True Highland Spirit

by Amanda Forester

“So what is it? What is this treasure?”

  “I do not know, but it must be a relic of vast importance.”

  “Could it be the… the holy grail? The thing that Sir Lancelot went to find?”

  Dragonet smiled, his eye sparkling. “I have always thought that naught but a story, but I am willing to be wrong.”

  “Open the gate!”

  Dragonet fit the key into the lock with some difficulty due to the rust that had formed on the key. He turned the key and the lock clicked. With a tremendous squawk of disapproval, the metal gate swung open.

  Morrigan darted through the gate, eager to find what was inside. The narrow gate opened into a sealed cavern. It had several large boulders in the room, but no way in or out besides the iron gate. On one boulder was a large, wooden chest.

  Morrigan stopped a few feet away from the chest, recalling her fall and wondering if this one was likewise protected. Morrigan turned to express her concern, but Dragonet lifted up a large rock. He hurled it onto the ground next to the chest. Nothing untoward occurred.

  They both cautiously stepped forward until they stood before the large, cedar chest. No lock prevented them from opening the chest, yet they paused.

  “Maybe ye should pray or something,” suggested Morrigan. It was an unusual request for her, and she was not sure why the words sprang to her lips, but it felt the right thing to do. She did not wish to be smote for coming into contact with something holy, something she was unworthy to touch.

  Dragonet made the sign of the cross and took her hand. “Lord, in all reverence we humbly come before you and beseech you to guide us to find what you wish, and do with it what you will.”

  Morrigan slowly unlatched one of the leather straps. Dragonet did the other. They looked at each other, much shared within a single glance. They would do this together. It was time to open the lid.

  Twenty-Three

  Morrigan took a deep breath. Anticipation crackled in the air. Dragonet’s eyes mirrored her excitement and perhaps a little fear. What could possibly be so important?

  The top of the chest was heavy, and they both pulled hard, lifting it open. The hinges on the back groaned softly at being disturbed after so long. A plume of dust rose when the lid was opened, assailing her nose with an old, musty smell. She batted at the air, trying to wave aside the dust to see within the dark chest. Inside the chest were several old books with ancient scrolls laying across the top.

  “Books?” Morrigan crinkled her nose at the musty smell and the disappointment. She was hoping for something that glittered more.

  Dragonet gingerly lifted one of the scrolls. “Augustine,” he murmured reverently.

  “Is it only books?”

  “Only books? These are precious beyond words!” Dragonet’s eyes gleamed with excitement as he carefully lifted and inspected each scroll.

  “Are they worth anything? Could we sell them?”

  “Sell them? No! These need to be given to a university or an abbey, where they can be studied.”

  “Are ye sure there is naught else?” asked Morrigan, losing interest in the project.

  Dragonet lifted out more scrolls and a book. “Ah!” Underneath was an ornately engraved silver box, blackened with age. With a grunt, he lifted the heavy box placed it on the ground. Both he and Morrigan leaned in to examine their prize.

  Despite the tarnish, it was a beautiful box, finely crafted. Whatever was in the box must be incredibly important. The hair on her arms stood up on end. What was in the box? What could be so prized by the Templars and still sought by monks? It must be holy.

  “Ye do it,” said Morrigan, not wanting to touch it lest she bring judgment down against her.

  Slowly Dragonet lifted the lid to the box. Heaped inside were gold coins, diamonds, rubies, and other precious stones. The light from the torches reflected from the riches, dazzling her eyes. A ripple of sheer energy coursed through her. It was more wealth than she had ever seen or even imagined. It could save her clan. She could buy more farmland and grow crops. She could wear gowns that made even the Campbell ladies envious and have real wood fires in the winter and eat all the gingerbread she wanted. Oh, sweet gingerbread, she was rich!

  Dragonet cautiously pawed through the contents, finding more jewels, necklaces, and coins. “I cannot believe this is all there is,” he said in obvious disappointment.

  “All there is? Have ye gone daft? This is a fortune!” Morrigan thrust her hands into the treasure, relishing in the sheer weight of gold. It was heavy with possibilities. It was her salvation. And Andrew’s too.

