The Firebrand (41 page)

He reached out and wiped away the single tear that splashed onto her cheek. “I do not absolve myself of the guilt of losing her to Benedict, but I truly believed she had a greater chance of safety among us.”

Adrianne’s chin dropped for a long moment, and Wyntoun held his breath waiting for her response. He needed her to trust him—but more so, he wanted the chance to earn back her love.

“You already had the three portions of the map with you when you left Duart Castle, didn’t you?”

“Aye,” he said, nodding. “The messengers I sent to Balvenie Castle came back with the maps. But I couldn’t tell you about it or take you with me. I had planned to clear up the matter of Nichola’s captivity first, before involving you.”

She finally looked up. “Have you found the treasure?”

“Nay! We came ashore only yesterday, and I’ve had no chance to decipher the symbols on the map.”

“Will you let me stay and help you with the rest?”

“The gates of hell could not separate us now!”

Her eyes narrowed. “And on which side of the gates of hell do you envision me, might I ask?”

He grinned, relief washing over him at her response. “You tell me on which side my bonny firebrand belongs…for that is where I will be, as well!”

She continued to scowl, though he could see the glint in her eyes. “If you think this is the way to win me over...”

“Why not tell me of some other way, hellcat.” Desire for her surged through him. He moved to put his arms around her again, but she placed a hand on his chest.

“Very well. To start with, never, ever, ever—under pain of death—ever scold me over being a stowaway on your ship on this last trip.”

“Hmmm.” His temper flared at the memory. “Do you know how dangerous a thing ‘twas to hide aboard a sh…”

She rose onto her tiptoes and glared into his face. “Never! Ever! Remember?”

Though he resisted the urge to smother her lips beneath his own, he could not help but smile.

“And anything else, my fiery one?”

“You will never, ever, ever—also under pain of death—go without me on any lengthy sea journey?”

“But you are no sailor, my love.”

“I will learn to be,” she said flatly.

He shook his head. “As there were on this journey, there are too many dangers that I cannot predict.”

“Were there dangers?” she asked.

“Only a wee battle with some Danish blackguards who shot our carrack out from under us!”

“Oh! And how did the battle turn out?”

“As a matter of fact, we are now the proud owners of a new Spanish-built galleon, courtesy of the Danes.”

“Were they any injuries?” An immediate frown of concern creased her brow.

“We lost a sailor named Jock, and there were a few missing fingers.”

“I am sorry,” she whispered quietly. “Gillie? Did he fare well?”

“The lad took to the battle like a hawk. I think the only thing that had him nervous was Auld Coll getting dinged in the head early on…but Coll has a skull nearly as thick as Bull’s.”

She nodded with relief. “Where are your people now? Where is the ship?”

“Alan took the galleon…and Gillie…back to Duart Castle. The entire crew seemed eager to put the ship to rights.”

“Was it a fierce battle, Wyntoun? Was there a great deal that I missed?”

He laughed. “‘Twas nothing. Hardly worth waking you for, I’d say.”

“You see then? Having me along was no problem, at all.” Adrianne smiled shyly as another thought struck her. “I think you should always take me along. Just consider the added bounty of having me on board the ship with you.”

“Bounty, you say.” Again his body was taking control. He reached for her, and this time she stepped into his arms. “Let me see. Keeping an eye on you night and day. That’s an added bounty, to be sure. Curtailing your mischief. Aye, that’s an added bounty.” Her hands crept up his chest and encircled his neck. “Taking you to bed and ravishing you anytime I desire…that is a tremendous bounty, now that you mention it.”

She rose again onto her toes and kissed him with such passion that all of his doubts were washed away. Before he lost complete control, though, Wyntoun broke off the kiss and stared into her deep blue eyes.

“So does this mean you’ve forgiven me?”

Wyntoun had heard it said that a person’s eyes are the windows of the heart. Looking into Adrianne’s now, he knew this to be true.

“Wyn, there was nothing that you could have done that I would not have been able to forgive…not after what you did for me this day.” Her arms were still wound tight around his neck. “You stood beside me. Defended me. Fought for my right. By all that is good, Wyntoun MacLean, I love you more than life itself. And this day you showed me your love. There is nothing more to forgive!”

