” said Morrigan with a rare smile. The tunnel she was in was larger than the previous one, and it was a relief to let go of some of the panic. They followed that tunnel out into another, larger cavern.
“Look, I can see a gate!” Morrigan sprinted across the cavern toward the mouth of a tunnel that clearly opened to an iron gate.
“No, wait!” exclaimed Dragonet, catching her before she could run more than a few steps. “Let us check the hours to see if that is the correct passage.”
They quickly took inventory of the room, aided by a torch they found hanging on the wall, which they lit with the candle. The cave flickered with orange light that revealed only one other tunnel leading from that room, and it had a small carved V above it, the next letter in the liturgy of the hours.
“This is the way we should go,” said Dragonet, pointing at the next letter. “V for Vespers.”
“Nay, I dinna want to go on some roundabout way just so we can do all the hours. Look, from this angle ye can see a bit of an iron gate through the passageway.”
Dragonet shook his head. “I say we go to the correct tunnel.”
“How do ye ken this isna the right way?” asked Morrigan, walking toward the short passage with the visible gate. “I’ll go this way, ye can go the other, and we’ll see who gets there first.” Morrigan stepped into the tunnel.
“Morrigan, wait—” Dragonet grasped her hand just as the floor beneath her collapsed. Morrigan plummeted down, scrambling for something solid to hold onto, as the rock floor beneath her broke into shale. Dragonet’s firm hand held hers tightly, and she clutched at him for safety.
Dragonet caught her at the edge of the gaping hole in the floor of the cave. He fell to his stomach on the solid rock, holding her hand as she dangled over the edge. Small rocks slipped over the edge of the precipice, taking a goodly long time before a muted splash was heard at the bottom. Dragonet reached to grab her with his other hand for better support.
“Dinna drop the key!” shouted Morrigan.
Dragonet stopped, stunned. “You are dangling over the cliff, and you are worried about the key?”
“I can climb up myself.” Morrigan pulled herself up his arm to reach the edge of the hole. “I dinna crawl through slime for naught, so dinna drop that key.”
Dragonet helped haul her up to safety with the one hand not holding the key. “Your concern was that I would drop the key?”
Morrigan sat on the cold, stone floor next to Dragonet. She was breathing hard, her heart pounding in her chest. Almost dying was hard on a body. She met Dragonet’s intense gaze. “Would ye have?”
“Yes.”
Morrigan inhaled sharply. The shivers that ran down her spine were from much more than the cold. “That would be a foolish thing to do.”
Dragonet leaned close and kissed her gently at first, then wrapping one arm around her waist and the other h
and on the back of her neck, he deepened the kiss. By the time he finally pulled away, Morrigan’s mind was spinning, and she forgot all about the cold.
Dragonet shook his head. “With you I am always doing the foolish things.” He put his hand over his eyes. “I would beg your forgiveness—I should not have done that.”
“We are beyond apologies now. I fear we must acknowledge the attraction between us.”
Dragonet did not look up but nodded his head vigorously.
“It doesna change anything between us, does it?” Morrigan watched him closely, hoping somehow he would say yes, it changed everything.
Dragonet slowly shook his head no.
Morrigan struggled to her feet and off the cold ground, leaving her heart behind. The important thing was she had not lost her sword still strapped to her side. Once they found the silver box, she could take it from him by force. Yes, brilliant plan. She walked toward the V tunnel, her feet dragging like lead.
They walked through the tunnel together yet apart, not touching or looking at each other. The tunnel itself proved not to be too strenuous; there were a few large boulders to scramble over, but nothing overly challenging. Soon they emerged into the room with the iron gate Morrigan had glimpsed before. The cave had another torch on the wall, which they lit.
The gate itself was fashioned of thick, iron bars and fastened on either side with metal stakes bored into the rock. It was an odd size, spanning from the floor to the ceiling, but very narrow in width. Morrigan was a trim person, but even she judged she would need to turn sideways to pass through.
Dragonet examined the gate closely. “Quam angusta porta et arta via quae ducit ad vitam et pauci sunt qui inveniunt eam.”
“What are ye mumbling about?”
“It is from the Gospel of St. Matthew. ‘But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it.’ The Templars went to a good deal of trouble to hide this and still demonstrate its importance. Using the hours of prayer, putting an iron gate here at the smallest width, it is all leading us in reverence and prayer for what it beyond.”
True Highland Spirit Page 20