  “Yes, but why would I be sent to find it? What makes this special?”

  “’Tis a fortune in gold and jewels! What could be more precious?” Morrigan looked carefully at Dragonet. Had he hit his head when she fell? Was the poor lad concussed?

  “These scrolls are of more importance.”

  “Ye are daft.” Head injury. Must be.

  Dragonet stepped back and brushed his hair from his eyes. “It does not make sense. If he meant a book or a scroll, why did he not say so?”

  “Who?”

  “No one,” said Dragonet with a wave of his hand.

  Morrigan did not believe that for a second, but she was too busy creating a mental list of all she would buy to give Dragonet much thought.

  “Shall we carry it out together? Let us fight over it after we get it out. Unless ye are not interested and would like to give it to me. Ye can keep the books,” said Morrigan with a magnanimous sweep of her hand.

  “Much obliged,” said Dragonet with a wry smile. “Indeed the scrolls hold for me more interest.”

  Morrigan shook her head but knew when to hold her tongue. If he did not want to fight for the silver box, the better for her. Her interest in Dragonet did not lean toward fighting—she would hate to accidentally cut off a part of his body of which she was particularly fond. Besides, she knew how well he could fight.

  Morrigan closed the lid to the silver box and lifted it up with a tremendous heave. It was quite heavy. With considerable effort she lugged the box to the narrow gate. She had to turn it sideways and push it out before her to get it through the gate.

  “Dragonet? Are ye coming?” called Morrigan.

  “There must be something more,” said Dragonet, searching the cave. Morrigan wandered back toward him. The cave had several large boulders and a bunch of rocks and debris at the far side of the cave, as if at one point there had been a cave-in.

  “What more could it be? Ye have riches, ye have books and scrolls, what else?”

  “I do not know, but I have come a long way to miss something important.”

  The iron gate squeaked painfully and slammed shut. Morrigan and Dragonet ran to the gate in time to see a man take the key and pull the silver box away from their reach. Morrigan pushed on the gate. It did not move. She shook it furiously, the clanging of metal echoing through the cavern, but the gate would not budge. They were locked inside!

  “Mal?” asked Dragonet. “What are you doing?”

  The man in a black cloak looked up with a smirk. “What are ye wearing lad? And ye dressed a bit o’ company the same, eh? Odd ducks them French t’be sure.”

  Even from a distance Morrigan could smell his whiskey-infused presence. “Who are ye?” demanded Morrigan, swallowing down sheer panic at being trapped.

  “He is Mal, grandson of one of the Templars who hid this treasure,” said Dragonet without betraying an ounce of emotion.

  “Aye, ye know me then. Ye’re right. The treasure should be mine. I am the last descendent.”

  “There is Barrick,” commented Dragonet.

  “Ah, Barrick. He wants this too, sent me to kill ye and fetch it for him. But he isna here, is he.”

  “Barrick sent ye here?” gasped Morrigan.

  “Aye. Is that McNab? Thought ye were a goner when last we met.”

  “Ye were the man working for Barrick? Ye set the fields on fire!” accused Morrigan, rattling the iron gate once more.r />
  Mal gave a clumsy bow. “Nice to have my work recognized.”

  “Ye bastard!” cried Morrigan, the edges of her vision were getting cloudy. She could not be stuck in this cave. She could not!

  Dragonet elbowed her hard in the ribs. His face was a calm mask. “We also have no love for Barrick and do not mind acknowledging you as the rightful heir, but do not leave without claiming your inheritance to the full. There is yet another chest here. Let us out, and we can all three split it.”

  Mal edged closer, his eyes narrowed. He was a young man, but he appeared older at first glance. Morrigan suspected hard living, not age, had etched those lines on his face.

  “Show me! What treasure?” Mal’s eyes darted between Morrigan and Dragonet.

  “See here. Come closer. There is a wooden chest,” said Dragonet as if he was inviting a friend for supper.

