Page 51 of Laird of Flint
Could it be Father James?
It wasn’t out of the question. But anyone on the outside might be capable of manipulating Brother Cathal.
Hamish lowed suddenly, and Hew jumped, startled by the loud sound. A moment later, the bell at the gates of the monastery rang out, indicating a visitor.
A pair of monks bustled to open the gates.
Hew gave Hamish one last pat and then retreated to his cell. Unless it was a sickly patron, the visitor probably wouldn’t be let in. But one day, he feared, it would be the king’s men coming with an English bride for him.
So it surprised Hew moments later to hear the sounds of raised voices coming from the cloister. Seizing his axe, he peered out through the crack of his cell door.
Shite.
On one side of Hamish stood the Laird of Dunlop. On the other appeared to be the Dunlop cooherd. The cooherd was inspecting the animal’s ear notch.
The Boyle brothers paced nearby, bellowing and pointing accusatory fingers at the abbot and the prior, who paled in shock.
Monks milled about in distress and confusion.
And in their midst, like a delicate flower blossom dropped onto a field of thistles, stood Lady Carenza, looking distraught. Out of place. Achingly beautiful.
Though she uttered not a word, he could see the silent misery in her face. Her eyes filled with tears, but she bravely held them back. And she had a white-knuckled grip on the stones of the well.
Hew couldn’t let her languish. He had to come to her rescue.
Without a second thought, he flung open the door and stormed out.
The monks gasped and scattered.
He felt an instant of remorse. After all, monks weren’t used to seeing a warrior crossing the cloister with an axe. Not since his forefathers had raided monasteries centuries ago. But when he beheld the gratitude in Carenza’s face, he knew he’d done the right thing.
The Boyles behaved like a pair of untrained hunting hounds, uncertain whether Hew was a fox for them to chase or a wolf they should fear, and looking to each other for support. They ultimately decided to stand their ground.
“That’s him. That’s the cateran,” the bearded one declared. Then he glanced at Carenza. “Themaincateran. There were dozens.”
“Dozens,” the beardless one confirmed. “Aye, but I recognize this one’s axe.”
“Now hold on,” the laird said, stopping them. “So ye’re sayin’ this man and dozens of his fellows reived my coo last night, and he brought the beast here?”
“Aye,” the Boyles replied together.
The laird shook his head. “Lads, I think ye want to be careful who ye’re accusin’ of—”
“They’re right,” Hew intervened before the laird could reveal his name. He lowered his axe, planting it between his feet.
“What?” The laird’s jaw dropped open.
The Boyles looked astonished as well.
The abbot was mortified. “Explain yourself, sir.”
Silently praying for mercy for telling yet another half-truth, Hew said, “’Tis fairly simple. Last night, I was unable to sleep. While ranging afield, I happened upon three caterans fighting over a coo.”
“What?” the bearded Boyle exclaimed.
“We told ye last night we weren’t caterans,” said the beardless one.
His brother gave him a hard elbow in the ribs, realizing he’d said too much.
