Highland Resurrection (Blades of Honor Book 2)

by B. J. Scott

  Lazarus opened the door and left the cell before she could protest any further. He knew what he had to do, and no one was going to change his mind.

  Chapter 13

  Lazarus left Ayton Abbey for what he believed was the last time. He paused on the steps and glanced skyward. “Please, Lord, guide my way and return Quinn home safely to his sister.”

  It started to rain, icy droplets pummeling his face and adding to his already dismal mood. Huddled beneath the hood of his cloak, he darted across a small clearing to the stable, then quickly saddled his horse. He’d not wait for Father Marquis to come searching for him again. Instead, he’d present himself to the bastard and demand he set the lad free.

  When he neared Coldingham Abbey, Lazarus slowed his pace. There was still time to change his mind. He slammed his balled fist on the saddle, furious with himself for even toying with the notion. Quinn needed him, and he was done running. Lazarus kneed his mount. He wanted to get this over and done.

  “Halt,” a man shouted when he reached the steps of the abbey. There was no mistaking his thick French accent. “What business do you have here, monsieur?”

  “I wasna aware the church was now posting a guard and questioning those who come to pray,” he said, not caring about his sarcastic tone, then lowered his hood. “I’m Brother Lazarus. I was told Father Marquis has been looking for me.”

  Six armed men surrounded him and before Lazarus could utter another word, someone came up from behind, grabbed the back of his cloak, and flung him to the ground.

  “Aye,” the man said. “Father Marquis will be glad to see you.”

  Lazarus glowered up at his attacker. “Do you welcome all who come to worship in such a hostile manner?” He gritted his teeth, slowly climbed to his feet, then brushed the dirt from his clothes.

  “Only the ones who are wanted for treason by the French crown,” the man replied.

  “I have no idea what you are havering about. I’ve committed no crimes and certainly am na guilty of treason against a king and country to which I never swore fealty.”

  “You know damned well what this is about,” the man snapped. “You were tried and found guilty of atrocities committed against both the French crown and the Catholic Church. You would have been executed had you not escaped.” He shoved Lazarus again, almost knocking him off his feet.

  There was obviously nothing to gain by arguing a moot point with these buffoons, so Lazarus refrained from further comment on the subject. Instead, he steadied himself, then scowled back at the man. “Where can I find Father Marquis? He has something of value I wish returned.”

  “We’ll be glad to take you to him,” the first man said, then closed his hand around Lazarus’s left forearm.

  “That willna be necessary.” When another man grabbed Lazarus’s right wrist, he twisted free from the men’s grasps and balled his fists at his sides. Lashing out would do him no good at this point.

  Lazarus glared at the first man. “I pride myself in being a patient man, but lay hand to me again, and I promise you will regret it. I came here of my own accord and I’m capable of walking without assistance. For now.” He mumbled the later part under his breath. Once they began their interrogation, there was no telling how he’d leave the abbey. Perhaps standing erect, with most his body parts intact, but more likely he’d be toted out on a death cart when they learned he’d never yield, regardless of the torture.

  “Damned bold, if you ask me,” the first man said, then spat on the ground. “Are all Scottish monks stubborn fools, or are you just a daft exception?”

  His resolve wearing thin, Lazarus returned the man’s malevolent stare. “There is nothing ordinary about me, so I’d suggest you keep that in mind. Now show me where I can find Father Marquis.”

  The first guard jammed the hilt of his sword into Lazarus’s stomach. “You’re not in a position to threaten anyone, monsieur. So best you counsel your tongue.” He laughed and sheathed his weapon. “Father Marquis is in the rectory. I’m certain he will be pleased to see you. You’ve proved to be quite evasive until now, and he is not amused.”

  The force of the unexpected blow caused Lazarus to double over at the waist. He sucked in a gulp of air, then straightened. “I’m na here for his amusement. Show me the way.”

  The head guard grunted then stomped up the steps leading into the chapel. The other French agents moved aside, allowing Lazarus to follow.