  Morrigan and Dragonet stepped aside so Mal could see the cedar chest. Dragonet caught her eye. He looked at her sword, then at Mal, then back to her. She grasped the hilt of her sword. She understood the message. They needed to lure Mal close enough to the bars of the gate so she could stab him with her sword and they could retrieve the key.

  Otherwise they would slowly starve to death in this cave. Morrigan pushed the fear aside. She needed to be sharp if they were going to stay alive.

  “What is in it?” asked Mal as he took two steps forward, but was not close enough to reach.

  “I tell you the truth. The items in the chest, they are worth much more than the contents of the silver box,” said Dragonet.

  “I like me some gold. I dinna wish to be greedy,” said Mal, taking another step closer and licking his chapped lips. “Open the lid, show me what’s in it.”

  Dragonet opened the lid. Morrigan stood to the side, ready to strike.

  “I canna see, lift it up to show me,” said Mal.

  “Come closer, it is heavy.”

  Mal edged closer, casting a wary eye at Morrigan, who tried to look bored and nonthreatening. He was almost within striking range.

  “What is it?” he asked again.

  “Come and see for yourself.”

  But Mal moved no farther forward. “Show me!”

  “It is better seen than explained.”

  “I dinna trust ye. Keep whatever it is.” He turned to walk away.

  “Wait, here, I’ll show you this.” Dragonet lifted one of the scrolls from the trunk.

  Mal turned back. “What is it?”

  “An ancient scroll, brought from the Holy Land. The value of this scroll, it is immeasurable.”

  “A scroll? What the hell do I want wi’ a scroll?”

  “Ye can get a high price for that scroll,” Morrigan added.

  “And how do I explain hows I got it? Ye all enjoy the rest o’ yer short life.” He turned to leave.

  “Nay!” shouted Morrigan.

  Dragonet threw his knife at Mal, through the iron gate, catching him in the thigh. Mal howled in pain and cursed violently.

  “Damn ye. Damn ye to hell!” he screamed as he pulled out the knife. He grabbed the box and heaved it up, carrying it out with him as he limped out of sight.

  Dragonet bowed his head and leaned against the cave wall. “I hoped to bring him down so we might somehow retrieve the key.”

  Morrigan leaned her head against the cold iron bars and grasped one bar in each hand. “Ye tried. Ye did what ye could. Wi’ any luck he’ll die before he can leave the cave.”

  “Little good it will do us.”

  Morrigan slumped down and put her head in her hands. It was all over. She would die in the cave with him. Andrew would die too. She was a fool to have trusted Barrick to keep his word. He had sent Mal to kill her. Even if she had brought him back the treasure, she doubted Andrew would have ever seen more medicine, if he had seen the first dose at all.

  Dragonet slid down beside her. He offered his hand, and she took it. He stared straight ahead with unseeing eyes.

  “I failed you,” he said softly. She was not certain he was talking to her.

  Morrigan watched the torch flicker. Soon it would die out, and she would die a slow, painful death in the utter darkness of a forgotten cave.

  “God must hate me,” said Morrigan.

  Dragonet squeezed her hand but said nothing.

  “I failed ye too,” said Morrigan.

  “No, you never failed me. But I have failed my…” Dragonet’s voice trailed off into the shadows of the cave.

  “Failed yer what?” asked Morrigan.

  Dragonet paused and took a deep breath. “I suppose it cannot matter now. My father, he is the bishop of Troyes. It is he who sent me on this quest.”

  “Yer father is a bishop?”

  Dragonet nodded. “I have never before spoken these words. My mother told me the name of my true father on her deathbed. After she died, there was no one left. I was hungry, slowly starving to death. In desperation I went to my father. He saved my life, but he made me promise I would never reveal him as my father. He said I was to blame for the plague coming to our house. I was evil, born in sin, the result of my mother’s seduction.”

  “What?!”

  “He swore that if I ever revealed to anyone who was my true sire, I would burn forever in the fires of hell. He gave me a taste of what it would be like, the burns you saw on my back.”

  “That bastard!”

  “I was young. His words, they had a lasting impression on me. He also said I could redeem myself in his eyes and God’s, if I would serve him well. He sent me to the Hospitallers to search for this silver box, which I did for years before finally coming to the conclusion it was gone.”

