True Highland Spirit (39 page)

“Ye have something I need. I have something ye want,” said Morrigan to Abbot Barrick later that day.

“I doubt that,” replied Abbot Barrick, taking a sip of wine. He sat behind his ornate desk, a fine spread of food before him. Morrigan stood before him in the room they had previously searched. The room afforded many hiding places, tapestries on the walls, ornately decorated screens, locked chests, but the shroud was in none of those places. Where was it?

“I need the medicine ye have for men who are returning from the battle,” said Morrigan.

“One man in particular, I suppose?” Barrick’s smile was unkind.

“Aye. I would do anything for him.”

“You have already given me everything I need.”

“If it is the shroud ye are looking for, then no, ye dinna have the real one we found in the cave.”

Barrick frowned. “Speak plainly, I am in no mood for riddles.”

“We found two shrouds, one was clearly intended to fool those who did no’ ken what to look for. Dragonet explained to me the difference. He gave ye the false one.”

Barrick’s smile disappeared and in its place snuck a dark look. “How do you know you have the true shroud?”

“There is a way to tell, I’ll show ye what Dragonet showed me, but I want to see the medicine first.”

“Where is Dragonet? Does he know you have taken this true shroud from him?”

“Dragonet is grievously injured. I need the medicine. Why do ye hoard it when so many men are hurt and injured? Should not the church be helping others?”

“The church will help those who can reciprocate with a sizable donation. This medicine can save a man’s life. It will not be given unless a man can give me his life’s worth.”

“These are the teachings o’ the Church?”

“Church teachings are what I say they are. Now do you have the shroud or not?”

“Aye, here it is.” Morrigan removed a velvet pouch from the inside of her cloak.

Barrick’s eyes bored into the bag as if he could penetrate the cloth to see inside the bag.

“How do you know you have the correct shroud?”

“Show me the one you have and I can show you the difference,” said Morrigan.

Barrick glared at her.

“Are ye afeared o’ me?” asked Morrigan. “I have already seen both, and I know ye have the one. Ye can keep both o’ them; all I want is the medicine.”

Slowly Barrick reached into a large pocket of his robes and drew out the velvet pouch. Morrigan’s heart beat faster. That was it, the true shroud.

“If you attempt to take this one, you will die a most unhappy death,” growled Barrick.

“Ye would kill me the way ye killed Mal?”

“Oh no, I took care that Mal did not suffer. With you I will not be so kind.”

Morrigan took a step back from the evil glint in his eye. She did not doubt he meant to kill her. She needed more time. “One thing I dinna understand is why ye wanted Archie to kill the bishop of Glasgow.”

“My dear girl, there are many things you do not understand.”

“True. But why no’ have Mal kill him. Why Archie?”

“McNab was expendable. You are expendable. Do I make myself clear? Show me the shroud!”

Morrigan untied the laces, taking her time, trying to keep Barrick talking. “So ye wanted Archie to do it so ye could blame him afterwards and let him swing for the murder. And what if he said you forced him to do it?”

“No one would believe him, just as no one will believe you.”

“But why do ye wish to kill the bishop o’ Glasgow at all?”

“The shroud, lass.” He stood up from behind his table. “My patience grows thin.”

Morrigan removed the linen cloth from the bag, but did not unfold it. “Why do ye want this old thing anyway?”

“You have no idea of its worth,” sneered Barrick.

“Is it holy?” asked Morrigan.

“It is power! There are those who would give anything to see it, to touch it. The Church would not build me a cathedral, but they will now, those fools in Rome.” Barrick came around the table and snatched the cloth from Morrigan’s hand. “For this I will get a castle even bigger than the bishop of Glasgow.”

“Ye wanted the bishop’s castle so ye thought to kill him and take his position.”

“Obviously. Now what is the difference between these?” asked Barrick, laying both folded linens on the table. He walked around the table next to her. Too close.

