True Highland Spirit

by Amanda Forester

  “So what are ye going to do now? Tell the bishop the abbot has it?”

  Morrigan shook her head, “I dinna want either o’ them to have it.”

  “Get Chaumont,” said Dragonet in a weak voice, his eyes barely open.

  “Ye’re awake! Are ye well?” asked Morrigan.

  “Felt better. Chaumont.”

  “Go get him. Quick, man!” Morrigan demanded Archie. “And Mother Enid too.” Archie nodded and left.

  Morrigan sat back down by the side of Dragonet’s bed and took his hand. “How do ye feel?”

  “Ow, my head.”

  “Sorry for my share in it. I dinna ken what else to do. I was so surprised to see yer, that is, the bishop.”

  Dragonet nodded and slowly moved to a seated position. “We need to get the shroud back.”

  Morrigan nodded. “And when we do, what will ye do wi’ it?” She had no doubts Dragonet would get the shroud.

  He shook his head. “I do not know yet.”

  Morrigan squeezed his hand. She knew one thing for sure: once he recovered the shroud, he would leave.

  Mother Enid entered the room and after a quick examination of Dragonet pronounced him much recovered and recommended a week of bed rest, which no one in the room believed would actually occur.

  Chaumont came in, and after some exchanges of pleasantries, Dragonet asked him to close the door. Mother Enid excused herself and closed the door behind her.

  “You all know about the existence of the Templar shroud. Barrick must not be allowed to keep it. I beg you, my friends, to help me recover the shroud,” said Dragonet in a soft but determined voice.

  “Do you know where it is?” asked Chaumont.

  “I do. We found it in a cave purchased by the Templars and recovered it. Unfortunately it was taken from us by Barrick.”

  They discussed the problem of how to recover the shroud. They agreed it must be either with Barrick or hidden in his rooms in the abbey. But how would they get him out of the abbey in order for it to be searched? And how would they get past his guards?

  A knock at the door brought the conversation to a halt. The Duke of Argitaine walked in. “I came to see if Sir Dragonet has awakened. I see you have much company, and I will not keep you, but allow me to extend my gratitude for your protection, and if there is ever anything I can do in return, I am at your service.”

  “It is always my pleasure to serve you, Your Grace,” said Dragonet.

  “You two look alike,” commented Morrigan, gesturing at Chaumont and Argitaine.

  Chaumont stood next to the duke and people had to acknowledge the resemblance. “Perhaps there is a duke in my unknown parentage,” laughed Chaumont.

  “Ye do no’ ken yer parents?” asked Morrigan.

  “Afraid not. I was raised by the Hospitallers, so I suppose my father could be anyone. Even a duke.” Chaumont gave Morrigan a wink.

  Morrigan wondered if the real duke would be offended, but he merely smiled. “My father was a great lover of all things beautiful. Beautiful art, beautiful wine, beautiful women.”

  “But Chaumont is from France…” Morrigan dashed from the room. “Be right back!” she called behind her to the surprised men.

  She burst into Mother Enid’s room. She appeared to be resting on her pallet or maybe saying prayers.

  “Are you going to rouse me the way you did poor Father Patrick last night?” asked Mother Enid.

  “Och, sorry about that. I was so excited to be forgiven I could no’ wait.”

  “Next time—” began Mother Enid.

  “Aye, next time I’ll wait. Ye woud’na believe how much penance he gave me! But that’s no’ why I came. Forgive me, but was yer duke the current Duke the Argitaine?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, I see. Never mind then.” Morrigan began to leave the room.

  “It was this current duke’s father, also the Duke of Argitaine,” said Mother Enid with a slow smile.

  “What happened to yer child?”

  The smile on Mother Enid’s face faded, and the light in her eyes dimmed. “I became very ill after I gave birth. I was told the child died.”

  “Where was the child born?”

  “The hospital at St. John’s. Why all these questions, my child?”

  “I dinna ken for sure…” Morrigan shrugged and ran out of her room down the hall to where Dragonet was staying.

  “Chaumont! Where were ye born?”

  “Morrigan? Have ye gone daft?” Archie asked.