  “He used ye! What a horrid man!”

  “I thought if I could bring back this box to him, I could finally be right in his eyes. I could prove my worth. Maybe earn the right to be called his son.”

  “So that is why ye lied to me.”

  “Yes. I never meant to hurt you. I am truly very sorry.”

  “Enough. No more apologies. Ye do ken yer father was a coldhearted manipulative bastard, dinna ye?”

  Dragonet shrugged.

  “I thought my family was bad. Ye make us look like we overflow wi’ loving kindness. My father was a tough, old man, but he loved me and wanted what was best for me. Archie is a fool and a failure, but even he tried to look out for me in his own way. ’Tis what family does.”

  “You have a good family.”

  “Ye’d be the first to say it, but compared to what ye survived…” Morrigan choked back sudden tears at the recognition of all she had and all she was going to lose. “I do have a good family,” she said softly, squeezing his hand. It was a rotten way to die, but at least she was not alone.

  They sat there together. Quiet, but comfortable. Of all the family she was going to miss, Dragonet counted among them.

  Morrigan stared at the wooden chest. It was a large chest, and she wondered idly how the Templars had moved such a chest through all the passages.

  “How did they get that chest in here?” asked Morrigan. “It winna fit through the gate.”

  Dragonet turned to look at the gate and back at the chest. “You are right,” he said slowly. He stood up and offered her a hand up as well. “I was wondering why the torchlight will sometimes flicker, as if it is moved by the faintest wind.”

  Excitement grew like a wave. “Do ye think there is another way out?” asked Morrigan.

  “I intend to find one.”

  Morrigan smiled. She liked fighting much better than despair. She looked around, trying to find a small passage. Dragonet lay on the floor and looked around the bottom of the cave, while she scanned the top.

  “Look there!” she called eagerly. “It looks like a small C carved above those rocks.”

  “Compline!” shouted Dragonet. “How could I forget? The last prayer is compline.”

  Morrigan crawled over the rocks under the C but could find no passage. “There is nothing here.”

  Dra
gonet picked up a large rock and tossed it behind him. “So we make a way.”

  Morrigan smiled again. She liked this man.

  Twenty-Four

  How long they worked moving rocks and stones, Morrigan could not guess. Her shoulders ached, her back screamed, the muscles in her arms shook with fatigue, but she kept going. Every time she felt she must rest, she found Dragonet had doubled his efforts. He was determined and strong and persistent and all sorts of other lovely qualities. She liked the way his muscles rippled when he heaved a stone. She liked that he never once complained. She liked… him.

  Dragonet heaved a large rock away from the top of the heap. “Rock!” he called as it rolled down the pile. The waning torch flickered. They both saw it and turned to each other, their eyes meeting.

  “Did ye break through?” Morrigan scrambled up to the top of the pile where Dragonet stood.

  Dragonet reached with his hand. “Yes, I think I did!”

  Morrigan whooped with delight and began throwing rocks aside, heedless of her aching back. Dragonet was beside her, pulling and scraping with everything he had. Soon they uncovered a small hole. It was impossible to see the other side, but the air was colder and fresher, which gave them hope. Dragonet heaved away one more large rock, and the hole was large enough to fit through.

  Morrigan fetched the torch and tried to see what was on the other side. “No good. I canna see. The angle is wrong. Well, one way to find out.” Morrigan gave the torch to Dragonet and turned around to go through the space, legs first.

  “I can go first if you wish,” said Dragonet.

  “No, I want out!”

  “Careful,” he said holding the torch in one hand and her hand in the other. He slowly helped to lower her down.

  Morrigan found that squeezing through the small space backward was not particularly helpful for keeping her blanket covering what it ought. A cold wind across her backside was evidence of it. She sincerely hoped no one was on the other side watching her inelegant egress.

  She dangled for a moment, then with Dragonet’s help lowered herself down until her feet found purchase and she was able to scramble down. She landed in some sort of cave or passage, which she could barely see, the orange glow from the cave she just left the only light.