  Lazarus’s chest tightened as he climbed the stone staircase with all the enthusiasm of a condemned man about to face the gallows, certain his demise would be neither quick nor merciful. However, compared to the fearless Muslim demons he’d faced in the Holy Land, the prospect of dealing with these French milksops paled in comparison. He squared his shoulders, raised his chin, then entered the abbey with King Philip’s henchmen on his heels.

  They traveled down a long narrow corridor, one he’d used many times on his way to Mass. But this was not a gathering of the area monks preparing for worship.

  When they reached a large, ornately carved door at the end of the hallway, the first guard halted, then addressed his companions. “Keep a close eye on him while I let Father Marquis know he’s here.” He entered the room, reappearing a few minutes later. “Enter. He is anxious to see you.”

  Lazarus squared his shoulders and stepped into the room.

  Father Marquis, a tall, slender man of about two score, with sharp angular features and steel-gray eyes that looked right through a man, stepped from behind a wooden desk.

  “So we finally meet, Brother Lazarus. I was beginning to think the rumors you had escaped from France and returned to Scotland might be false. You led us on quite a chase.” Father Marquis motioned with a curt flick of his hand at the man who accompanied him. “That will be all for now, Louis. Leave us to chat and I’ll summon you back when I need you.”

  Louis bowed then glared at Lazarus and gave him a shove. “You heard Father. In you go. Just remember, I’ll be right outside the door. Try to escape and I’ll cut you down before you reach the end of the hallway.” He cackled then left the room, slamming the door behind him.

  Exchanging pleasantries with an arrogant priest and his minions was not why Lazarus had turned himself in. He was here for one reason only, and that was to procure Quinn’s release.

  Father Marquis circled Lazarus. “Tell me, how did you manage to remain hidden for so long? It has been two years since you fled France. While he denied any knowledge of your whereabouts, I suspect Brother Simon had you sequestered somewhere he thought was safe.”

  “You have me now, is that not enough?” Lazarus asked. “I’m told you have taken an innocent bairn prisoner. I demand you release him at once.”

  “Is that so?” Father Marquis tapped a finger against his chin, then scowled. “Since when does a lowly monk give orders to the head of the dioceses? If anything, you should be groveling before me, begging my forgiveness.” He pointed at the floor in front of him. “On your knees.”

  Lazarus stiffened and locked stares with Father Marquis. “I kneel before God and only He can grant absolution and forgiveness.”

  “You’re an obstinate bugger,” Father Marquis said. “But no matter. When my men are finished interrogating you, begging for clemency will not be your only plea.”

  Lazarus offered no response.

  Father Marquis took a menacing step forward. “You will pay dearly for your belligerence. Unless, of course, you cooperate and tell me where the other Knights Templar are hiding. I also want to know the location of treasure they stole. Perhaps then I’ll find it in my heart to show mercy.”

  “To my knowledge, there are no other Knights Templar in Scotland. And the treasure is a myth. It was but another lie concocted by your French king to discredit the Holy Order of Solomon.”

  “Liar,” Father Marquis snapped. “T
ell me what I want to know or suffer the consequences.”

  Lazarus shrugged. “I dinna expect you to believe what I have to say. But I speak the truth.”

  “We will see about that,” Marquis growled.

  “When you plucked the lad from his home, you told his sister you’d set him free if I turned myself over to you, did you not?” Lazarus held his hands out at his sides, palms facing skyward as a show of compliance. “I’m here and I expect you to make good on your promise. Let Quinn return to his sister, then you may do with me what you wish.”

  Father Marquis strode to the window, then peered outside. After a long period of silence, he slowly turned, facing Lazarus. “Oui, I told the woman if you surrendered yourself, I would return the boy. But I did not say when.” He planted his knuckles on the desk, then leaned forward, knocking over an inkwell in the process. “There is no doubt in my mind that you can tell me exactly where the Knights Templar are holed up and the location of the stolen treasure and religious relics I seek. Perhaps it is you who have the riches hidden.” He pointed his finger at Lazarus.

