Page 50 of Laird of Flint
Inside, Carenza bristled at the idea of the two men discussing her as a reward. But she dared not betray her affront. She gave her father an indulgent smile instead.
Then, hiding a yawn behind her hand, she wondered how soon she could steal off to bed without arousing suspicion.
The door of the great hall suddenly opened, letting in a breath of fog along with the physician, returned from the monastery.
He looked concerned as he rushed forward through the throng.
“M’laird, I fear I have unwelcome news.”
“The lad’s arm,” her father said on a sigh. “Was it beyond repair then?”
“Nay, ’tis splinted.”
Carenza guessed, “Rivenloch refused the invitation?”
It wouldn’t surprise her. She’d told him her father’s intentions. He certainly wouldn’t want to waste the laird’s time wooing her if he meant to take holy vows.
“Nay. He said he’d come.”
Her father frowned at her. “Now why would ye think he’d refuse? He’s a healthy man in need of a wife. And ye’re the loveliest eligible lass in the Highlands.”
“Och, Da,” she chided, squeezing his arm with affection.
“’Tis somethin’ I saw at the monastery,” the physician said.
“What is it?” the laird asked.
“They’ve got a coo in the cloister, one that wasn’t there before, and I’d swear its ear was notched with the Dunlop mark.”
Carenza couldn’t breathe. Her smile congealed on her face.
“Is that so?” her father said in surprise, chuckling. “So I’m to believe the caterans are an army o’ monks?”
“M’laird?” the physician said, blinking in confusion.
“Ne’er mind, Peris. Perhaps I’ll pay a visit to the monastery myself in the morn,” he decided, “save the Boyle lads the trouble o’ retrievin’ the beast.”
“I’ll come as well,” Carenza blurted out. Why she said that, she didn’t know. It wasn’t as if she could stop the ugly confrontation sure to occur. It just didn’t seem fair to leave the Rivenloch man without an ally.
“Is that to your likin’, Laird Hamish?”
Hew scratched the beast behind its ear as it chomped down a breakfast of fresh hay. It was a pleasant enough animal, despite its intimidating girth.
Lady Carenza had sent coin along to keep the coo fed. So while the physician tended to the novice’s broken arm, Hew picked up a cartload of hay from the village.
By the time he returned, Brother Cathal had arrived as scheduled to collect the alms.
Hew questioned the brother with careful diplomacy, commending him on his charitable profession and feigning an interest in how the funds were equitably distributed.
Brother Cathal, however, was reluctant to share details. Unwilling to make conversation, he wouldn’t even meet Hew’s gaze. He was a man of few words and little time. Driven to do his work and move along, he picked up the donation from the chapter house, slung the satchel over his shoulder, and made his way briskly across the cloister. He flinched in surprise just once when he saw Hamish grazing beside the well, then continued on his brusque way out of the monastery.
Hew wasn’t sure whether the man’s manner was efficient or suspicious.
Brother Cathal had unlimited access to the monastery. The monks let him come and go as he pleased. He could have easily stuffed something extra into his satchel on any of his visits.
But he didn’t seem conniving enough to pull off such a theft. He wasn’t exactly feeble-minded. But there was something different about him. An odd sort of self-absorption and disconnection from the world around him. He seemed intensely focused on one thing, the task at hand. And anything that distracted him from that task—like a coo in the cloister or a layman asking too many questions—rattled him.
If Brother Cathalwasinvolved in the thefts, it could only be as an unwitting accomplice. An accomplice to someone aware he had access to the monastery’s wealth. Someone who could be directing him to bring them certain items.
