Page 91 of Laird of Flint
“Certainly the abbot and prior are there,” he told her. “And often the senior clergy take their turns at watchin’ o’er the man.”
“Ah. ’Tis so encouragin’ to hear.” Then she lowered her voice so Hew had to strain to make out her words. “In truth, I’ve often wished to give a tithin’ to those who offer such charitable services. But my father insists ’tis an act of mercy, to be rewarded in heaven.” She clucked her tongue. “Do ye think ye might give me the names o’ your closest acquaintances among the clergy? I’d like to make a generous donation in their name.”
Genius. The lass was as smooth as his axe blade. Her innocence and earnestness was allowing her to collect exactly the information they needed without the appearance of prying.
Once she got the names, of course, that would be the end of it. The rest was far too risky for her. He’d commend her for her efforts. Then he would take on the mantle of the mission, question the suspects, and solve the crime. Alone.
Carenza watched three emotions flit through the physician’s eyes.
The first was annoyance, as if he resented being tasked with making a judgment about which acquaintances were his closest.
The second was envy, as if he deserved a donation for his efforts as well, despite making a generous wage from her father.
And the third was enterprise. He glimpsed a chance for profit. If not his own, at least a reward for his allies that he might leverage in the future.
Finally he nodded. “O’ course, m’lady. As ye know, the abbot and the prior are always present. But three others come to mind who have oft been by my side with the dyin’. Brother Michael. Brother Robert. And Brother William.”
“Michael. Robert. And William,” she repeated. “I shall send a donation forthwith. But I pray ye keep my confidence. If my father should hear o’ my generosity, I fear he might not wholeheartedly approve.”
“As ye wish, m’lady,” he said, stepping away.
She nodded and then whirled to leave. Rounding the corner of the church, she nearly collided with Sir Hew.
“What are ye—” she bit out between her teeth, then remembered her father might be watching. Gritting out a tight smile, she asked, “Listenin’ around corners, are ye?”
“Michael, Robert, and William,” he said. “That was brilliant.”
She was shocked into silence. She expected a reprimand, not a compliment. Yet he seemed sincere.
“Truly brilliant,” he repeated, shaking his head in wonder.
Her proud glow lasted a few precious moments.
“Now that we’ve got the names,” he continued, “I’ll question them on the morrow.’TisMichael, Robert, and William, right?”
“Nay!”
She winced at her own loud outburst. Then, before she could attract undue attention, she snagged Hew by the front of his plaid and pulled him around the corner of the church.
“Nay,” she repeated.
He seemed puzzled. “Those aren’t their names?”
“Aye. But nay, ye can’t question them on the morrow.”
She could see the pressure of ire building inside him, like a shaken bottle of wine, despite his steady tone. “And why is that?”
“Think about it,” she explained patiently. “Ye—the man Peris just tried to kill, the one who’s investigatin’ the thefts—go to the monastery to question three respected monks. What will they assume?”
His brow creased as he digested her words. “Fine. Then I’ll wait a day or two.”
She shook her head. “Nay. I’ll go.”
“The devil you will.”
“Listen. If I go, ’twill be to deliver the donation. Naturally, I’ll want to meet the monks, to thank them for their service. And they’ll wish to thank me for the tithin’. ’Tis far less questionable.”
He looked pained. “I can’t let you do that.”