  “I left France alone and with nothing more than the clothes on my back. While I pray my brethren are safe, I havena been in contact with any member of Knight Templar since my return to Scotland. And I dinna know the whereabouts of any so-called treasure either.” Lazarus glared at the priest. “If there is any credence in your claim to be a man of God, you will let Quinn go home.”

  “The boy is the spawn of a whore doing the devil’s bidding. She bears the mark,” the priest snapped. “What happens to him matters not. Evil begets evil according to the Bible and must not go unpunished.”

  “My Bible preaches forgiveness and kindness,” Lazarus countered. “The lad is her brother, not her son, and an innocent bairn. What you’ve heard about his sister being a whore is a lie. And even if it were true, you have no reason to punish the lad. I’ve turned myself in as you requested and the time has come for you honor your word by releasing him.”

  “I’ll decide if and when the lad is set free.” Father Marquis marched past Lazarus. “In the meantime, he will remain in my custody. Until such a time you decide to tell me what I want to know.” He opened the door then leaned into the hallway. “Louis!”

  “That is not what you told Sheena,” Lazarus said.

  “A promise to a woman who lifts her skirts for coin means nothing,” the priest replied. “If it comes down to that, it will be my word against hers, and who do you think people will believe?”

  “Oui, Father.” Louis promptly appeared.

  “Take the monk to the barred cell in lower level of the abbey. Once he’s inside, lock the door and post a guard. He is to have no visitors and no food or water without my expressed permission.” Father Marquis then lowered his voice so Lazarus could no longer make out the rest of the orders he uttered to Louis in French.

  “Oui. Right away, Father.” Louis gave a terse nod, then clutched Lazarus by the upper arm. “You heard Father Marquis. You’re to come with me.”

  Lazarus yanked free of Louis’s grasp. “I warned you before. I dinna need your help. Show me the way and I’ll follow.” He glanced over his shoulder at the priest. “The Lord is watching and you must answer to Him for your actions. I’d suggest you weigh your decisions carefully.”

  “Get him out of here,” Father Marquis ordered. “After a few days in the bowels of hell, we’ll see whose actions are judged.”

  “I’ve already been to hell and back. Nothing you can do to me will weaken my faith or my resolve.” Lazarus turned and left the rectory with his head held high.

  Chapter 14

  Lazarus slammed his open palm against the barred window, then followed the act of utter frustration with a string of blasphemies no decent man of the cloth should know, let alone repeat in a house of God. He cursed again, then crossed himself, before asking the Almighty for forgiveness.

  He’d already gone two days without food or drink. Or perhaps it was three. He’d lost track of time and he’d had no contact with a living soul since he was tossed into the cell. Father Marquis had adequately described the dank, dismal prison as being the bowels of hell, but the priest was wrong if he thought this attempt to weaken his body would affect his resolve. He’d suffered far worse in the past and survived.

  While held in King Phillip’s dungeon, he’d endured daily beatings. They’d tried to cripple him physically by breaking bones in his leg and hands; emotionally by forcing him to watch his fellow knights tortured and beheaded. Deprived of nourishment for days on end, there were times when the prisoners were forced to drink their own urine or perish. But even then, he refused to yield.

  Lazarus shuddered as the memories he’d tried so hard to forget resurfaced with a vengeance. Yet he didn’t care about himself. The safety of Quinn and his sister was his only concern. He prayed that Father Marquis had already released the lad and would not take out his anger on Sheena. But he harbored serious doubts that the man possessed either a sense of honor or decency.

  Keys clank against his metal door, and Lazarus spun around.

  “Father Marquis sent me to see if you’ve had a change of heart and might wish to speak with him,” a man announced, then stepped into the cell.

  “I have nothing to say to him.” In an attempt to see who was speaking, Lazarus squinted in the dimly lit space. As his vision cleared, Louis and three burly guards came into view. They talked amongst themselves in French, but Lazarus, being well versed in several languages, understood every word spoken between them.

