Page 21 of Laird of Flint
The prior looked troubled. He stroked his chin thoughtfully and resumed walking. “Brother Cathal.” He shook his head. “’Tis possible, but…”
“Did any of the thefts occur on Thursdays?”
“Theymayhave. ’Tis hard to say. Sometimes the objects aren’t missed for days.” The prior mulled over the idea for a moment. Then he said, “Ye don’t suppose he’s been stealin’ the alms as well?”
Hew shrugged.
“Sweet Mary,” the prior said, “if he’s been stealin’ alms all this time…” He let out a pained sigh. “Brother Cathal’s been collectin’ from Kildunan for two years.”
Hew thought the prior was getting ahead of things. Brother Cathal’s guilt hadn’t been established. Access didn’t prove the crime.
“What about Father James?” Hew asked.
“Father James?”
“He was on your list as well.”
The prior straightened indignantly. “Father James is beyond reproach. I only put him on the list because he makes regular visits to the monastery.”
“Random visits, not regular visits.”
“Well, aye. But he comes every month.”
“And what is his access?”
“He has access to all o’ Kildunan,” the prior scoffed. “As he should. After all, he’s in charge o’ the monastery.”
“Have any of the valuables gone missing after his inspections?”
The prior gasped at the suggestion. “Are ye insinuatin’—”
“I mean no offense. But you can’t flush out quarry without beating about the bushes.”
The prior huffed at that. Then he said in hushed tones, “Ye mustn’t let Father James know ye’re ‘beatin’ about the bushes.’ The abbot has made it clear. The father is not to be alerted to the thefts. Not yet.” He added sharply, “Especially since ye’re accusin’ him o’ bein’ the thief.”
“I’m not accusing him. I’m only crossing the names offyourlist,” Hew pointed out.
The prior muttered something under his breath.
“Tell me this,” Hew said. “Are there times when Father James and Brother Cathal come to Kildunan together?”
“Aye. Sometimes. Wait. Ye don’t think…”
Hew filled in the possibility. “They could be working together.”
He expected an outburst of disbelief from the prior. But there was none. To Hew’s surprise, the prior’s voice was distraught as he murmured, “As much as I don’t want to believe it, ye may be right. No one else has the access they do. No one would question their goin’ into the church. Or the library. Or the cloister.”
Hew suddenly felt sorry for the prior. The possibility that Father James, a man revered by the monks, might be a common thief was obviously upsetting to a man who lived and breathed his faith.
He was about to offer a morsel of compassion when the prior pointed and announced, “Ah. There ’tis.”
Through the thinning trees, Hew glimpsed a castle strategically perched atop a hill. It was of modest size, compared to Rivenloch. But its sandstone walls gleamed golden. Proud banners topped each corner of the keep, snapping crisply in the breeze. And dozens of figures dotted the hillside, as busy as ants. The castle was small, but it seemed efficient and well-maintained. Dunlop likely owned much of the land surrounding it as well.
At the barbican, the guard waved the prior through the gate, though he gave Hew and his axe a dubious scowl. Indeed, once they were in the courtyard, several clanfolk gave Hew a dubious scowl. Women with children also gave him a wide berth.
The prior plunged ahead to address a pair of men-at-arms standing beside the keep. “Do ye know where Dunlop is?”
“Inside,” one of them said, nodding toward the great hall.