  “Nay! Well, mayhap…” Morrigan gestured with her hands as if pushing aside the question. “Will ye tell me?” she asked Chaumont.

  “I was born at St. John’s run by the Hospitallers.”

  “Truly? What year?”

  “Aye, she’s daft,” commented Archie.

  “The year was 1323. Is there a purpose to these questions?”

  “Are you certain of the year?” asked Mother Enid, who stood in the doorway, her face flushed.

  “Yes,” said Chaumont slowly.

  “In the summer of 1323, I gave birth to a son that I conceived by the Duke of Argitaine, your father,” Mother Enid said gesturing to the current duke.

  No one spoke or moved or breathed.

  Chaumont and Mother Enid stared at each other, blue eyes to blue eyes.

  “It was on a feast day I brought my son into the world,” said Mother Enid.

  “St. John’s Eve.” Chaumont and Mother Enid spoke as one.

  “Well I never,” said Archie, his eyes wide. “Ye mean Sir Chaumont is Mother Enid’s son?”

  “Wheesht!” hushed Morrigan. Her idiot brother was ruining the moment.

  “They told me the baby died,” whispered Mother Enid. “Barrick and the other Templars who took me from the hospital and brought me here.” Her lips began to tremble and a tear ran down her face. “That bastard told me you had died!”

  “Maman!” Chaumont rushed to embrace Mother Enid.

  “I would have never left you,” she murmured in French. “Never.”

  “I was told my mother had died,” said Chaumont wiping away his own tears.

  “The Templars must have sent them that message,” said Mother Enid and cursed in French. Several eyebrows raised in the room. “Forgive me, my children, but I was not always a nun.”

  Chaumont rose and turned to Argitaine, who held out his hand.

  “Greetings, Brother!” said Argitaine with a wide smile. “It is not every day I meet one of my father’s children. At least, not in Scotland.”

  Everyone began talking and congratulating, and there were many hugs and tears shed all around. Mother Enid gave Morrigan a crushing embrace; she was strong for an old woman. Chaumont also embraced her, followed by the duke, who kissed both cheeks.

  A warmth spread through Morrigan with the unusual feeling that she had finally done something right. Perhaps since she was confessed and forgiven, she could live a better life. She glanced over at Dragonet and found his eyes on her. She looked away. She might live a better life, but they could never have a happy ending.

  “We still need to get the shroud back from Barrick,” said Archie.

  “Wheesht!” hushed Morrigan again. Her brother could not speak but for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time.

  “What shroud?” asked Argitaine.

  The room grew silent again.

  “They are my family,” Chaumont declared. “I trust them.” He glanced over at Dragonet, who nodded.

  “Mother Enid, you said you believed Barrick and the Templars used your pallet to hide certain treasures they snuck out of France and into Scotland. I believe we have found this treasure.” Dragonet continued to explain how they found the shroud and what happened to it.

  Mother Enid was amazed and Argitaine skeptical, but everyone agreed Barrick should not be allowed to keep the shroud.

  “Too long I have waited patiently for others to deal with Barrick, accepting and forgiving. It is time to act!” declared Mother Enid. “I do not kno
w how I can help. Although… I do know Barrick has a secret entrance into his private solar.”

  “That is a help,” said Morrigan with a slow grin. “I have a plan.”

  Thirty-Two

  The next day the conspirators put their plan into action. Mother Enid sent a note to Abbot Barrick, saying the Duke of Argitaine was interested in his abbey and might wish to make a donation for its help in the war effort. Dragonet went off to speak to the bishop of Troyes. Morrigan fretted, but he returned unharmed, at least as far as she could see.

  The duke played his part admirably; he kept the abbot and his guard busy while Morrigan and Dragonet searched the abbot’s rooms, using the secret back entrance. They found nothing and were forced to retreat before being found. It was time to enact the next part of the plan.

  “Ye have something I need. I have something ye want,” said Morrigan to Abbot Barrick later that day.

  “I doubt that,” replied Abbot Barrick, taking a sip of wine. He sat behind his ornate desk, a fine spread of food before him. Morrigan stood before him in the room they had previously searched. The room afforded many hiding places, tapestries on the walls, ornately decorated screens, locked chests, but the shroud was in none of those places. Where was it?