  “You must be getting hungry and thirsty by now.” Louis retrieved a wineskin from his belt, uncapped it, and took a drink. He dragged his hand across his lips, then held out the flagon in Lazarus’s direction. “Tell me what I need to know and the rest is yours.”

  Lazarus licked his parched lips, his gaze fixed on Louis’s offering. He balled his fists as this side and clenched his teeth, refusing to give in to his ploy. “I’m not thirsty.”

  Louis shook his head and clucked his tongue. “We thought after three days in this hellhole with no food or water, you might be a bit more cooperative.”

  “You thought wrong. Has Quinn been set free and returned to his sister as Father Marquis promised?” Lazarus asked.

  A wry grin crossed Louis’s lips. “You tell me the location of the treasure and where the other Knights Templar are holed up, and I’ll update you on the lad’s whereabouts.”

  Lazarus lowered his gaze. “I know naught about any treasure or knights hiding in Scotland.”

  “That is too bad.” Louis motioned to the guards with a sweep of his hand, and two of the men lunged forward, each seizing one of Lazarus’s arms. “Perhaps we can loosen you tongue and jog your memory.”

  Lazarus struggled at first, but to no avail. The guards were both several inches taller and outweighed him by at least two stone. Not to mention there were three of the buggers in addition to Louis. Unfortunately, in his weakened state, he was no match for their brawn and strength. He narrowed his gaze, glaring at their leader. “It doesna take a brave man to challenge another when it is four against one in his favor.”

  “Are you calling me a coward?” Louis stepped forward and punched Lazarus in the stomach with all the force he could muster, then delivered another brutal blow.

  The wind knocked from his body, Lazarus doubled over in agony, but he refused to cower before these buffoons.

  Louis fisted Lazarus’s hair, then snapped his head back, forcing their eyes to meet. “You can save yourself a lot of pain and trouble if you just answer my questions.”

  “Go to hell,” Lazarus replied, gaining him a backhanded slap that rattled his teeth and split his lower lip. He tasted blood, but he was more determined than ever not to yield. “I canna tell you what I dinna know.”

  “We’ll see about that.” Louis delivered s
everal vicious blows to Lazarus’s chest and abdomen, before backing away. “What say you now, monk?”

  Certain Louis had broken more than one of his ribs, Lazarus squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in a slow, shallow breath. “I have naught to say to you,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “Release the fool,” Louis ordered.

  The guards relinquished their holds, and Lazarus dropped to his knees, then wrapped his arms around his chest and glared up at Louis. But he refrained from comment.

  “Stubborn ass,” Louis grumbled. “This is but a sample of what is in store for you if you refuse to cooperate. Tell me what I want to know, and it ends now. Freedom. You can walk out of here and go back to your whore and her brat.” He tapped his finger against his brow, then grinned. “If not, perhaps I’ll pay the chit a visit. It has been a while since I have had a good tumble.”

  “This is between you and me. Leave Sheena alone,” Lazarus snapped.

  “We seem to have hit a nerve.” Louis cackled. “Could it be more is going on between you and the whore than we know? Maybe she can answer our questions.”

  “She knows nothing about my past,” Lazarus said. “Harming her willna get you what you want.”

  Louis grasped the crotch of his trews, then pumped his hips. “I’m not so sure about that. If she can make a monk forsake his vows of celibacy, she must be quite a little vixen beneath the pelts. She does have a beautiful mouth. Just perfect for—”

  “Touch her and I’ll kill you,” Lazarus rasped, then drew in a ragged breath. “Do with me as you wish, but leave the lass alone.”

  Louis leapt forward, then delivered a swift kick with the toe of his boot, connecting with Lazarus’s jaw and sending him careening to the ground at his feet. “You’re in no position to be giving me orders or following through on threats.” He spat on the floor, then nudged Lazarus’s shoulder with his foot. “Get up!”