“The Treasure of Tiberius is another gospel. It is a gospel told by the Virgin Mary herself!”

Adrianne stared into the face of her hostess.

In person, Lady Celia Muir Campbell was just as Adrianne had always imagined her to be, the very picture of beauty, bravery, and grace. And she obviously had a wealth of knowledge to share. Stealing Adrianne away from all the activities of the castle, Lady Celia had brought the younger woman to her own sitting room.

They both knew that Wyntoun would be coming for Adrianne in a few short moments, for several Knights of the Veil were to meet once again to try to decipher the cryptic symbols on the maps. She was grateful for her husband’s continued insistence that she should be included in these meetings, but for the moment nothing would tear her away from Lady Celia.

“What I know of Tiberius is a collection of gossip, myth, and snatches of information that Colin has over the years shared with me.” Lady Celia’s voice lowered despite the closed door. “Believers and dreamers insist the very parchment itself has power.”

“What kind of power?”

“Mystical power. Miraculous power. The power to heal.” Celia answered. “Whether it does or not, though, it certainly has temporal power. For the person who possesses it and uses it for his own gain, can control masses of believers all across Europe.”

“A manuscript.” Adrianne found herself barely breathing. Her skin felt feverish. “In all the years my sisters and I studied Scripture, we were never told of the existence of a gospel according to Mary.”

“No one is told. No one knows.” Celia’s intelligent dark eyes shone despite the shadows of the room.

Adrianne ran her clammy hands over her skirt. “And is it truly the Virgin Mother’s words?”

Celia nodded. “My husband saw the manuscript many years ago, before ‘twas hidden away again. The story is Mary’s—told to a scribe in the last years of her life. It begins at the point where she found herself with child but had no husband. ‘Tis a record of everything—the struggle, and suffering, the rise and fall and rise again of her son and his teachings, the years of great uprisings, the years of change and finally…the days of peace.”

Amazed, Adrianne sat staring at her hands and listening as Lady Celia continued to speak, telling her of the turbulent history surrounding the treasure and of Edmund Percy’s role in that history.

The young woman thought of the importance of such a manuscript in the present time. With Henry Tudor’s men burning and looting the monasteries in the south, with the church in Europe in disarray as it was, Adrianne could see the power that such a relic could wield. If you possessed it, you could control vast numbers of people. You could control their spirit. Their very beliefs.

For the first time, she could understand Benedict’s true motives. It was so simple. He wanted power.

Adrianne could see now the betrayal that some of these people must have seen in her mother’s actions, dividing and sending the maps into the farthest reaches of Scotland. But she fervently believed that Nichola had wanted to keep the sections safe. With Wyntoun helping them Adrianne knew her mother’s name would be cleared at the end. Nichola Percy...or rather Nichola Exton...was no villain.

“Lady Celia, do you know how was it came about that my husband joined this Brotherhood?”

Celia laughed. “‘Tis good that you ask me this question, for I cannot see Sir Wyntoun boasting of his good deeds.”

“Good deeds?”

“Aye, of course. Aside from his prowess as a warrior, Wyntoun MacLean has been providing huge sums from his pirating to build the new university in Glasgow. ‘Tis a special interest of my husband’s, so I know for a fact that most of what the Blade of Barra has gained on the seas has gone into education. But what I like best about Wyntoun’s efforts is that he has never given to the university at St. Andrews, where he himself was educated. Instead, he and my husband have been working together to build an institution that educates the children of ministers, burgesses, and farmers here in the west. Without question, it was because of his generosity and bravery that Knights of the Veils had invited him to...”

The knock on the door of the chamber silenced the women, and they both smiled at the tall knight who eyed them with suspicion as he entered the chamber.

****

The armory in the White Tower glowed with the light of a dozen torches. In the center of the chamber, three figures huddled in deep thought around a table.

Adrianne glanced with interest at the group before smiling politely at the short thin man standing next to her. The Baron Avandale was not only a Knight of the Veil but also a distant relation of John Stewart, her sister Catherine’s new husband.

“How much do you know, m’lady?”