  “I need the medicine ye have for men who are returning from the battle,” said Morrigan.

  “One man in particular, I suppose?” Barrick’s smile was unkind.

  “Aye. I would do anything for him.”

  “You have already given me everything I need.”

  “If it is the shroud ye are looking for, then no, ye dinna have the real one we found in the cave.”

  Barrick frowned. “Speak plainly, I am in no mood for riddles.”

  “We found two shrouds, one was clearly intended to fool those who did no’ ken what to look for. Dragonet explained to me the difference. He gave ye the false one.”

  Barrick’s smile disappeared and in its place snuck a dark look. “How do you know you have the true shroud?”

  “There is a way to tell, I’ll show ye what Dragonet showed me, but I want to see the medicine first.”

  “Where is Dragonet? Does he know you have taken this true shroud from him?”

  “Dragonet is grievously injured. I need the medicine. Why do ye hoard it when so many men are hurt and injured? Should not the church be helping others?”

  “The church will help those who can reciprocate with a sizable donation. This medicine can save a man’s life. It will not be given unless a man can give me his life’s worth.”

  “These are the teachings o’ the Church?”

  “Church teachings are what I say they are. Now do you have the shroud or not?”

  “Aye, here it is.” Morrigan removed a velvet pouch from the inside of her cloak.

  Barrick’s eyes bored into the bag as if he could penetrate the cloth to see inside the bag.

  “How do you know you have the correct shroud?”

  “Show me the one you have and I can show you the difference,” said Morrigan.

  Barrick glared at her.

  “Are ye afeared o’ me?” asked Morrigan. “I have already seen both, and I know ye have the one. Ye can keep both o’ them; all I want is the medicine.”

  Slowly Barrick reached into a large pocket of his robes and drew out the velvet pouch. Morrigan’s heart beat faster. That was it, the true shroud.

  “If you attempt to take this one, you will die a most unhappy death,” growled Barrick.

  “Ye would kill me the way ye killed Mal?”

  “Oh no, I took care that Mal did not suffer. With you I will not be so kind.”

  Morrigan took a step back from the evil glint in his eye. She did not doubt he meant to kill her. She needed more time. “One thing I dinna understand is why ye wanted Archie to kill the bishop of Glasgow.”

  “My dear girl, there are many things you do not understand.”

  “True. But why no’ have Mal kill him. Why Archie?”

  “McNab was expendable. You are expendable. Do I make myself clear? Show me the shroud!”

  Morrigan untied the laces, taking her time, trying to keep Barrick talking. “So ye wanted Archie to do it so ye could blame him afterwards and let him swing for the murder. And what if he said you forced him to do it?”

  “No one would believe him, just as no one will believe you.”

  “But why do ye wish to kill the bishop o’ Glasgow at all?”

  “The shroud, lass.” He stood up from behind his table. “My patience grows thin.”

  Morrigan removed the linen cloth from the bag, but did not unfold it. “Why do ye want this old thing anyway?”

  “You have no idea of its worth,” sneered Barrick.

  “Is it holy?” asked Morrigan.

  “It is power! There are those who would give anything to see it, to touch it. The Church would not build me a cathedral, but they will now, those fools in Rome.” Barrick came around the table and snatched the cloth from Morrigan’s hand. “For this I will get a castle even bigger than the bishop of Glasgow.”

  “Ye wanted the bishop’s castle so ye thought to kill him and take his position.”

  “Obviously. Now what is the difference between these?” asked Barrick, laying both folded linens on the table. He walked around the table next to her. Too close.

  “Do ye no’ care how many people ye kill to get what ye want?” asked Morrigan, resisting the urge to run away.

  Barrick turned on her, knife in hand, and pointed it at her throat. “Let me make it perfectly clear to you. I do not care how many people I kill. To get what I want, I will happily kill you, your idiot brother, every member of your clan, the bishop of Glasgow, and the bloody pope himself. Now tell me about the shroud!”

  “Enough!” said Dragonet, emerging from behind the curtain, crossbow in hand.