“Do ye no’ care how many people ye kill to get what ye want?” asked Morrigan, resisting the urge to run away.

Barrick turned on her, knife in hand, and pointed it at her throat. “Let me make it perfectly clear to you. I do not care how many people I kill. To get what I want, I will happily kill you, your idiot brother, every member of your clan, the bishop of Glasgow, and the bloody pope himself. Now tell me about the shroud!”

“Enough!” said Dragonet, emerging from behind the curtain, crossbow in hand.

“Guards!” shouted Barrick.

A loud commotion could be heard from outside the doors and Morrigan prayed Argitaine’s men could hold off the guards.

Morrigan went to draw her sword, but remembered she had left it behind so as not to appear to be too threatening. In a flash Barrick grabbed her and twisted her in front of him like a shield, his knife to her throat. Morrigan struggled, but the old man held her like a vice, pricking her throat with his knife as a warning.

“Release her,” demanded Dragonet.

“Drop your crossbow or I’ll slice her throat,” roared Barrick.

“Release her or I’ll drop you.” Dragonet did not lower his weapon.

Morrigan’s mind spun, she calculated the angle of the shot; there was not much of Barrick that was an easy target, and one inch off could kill her.

“Do not think I will be merciful. Lower your weapon,” shouted Barrick.

Barrick pressed the tip of his knife into her neck, drawing blood. Morrigan gazed at Dragonet’s green eyes. If she were to die, she would die looking at the man she loved.

“Argggh!” shouted Barrick, and his grip on her suddenly loosened. Morrigan broke free and ran to Dragonet.

Barrick cursed them freely, Dragonet’s bolt sticking out of his elbow. “I will kill you. I will kill every one you ever cared about or met!”

Two black-robed figures emerged from behind the screen. One walked up to Barrick and put his hand on his shoulder. “Calm yourself, Brother.”

“Who are you? What are you doing in my chamber? Guards!”

“I am Father Pierre, this is Father Luke. We have come to help,” the man spoke softly but with authority.

“Who? Help… how?”

“We have been given the authority to investigate and arrest you if required,” said Father Luke in a calm voice.

“Our investigation has found enough evidence to enact this arrest warrant, signed by the pope,” said Father Pierre.

“Whom you threatened to kill,” finished Father Luke.

“No, I… who are you?” Barrick looked wildly between the two priests.

“We are the Inquisition.”

Barrick’s wide eyes bulged from his head. “No! I will not be arrested!” Barrick broke free and ran to the door to find the Duke of Argitaine standing with sword drawn. Barrick spun and ran for the secret escape route, but Archie blocked his escape with drawn sword and a mace.

“I’ve waited a long time for this, Barrick,” said Archie.

“No! You are nothing!” screamed Barrick. “You cannot arrest me, you pathetic worm.” Barrick fought back with surprising strength for a man with a bolt in his arm. In the end it was Archie McNab who wrestled him to the ground while Father Pierre and Father Luke tied his hands securely and dragged him out of the room with Archie and the duke’s help.

“Noooooooo!” Barrick’s screams could be heard from the hallway.

Father Luke turned back and walked to the table where the two folded sheets of linen still lay. “I will take these,” he said to Morrigan, who had moved toward the table in the commotion.

“Aye, do,” said Morrigan. “Though to be honest I think they are naught but old bed sheets.”

Father Luke inclined his head and gently removed the folded pieces of linen, exiting the room.

In the room, oddly silent after so much commotion, Morrigan met Dragonet’s gaze for a moment, then looked away. He could raise her pulse by simply looking at her.

“Nice shot,” said Morrigan.

“If you please do not do that to me again. My heart cannot handle so much excitement.”

“Naught is wrong wi’ yer heart.”

“Then why does it pain me?”

Morrigan looked up at Dragonet. He had tears in his eyes. And suddenly she did too. He was everything she could never have.

“Did you get the true shroud?” he asked.