“Some.” Adrianne replied tactfully as she moved away from the hearth and edged closer to the trio in the middle. The baron stayed beside her.

“I have been given leave to tell you that the Treasure of Tiberius is a sacred manuscript, written in the ancient language of the Aramaeans. The manuscript was found in the city of Tiberius in the Palestine by Fulk of Anjou, King of Jerusalem in the seventh year of his reign, the year of Our Lord 1138.”

The young woman nodded, her gaze fixed on Wyntoun, who was transcribing a list of the symbols on the maps on a sheet of vellum. Colin Campbell and the priest, Sir Peter Wrothsey, looked on, commenting occasionally as he worked.

“Many years ago, the Knights of the Veil became concerned about the manuscript itself breaking down, crumbling away to dust,” the baron continued. “The decision was made…it needed to be translated. Edmund Percy was given the task of taking the manuscript and relocating it close to thirty years earlier for the purpose of translation and preservation. Always in the past had a member of the Knights of the Veil preserved it, protected it, and kept the manuscript’s history alive. They were planning to continue the tradition for the next five hundred years…or until the Second Coming. Being a member of the Brotherhood and being the expert in ancient languages that he was, your father was assigned as the next keeper of Tiberius.”

Adrianne’s father, though still a young man, had been the perfect person to carry out the task. He was a scholar as well as a Knight of the Veil. He was given the task of overseeing the translation of the text into Greek and Latin and—after a great deal of discussion—into English.

Though Adrianne already knew most of this from her talk with Lady Celia, she chose silence, moving closer and glancing at Wyntoun’s list as the baron continued. A cross planted in the ground. An
M
with a cross over it. The letter
A
repeated…ten times. A decorated number
7
in a square…

“Edmund Percy was to hide the treasure and secure this map you see before you.” The baron pointed to the pieces that the other three were intently poring over. “There is one other copy of this map, and that is buried beneath the crypt of St. Peter in Rome, under the altar of the great church that is being built there…that is, when the French king and the Holy Roman emperor allow the work to continue.”

Adrianne continued to watch her husband work. A drawing of a hound. A heart. A bell and a bird. She was surprised to see that Wyntoun did not seem at all perplexed by all the symbols.

“As you probably know, after the translations were complete, your father moved the treasure north. ‘Twas then that he stopped at the monastery where Benedict supposedly managed to save it from the fire. After that, Edmund Percy carried it here…and became the
Keeper of the Map
.”

“Very interesting,” Adrianne murmured as she moved to stand beside her husband. Wyntoun looked up and gave her a reassuring smile before going back to his list.

She stared at the map and a thick black line curling about what looked like a hook with a point at the long end. So many symbols.

“Does the
M
with the cross signify a church…or even the Cathedral, do you think?” The priest spoke for the first time.

“This is not a map of Glasgow,” Wyntoun said with quiet confidence.

“What?” Sir Peter said, looking up nervously.

“’Tis a map of Glasgow Cathedral,” the knight replied. “The series of repeated A’s represents the open timber roof.”

“And the elaborate ‘7’ in the square?” Colin Campbell asked.

“The carving of the Seven Deadly Sins of the Seven Ages of Man on the screen above the Quire.”

Adrianne felt herself filling with pride at her husband’s knowledge.

“The hound, the heart, the bell and bird?” Sir Peter questioned.

“The hound and the heart? They are two symbols for the same word…Mungo. The word can mean either ‘my hound’ or ‘dear heart.’ The bell. The bird. The salmon and the ring. These are the miracles of St. Mungo.” Wyntoun’s green eyes flashed, giving away his restrained enthusiasm, as he looked at Adrianne. “The Auld Hound himself is buried in Glasgow Cathedral.”

A long silence fell over the group. Adrianne watched each man’s expression. Wyntoun—confident and at ease. Colin Campbell—solid, serious, and aloof. The priest, Sir Peter Wrothsey—agitated, hardly able to hide his excitement.

“Would Edmund bury the treasure in a saint’s crypt?”

Adrianne had nearly forgotten about Baron Avandale. She waited to see who was going to answer the man’s question. No one did. She turned to Wyntoun and found him studying a depiction on the map. A thick line curling around the pointed hook.