  “Guards!” shouted Barrick.

  A loud commotion could be heard from outside the doors and Morrigan prayed Argitaine’s men could hold off the guards.

  Morrigan went to draw her sword, but remembered she had left it behind so as not to appear to be too threatening. In a flash Barrick grabbed her and twisted her in front of him like a shield, his knife to her throat. Morrigan struggled, but the old man held her like a vice, pricking her throat with his knife as a warning.

  “Release her,” demanded Dragonet.

  “Drop your crossbow or I’ll slice her throat,” roared Barrick.

  “Release her or I’ll drop you.” Dragonet did not lower his weapon.

  Morrigan’s mind spun, she calculated the angle of the shot; there was not much of Barrick that was an easy target, and one inch off could kill her.

  “Do not think I will be merciful. Lower your weapon,” shouted Barrick.

  Barrick pressed the tip of his knife into her neck, drawing blood. Morrigan gazed at Dragonet’s green eyes. If she were to die, she would die looking at the man she loved.

  “Argggh!” shouted Barrick, and his grip on her suddenly loosened. Morrigan broke free and ran to Dragonet.

  Barrick cursed them freely, Dragonet’s bolt sticking out of his elbow. “I will kill you. I will kill every one you ever cared about or met!”

  Two black-robed figures emerged from behind the screen. One walked up to Barrick and put his hand on his shoulder. “Calm yourself, Brother.”

  “Who are you? What are you doing in my chamber? Guards!”

  “I am Father Pierre, this is Father Luke. We have come to help,” the man spoke softly but with authority.

  “Who? Help… how?”

  “We have been given the authority to investigate and arrest you if required,” said Father Luke in a calm voice.

  “Our investigation has found enough evidence to enact this arrest warrant, signed by the pope,” said Father Pierre.

  “Whom you threatened to kill,” finished Father Luke.

  “No, I… who are you?” Barrick looked wildly between the two priests.

  “We are the Inquisition.”
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br />   Barrick’s wide eyes bulged from his head. “No! I will not be arrested!” Barrick broke free and ran to the door to find the Duke of Argitaine standing with sword drawn. Barrick spun and ran for the secret escape route, but Archie blocked his escape with drawn sword and a mace.

  “I’ve waited a long time for this, Barrick,” said Archie.

  “No! You are nothing!” screamed Barrick. “You cannot arrest me, you pathetic worm.” Barrick fought back with surprising strength for a man with a bolt in his arm. In the end it was Archie McNab who wrestled him to the ground while Father Pierre and Father Luke tied his hands securely and dragged him out of the room with Archie and the duke’s help.

  “Noooooooo!” Barrick’s screams could be heard from the hallway.

  Father Luke turned back and walked to the table where the two folded sheets of linen still lay. “I will take these,” he said to Morrigan, who had moved toward the table in the commotion.

  “Aye, do,” said Morrigan. “Though to be honest I think they are naught but old bed sheets.”

  Father Luke inclined his head and gently removed the folded pieces of linen, exiting the room.

  In the room, oddly silent after so much commotion, Morrigan met Dragonet’s gaze for a moment, then looked away. He could raise her pulse by simply looking at her.

  “Nice shot,” said Morrigan.

  “If you please do not do that to me again. My heart cannot handle so much excitement.”

  “Naught is wrong wi’ yer heart.”

  “Then why does it pain me?”

  Morrigan looked up at Dragonet. He had tears in his eyes. And suddenly she did too. He was everything she could never have.

  “Did you get the true shroud?” he asked.

  Morrigan nodded and pulled a velvet pouch from a pocket in her cloak.

  “Good girl.”

  “Ye ken that is hardly true.”

  “What does Father Luke have?”

  “Two linen bed sheets from the good sisters at the convent.”

  Dragonet smiled. “I love… I love you.” His voice cracked with emotion.

  “Please dinna do this,” whispered Morrigan, brushing away a tear that threatened to fall. “Here, take it. I dinna wish it to go to yer father, but ye can do with it what ye will.” Morrigan held out the velvet pouch and Dragonet took it, but put it down on the table, choosing instead to wrap his arms around her.