Page 104 of Laird of Flint
She knew he was worried about her. But this was the easy part of the investigation. She was going to a monastery to give a sizable tithing to the monks. What could go wrong?
Chapter 19
Once Carenza handed the abbot at Kildunan a purse heavy with coin, he was more than happy to allow her entrance to the cloister. She requested to see the three monks Peris had named. The prior fetched Brother Michael first.
The elderly monk had bad eyesight, an arthritic limp, and a white fringe of hair.
In case he was hard of hearing as well, she said loudly, “I wish ye to know I’m makin’ a sizable donation to Kildunan in your name, Brother Michael. Peris the physician was with my mother when she left this world. He told me ye too are often found by the side o’ the dyin’, givin’ them comfort and easin’ their souls. ’Tis for your great gift o’ the heart I give ye thanks.”
“Bless ye, m’lady.” Brother Michael seemed pleased, though she wondered if he wasn’t far from death himself. He had to squint to look at her, and one of his hands had a bad tremor. Still, his voice was strong enough. He might have been the one she’d heard in the passageway. It was hard to tell.
“If ’tisn’t too much trouble,” she said, giving him her biggest smile, one he’d be able to see, “can ye tell me about one o’ your most memorable vigils?”
She wasn’t sure whether the story would be of use, but it might help to hear more of his voice.
“O’ course, m’lady.” He screwed up his face, thinking. “There was an elderly nobleman I remember. He claimed he had a son in the village, though he’d ne’er met him. I asked for his name and, by the grace o’ God, I was able to find the lad.” He seemed to drift off for a moment, lost in the memory. Then he blinked and finished the story. “I brought him to the man’s deathbed, and they were able to make their peace before the Lord came down to collect his soul.”
“How marvelous,” Carenza exclaimed, placing a palm on her bosom. “But why had he ne’er met the lad before?”
Brother Michael lowered his voice and beckoned her close. “A man on his deathbed will confess all manner o’ sins to a monk. To be honest, the lad was a by-blow. But the nobleman loved him as a true son all the same. I daresay the lad and his mother were pleased to be given a hefty portion o’ the man’s estate upon his demise.”
“Indeed.”
But was it the truth? Had Brother Michael had actually found the man’s son? Or had he presented an impostor and split the inheritance with the lad’s mother?
“What a lovely outcome,” she said. “Thank ye for your time. And your generosity.”
She decided Brother Michael might indeed have the wiles to cheat a man on his deathbed. It was less likely he had the stamina to smuggle valuables out of the monastery or to walk all the way to Dunlop to conspire with the physician.
The prior summoned Brother Robert next. He was a robust and jovial fellow with black hair and merry blue eyes. He definitely had the stamina to be an outlaw.
When she asked him for a story, the one that came to mind made him chortle with glee. When he spoke, it was difficult to compare his voice to the one she’d heard at Dunlop, because his mood was vastly different.
“I once sat at the bedside of a man who claimed he’d ne’er confessed his sins. Naturally, he wanted to do so, knowin’ he hadn’t long to live. So I offered to listen.” The monk’s speech was punctuated by snickers and chuckles. “He went on for half a day, listin’ every wrongful act he’d done. Every hound he’d kicked. Every kiss he’d stolen. Every instance he’d labored on the Sabbath. Faith, ye’d have thought he was an outlaw bound for hell for all the ‘crimes’ he’d committed. But just when I thought he’d finished up, and I rose to go, he remembered a dozen other sins. I sat back down, and he told me about the innocent dragon he’d slain while the beast was asleep.” He roared with laughter. “Then he told me how he’d wrongly accused his sister o’ being a changelin’, stolen the eggs from a gryphon, wounded the water beast o’ Loch Ness, and fornicated with a selkie…in rather great detail.” He guffawed at that.
Carenza blushed. She didn’t know what to say.
Then Brother Robert’s laughter died out. “The truth was the fellow likely hadn’t anyone to stay with him. He feared if he didn’t keep me entertained with his colorful confessions, I’d leave him alone.” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t have. What else has a monk to do?”
“’Twas good o’ ye to stay with him.”
She wondered if Brother Robert had enjoyed the man’s salacious confessions as much as the man had enjoyed sharing them. He seemed too good-humored to engage in serious theft. On the other hand, he did reveal a rather careless attitude toward the dying man’s soul, and if he shared the same unconcern for the sacred treasures of a monastery…
Brother William was her last interview. His countenance was somber and withdrawn. He made no eye contact, nor did he smile or speak.
He gave her mostly one-word answers, and only when she asked him to relate a story did his eyes awaken with interest. His voice, like the others, was unrecognizable as the man who’d spoken with Peris.
“I remember my first vigil,” he said, his gaze focused on the ground, where he seemed to glimpse some distant memory. “’Twas one o’ my fellows. A young lay brother named Liam. Too young and fair for death.” His face took on a melancholy cast. “I held his hand as he lay dyin’. His skin was so pale, like candle wax. When he was awake, he wished to hear Bible verse. But he slept most o’ the time, lookin’ as peaceful as a bairn. His breath would sometimes stop for long intervals and then resume. Almost like heaven and earth were warrin’ o’er him. Then, as evenin’ neared, a rattle started in his chest, and the abbot said ’twas nearly time. But I couldn’t leave him. Even if he’d ne’er wake again, I couldn’t leave him, for fear the Devil, in his jealousy, might snatch up Liam’s beautiful soul ere the angels could convey him to heaven.” His eyes filled with tears.
Carenza placed a consoling hand on his arm, but he withdrew from her touch. She should have expected as much. Monks weren’t used to a woman’s comfort.
“What happened then?” she gently inquired.
“He woke once. And spoke his last words. Then he drifted into death’s arms.”
“What were his last words?”
Brother William sniffed back his tears and whispered, “He said, ‘I’ve always loved ye.’” Then he cleared his throat and finally looked at her, stating adamantly, “The abbot said he was speakin’ to our Lord.”