Morrigan nodded and pulled a velvet pouch from a pocket in her cloak.

“Good girl.”

“Ye ken that is hardly true.”

“What does Father Luke have?”

“Two linen bed sheets from the good sisters at the convent.”

Dragonet smiled. “I love… I love you.” His voice cracked with emotion.

“Please dinna do this,” whispered Morrigan, brushing away a tear that threatened to fall. “Here, take it. I dinna wish it to go to yer father, but ye can do with it what ye will.” Morrigan held out the velvet pouch and Dragonet took it, but put it down on the table, choosing instead to wrap his arms around her.

Morrigan returned Dragonet’s embrace. “Will ye leave now?”

“I must.”

“I canna do this. I canna let ye go.”

“I know.”

“Please dinna go.” Despite years of pushing aside her emotions, Morrigan McNab began to cry.

“My body may go, but my heart remains with you.”

“Aye, that’s verra sweet, but I rather like yer body too.”

Dragonet laughed and sniffed. He looked down at her, the tears falling unchecked down his cheeks. “The monastic life will never be the same for me, now that I know all I am missing. Though I shall not miss the penance you caused me. I am still working through my rosaries.”

Morrigan nodded. “Me too!”

“Want to go for more? Mayhap the time, it is right to say our proper farewells.” Dragonet kissed her gently, and moved to deepen the kiss, but Morrigan broke away.

“I’m sorry, but I canna kiss ye when ye are going to leave me. It hurts too much.” Morrigan, who feared neither death nor pain, wiped more tears from her eyes. Getting stabbed by a spear was nothing compared to that. A shoulder could heal. Her heart never would.

“I could stay a few weeks before returning?” suggested Dragonet.

“Nay, prolonging it only makes it worse.”

“I will love you always.”

“Please leave. I ne’er wish to see ye again.”

Dragonet winced and looked away. He took a deep breath and gently took the velvet pouch from the table. He stood there for a moment not speaking, not moving. Morrigan waited for him to say something, but he shook his head and walked slowly to the door, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Dragonet,” she called when he reached the door. He stopped but did not turn around. “I will love ye forever.” He paused for a moment, nodded, and continued to walk out the door.

Pain and grief racked through her, and Morrigan clung to the table to keep from falling to the floor. She brushed away the tears, but they kept coming. She tried cursing him to blazes, but her heart was not in it. Finally she gathered her strength and stumbled from the room, leaving behind the shattered shards of her heart.

Dragonet walked up the dark stairs to his father’s comfortable chamber at a nearby inn. It was late, but he knew his father would be waiting for him. He slipped in the door without knocking.

“Leave us,” commanded his father, and a serving wench darted past Dragonet into the hall.

“Am I disturbing you?” asked Dragonet.

“I am finished with her,” said his father, readjusting his robes.

Dragonet looked away, recognizing with displeasure the hypocrisy with which he mentally judged his sire for breaking his vow of celibacy as Dragonet had done too. The difference was he loved Morrigan. But did that truly matter?

“Where is it?” asked his father. “The linen sheets Father Luke and Father Pierre brought were nothing but bed sheets. Barrick swears he had the real shroud, so where is it?”

“What will you do with it?” asked Dragonet, surreptitiously feeling the velvet pouch hidden within the interior pocket of his cloak.

The bishop gave him a cunning look. “Have you seen the cloth, boy?”

Dragonet nodded.

“Is it convincing?”

Dragonet tilted his head. Odd question. His father was not concerned about its authenticity but rather if it appeared to be real. “I am no expert, but it could be the true shroud. I have been looking for this relic for many years. Now that it is found, I want to know why you want it, and what you will do with it.”

“You want your share of the reward.” His father’s eyes narrowed. “It was not enough that I saved you from starvation, saw to your care, ensured your advancement in the knighthood. No, now you want more. So tell me what you want, my lad. What is it you want from me?” His father’s icy blue eyes cut through him.