Page 88 of Laird of Flint
Reason said it had to be someone Peris knew well at the monastery. Someone he’d known for a long time. Someone he trusted.
That ruled out the oblates and novices.
It also ruled out Father James, whom the thief had mentioned was taking too keen an interest.
That left the abbot, the prior, and the few dozen older monks who resided there.
Peris had been Dunlop’s physician for as long as she could remember. Her father, hearing he was the best in the land, had summoned Peris when her mother had first become ill. But though his medicines and methods had been expert and thorough, she flagged under his care and eventually succumbed.
Still, her father had been grateful for his efforts. Peris had been the resident physician at Dunlop ever since. Aye, he had a sour, impatient nature. She attributed that to working with the ill and dying all the time. But he’d served the clan—and the monastery—with skill and devotion.
All she had to do was remind him of that loyalty. Of the great good he’d done in his lifetime. Once flattered, he’d naturally be too humble to take all the credit. He’d share it with those who had helped him. His closest companions. His most loyal allies. His oldest friends at the monastery. Theirs were the names she needed.
When she emerged in the great hall, the servants were already up, shooing the layabeds out of their way as they stoked the fire and brought in bread from the kitchens. And to her surprise, taking a cup of ale from a blushing kitchen wench with his unbandaged hand was Sir Hew.
She furrowed her brows. What was he doing up and about? He should rest. He should heal. And he should get out of her way.
“Carenza, my dear,” her father murmured as he approached. “Ye’re frownin’.”
She pressed fingers to her forehead. “Am I?”
He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Also, I fear ye have rats in your chamber.”
She froze.
He added, “I’ll have to summon the rat-catcher from the village.”
Thinking fast, she said, “I’ll do it on the morrow, Da. I have to go to the village anyway.”
She had no intention of summoning the rat-catcher. But once her father was back in his own bed—an event that appeared to be imminent, if Hew’s appearance in the great hall was any indication—she was sure he’d completely forget the matter.
“Fine.” He glanced around the hall. “Och. I see our warrior friend is already up and about. He seems to have flourished under your tender care.”
Had he flourished? Or had he forced his way out of bed out of pure stubbornness, just to keep an eye on her? She was beginning to think Peris was right. The Rivenloch warrior was meddlesome.
Before she could stop him, her father called out to Hew. Hew raised his cup in greeting and came toward them.
“I’m surprised to see ye recoverin’ so well,” the laird said.
Hew nodded. “Thanks to your generosity, m’laird, and some expert care.” His gaze was warm as it slipped over to her.
“Indeed,” her father said with a knowing smile.
Carenza found herself immediately furious again. How dare Hew feign affection for her—in front of her father, no less—when he clearly had no intention of following up or making any serious overtures toward her?
Her jaw was tight as she smiled and intentionally misunderstood him. “Oh aye, Peris is the best physician in Dunlop.”
“Och, Carenza,” her father chided, “ye know very well—”
“And here he is now,” she interjected, grabbing Peris’s arm as he passed. “We were just talkin’ about your expert care o’ Sir Hew.”
Peris looked rattled. Anxious. And exhausted. Clearly, the last thing he wanted to do was talk. Especially not to the meddlesome man he’d tried to poison.
“Ye shouldn’t be out o’ bed,” he grunted at Hew.
Whether he was referring to Hew’s health or his meddling, Carenza wasn’t sure.
“I feel fine,” Hew said.
