Page 30 of Laird of Flint
He wrapped his fingers around his axe on the floor beside him and rose without a sound.
Peering between the shutters, he spied a dark figure stealing across the cloister.
Then he mouthed a silent curse. When he’d gone to bed, he’d assumed he was done investigating for the night. It appeared he’d assumed wrong. He needed to find out who the mysterious figure was and what he was up to. But first he had to get dressed. Quickly.
He wrenched his leine over his head and pulled up his trews, cursing as he struggled to tie the points. He shoved his feet into his boots. Finally, whirling his plaid over his shoulders, he crept out of his cell. Thankfully, the moon was bright enough to follow the path of bent grass where the man had trod. It led straight to the monastery gate.
Hew gripped his axe tighter as he cautiously nudged open the unlocked gate. Who else but an outlaw would steal out of a monastery in the middle of the night?
He spotted the figure far in the distance on the westward road. The man had wasted no time fleeing Kildunan. And he was making haste now. Hew’s delay meant the outlaw was not much more than a faraway speck.
But that was good. It was best that Hew keep his distance and make sure the man didn’t know he was being followed.
An hour later, he was still headed west. In the direction of Dunlop Castle. And Hew began to have doubts about the man and his motives.
What if the figure was not a thief, but the physician returning to Dunlop?
What if he’d only arrived in the middle of the night because someone in the monastery had taken ill?
What if his visit hadn’t been for a robbery, but a mission of mercy?
The man crested the grassy hill before the castle. Hew continued his pursuit, staying close to the trees. When he ran out of trees at the clearing, he stopped to watch.
The barbican gates of Dunlop would open for either the physician or a man of God. As Hew expected, the man swiftly disappeared within the castle walls.
Axe-wielding Hew, however, was not likely to be welcomed by the guard.
Sooner or later, if he’d come from monastery, the mysterious visitor would need to return. Likely before dawn.
Hew settled down onto the hard ground to wait.
For Carenza, the full moon and the cloudless sky were both a blessing and a curse. The light would help her find her way across the courtyard, out of the castle, and over the hills. It would also leave her visible—and vulnerable—to anyone else who happened to venture forth on the clear, crisp night.
But too much misgiving spawned cowardice. And Carenza was not a coward. Besides, she’d gone too far to turn back now.
Still, before she committed to the challenging journey, she had to finish one less complicated task.
Entering the shadowy garden, she crouched between the apple trees, juggling the pair of squirming hedgepigs in her hands.
“Winter’s comin’,” she explained in a whisper, “and I can’t hide ye in my chamber anymore. Ye’ve got to go on now and make your own cozy nests.”
She set Blancmange and Pokerounce down in the soft mulch, just a few feet away from the garden wall, where she’d left a jumbled stash of willow twigs. To her simultaneous dismay and relief, they toddled off without a backward glance, eager to investigate.
Letting her animal wards go was always bittersweet. But Carenza was under no illusions. They were not hers to own. None of them were.
As she watched them waddle away, she felt a twinge of envy. They were on their own now. Free.
The only way Carenza could be free to roam where she willed was if she did it behind her father’s back. Which was why she’d been reduced to sneaking out like this in the middle of the night.
She understood his protectiveness. He didn’t want to lose her. He needed her to be his adoring daughter. To bring him light and laughter when the world grew too dark. To be the dutiful lass who fulfilled all his hopes and expectations. The compliant young lady he would one day surrender to another man. A man to whom she’d become an adoring wife.
She would always be some man’s pet, she supposed. Such was the fate of a laird’s daughter.
Still, she longed for more.
And she couldn’t help but feel spoiled and selfish for wanting that.
After all, she lived in luxury. She was well-fed. Well-dressed. Bedecked with jewels. Blessed with good health. Spoiled by servants and tutors. Provided with entertainments. Given all she desired.
