Page 126 of Laird of Flint
“Ye don’t mean the guildsman, do ye?” the physician rattled on. “We agreed I could hasten him along with a few extra drops of opium. ’Tisn’t the first time I—”
“Not the guildsman,” the prior growled. “I don’t care about the guildsman.”
“Is it the guildsman’s jewels? I swear I put them in with the rest.”
“Och aye. Right before ye handed them o’er to Rivenloch.”
“What?”
“He brought them to Kildunan, ye halfwit. Showed them to the abbot.”
“What are ye talkin’ about? They’re right where I left—”
“Is that so?” the prior sneered. “So ye’re sayin’ yedidn’tconfess to Rivenloch and turn o’er the treasures?”
“What?” he blurted in amazement. “Why would I confess?”
“I should have known ye were a coward. Ye’ve been as twitchy as a cat for weeks now.”
“Because I’ve been sittin’ on top o’ the spoils,” the physician challenged. “Ye keep sayin’ ye’ll move it, but—”
“But since ’twas takin’ so long, ye decided to wash your hands of it. Is that it?”
“Nay.”
“Ye figured ye’d unburden your soul,” the prior said, “and throw me to the wolves.”
“I swear I don’t know what ye’re talkin’ about.”
“He’s goin’ to pry it out o’ ye, one way or another.”
“Who?”
“Rivenloch. All he has to do is pick up that bloody axe o’ his, and ye’ll be screamin’ my name all the way to the garderobe.” There was a sudden heavy impact, like the prior punching the wall, followed by a squeak from the physician. “But then ye know what happens? I tell them about your crime. They’ll be interested to learn ye’re a godforsaken murderer.”
The physician choked on outrage. “God’s eyes! Ye said it yourself. They were goin’ to die anyway. I only put them out o’ their misery.”
“I don’t think the law will see it that way. Which means ye’re goin’ to die. Probably by hangin’. ’Tis an ugly death, as I’m sure ye know. Ye’ll piss your trews, and ye might strangle for an hour. So here’s what I’m offerin’. I’m goin’ to… How did ye say it? Put ye out o’ your misery.”
The physician gasped.
“But I’m a forgivin’ man. It seems ye haven’t given Rivenloch my name…yet. So I’m goin’ to give ye a choice. Ye can either brew yourself a toxic concoction and die by your own hand, or I can slit your throat and leave ye bleedin’.”
“Wait!” the physician barked in panic. “Wait,” he repeated, clearly trying to calm himself. “Listen to me. I’ve said nothin’ to Rivenloch. I swear. Absolutely nothin’. I stashed the guildsman’s jewels away where I always do. And the treasure was right where ’tis always been.”
“Are ye sure about that?”
“O’ course I’m sure. Come. I’ll prove it to ye. I’ll take ye there now.”
Troye lifted his head, suddenly alert.
Carenza coiled her hand in the hound’s collar. She braced her other hand on the rim of the wooden tub behind which she was crouched and listened.
That had to be Peris. Once word got back to him that the artifacts were missing, he’d surely come to see for himself. Whether he would come with his accomplice, she didn’t know. But one or both of them would likely flee once they discovered their crime was uncovered and their treasure confiscated.
With Troye by her side, she had the might and courage to face the outlaws before they were able to escape. The loyal hound was ferocious of growl, sharp of fang, and fiercely protective. The two of them could keep the thieves cornered until help could be summoned.
At the first rattle of the lock, Troye started growling.
