Page 128 of Laird of Flint
Somehow Hew managed to keep his voice steady as he rasped out, “You don’t want her blood on your hands. If you leave now, we’ll remain here until dawn.”
As further proof of his surrender, Hew raised his arms up and sat in the corner on one of the chairs.
It seemed an eternity before the prior finally decided he could make a clean escape. He shoved Carenza away from him so that she fell at Hew’s feet. Hew curled his arm around her, less to protect her and more to keep her from lunging toward the prior to scratch his eyes out.
Still wielding his dagger, the prior slowly backed out of the room.
But he forgot about the physician, his accomplice, his partner in crime, that only a moment ago he would have happily allowed to be killed.
Peris was understandably bitter about that. And he was in no mood to forgive the prior. He seized Hew’s axe where it lay on the ground and turned the blade upwards. Then he tripped the prior so that he fell backwards onto the edge.
The blow didn’t kill him at once. Hew covered Carenza’s face so she wouldn’t see the prior’s thrashing or hear his piteous screams. But within moments, the physician opened a double locket from around his neck and poured the contents—a white powder—into the prior’s mouth. It must have been fast-acting poison. Foam spilled from between the prior’s lips, and then he went still.
Hew wondered if this was the sort of mercy killing Peris had been doing at Kildunan in order to steal the nobles’ jewels. It might be quick, but it was still murder. The physician would likely be tried and executed.
Looking into Peris’s eyes, he saw the man’s dark fate written there as well. Execution was not what the physician intended. Before Hew could prevent him, Peris opened the second side of the locket and ingested the rest of the powder.
Hew held Carenza close while Peris suffered the thankfully brief paroxysms of agony. The physician might have been a thief and a murderer, deserving of death. But at one time he’d cared for her mother. This was something Carenza didn’t need to see.
Chapter 23
Carenza scratched Troye behind the ear as they stopped in a sunny spot of the rain-washed glen. He had only a wee scar left on his jaw from his violent altercation with Peris, thanks to Dunlop’s new physician, Thomas. Thomas adored animals, to her delight, and could be seen tending to them as often as his human patients.
Since Kildunan didn’t want it bandied about that they’d had a thief in their employ or that anyone had met an untimely death on their watch, the monastery thefts were mostly kept secret. Father James was never privy to the nefarious activities that had taken place at the monastery. The monks, for their part, kept silent. The treasures were quietly returned to their places, and the jewels were added to the monastery coffers to provide for the poor. The physician’s death had been deemed an unfortunate accident, and the abbot declared simply that the prior had gone missing.
Of course, Hew informed her father privately about the investigation, since it centered on Dunlop and their physician. Carenza’s part in solving the crime had to go unremarked. But she supposed that was for the best. Her father would never have approved of her taking such risks to life and limb.
Now that Hew’s work for the abbot was complete, he could be released from Kildunan. And since her father was fond of the Rivenloch warrior, Hew was free to linger at Dunlop for as long as he liked.
Carenza smiled and tossed a stick for Troye. The hound galloped off across the grass toward the crumbled and rotting byre, scattering dewdrops in his wake.
It was so much more convenient having Hew stay at the castle. He was delightful company at supper. Inspiring to watch on the practice field as he battled alongside the Dunlop warriors. A joy with whom she planned to share the spring arrivals of hedgepiglets and fox cubs, squirrel kits and hares.
Best of all, now that Hew no longer had to keep up the fiction of aspiring to the church, he could begin courting her in earnest. He accompanied her to the village each week. Helped her father distribute gifts to the crofters. Rode with her across the countryside, making plans for the expansion of Dunlop once they were wed.
Of course, they still had to tryst in secret. The laird would have been mortified to discover his beloved daughter was not as lily-pure as he imagined.
But now that they’d made the mental commitment, it seemed ludicrous to waste weeks awaiting the king’s permission when they could be enjoying each other’s company.
Thankfully, they found ample opportunity. And soon it would be spring. So Carenza took small expeditions like this one with Troye to discover new locations in nature where she and Hew might eventually sample the wonders of the outdoors—in the crook of a tree, behind a thicket, in a fern-draped cave.
Troye came trotting back with the stick.
“Good lad,” she said, patting his head. Then she turned and tossed it blindly in the other direction.
It didn’t fly far. Hew had stolen up on her. It sailed about five yards to hit him smack in the middle of the chest.
As if that weren’t enough of an insult, Troye lunged at the stick and nearly knocked Hew over.
“Troye!” Carenza scolded.
But she needn’t have fretted. The Viking was as strong and steady as an oak. He was already laughing and scrubbing at the hound’s face in good humor.
“Your da is looking for you,” he said when he could take a breath. “Something about a missive.”
She shrugged. A missive didn’t sound so important. Not when she was alone with the one she loved in a beautiful sun-pierced glen.
“I’m sure it can wait,” she purred.
