True Highland Spirit (24 page)

Morrigan was speechless. She had not thought he would so openly admit to demanding they kill the bishop of Glasgow. There was no mercy or shame in the Abbot Barrick, but she still needed the medicine. “The bishop is gone now. How else may I earn the medicine?”

Barrick took a bite of pastry and chewed slowly as Morrigan waited. “There is one small thing. You know of a cave that was bought from your grandfather many years ago?”

“Aye,” said Morrigan, thankful that Archie had confided in her.

“There is something in that cave, a silver box. I wish for you to bring it to me. Do that and you may have the medicine.”

“My brother said there was nothing in that cave.”

“Your brother lied.”

“Where is it? There are many tunnels.”

Barrick waved his hand in a regal gesture. “That is not my concern.”

“Give me some medicine first, for my brother will no’ last long.”

Barrick laughed a humorless growl. “The box first, then the medicine.”

Morrigan shook her head. “I need to care for him first. If ye will no’ give me the medicine now, I will seek it elsewhere. I will no’ serve ye if it means my brother’s life.”

Barrick gave her a piercing stare, as if sizing up her resolve.

“Guards!” he commanded, and the two men entered. “Retrieve the medicine we took from the convent yesterday, and measure out enough for three days. Take it to Andrew McNab at McNab Hall.”

“Nay!” interrupted Morrigan. “I will take it.”

“You will not touch it,” growled Barrick. He dismissed the guards with a curt nod. “You have bought your brother three days.”

“’Tis no’ enough.”

“When you bring the box, I will give you the rest of the bottle. I am being very generous.”

Morrigan fancied the contents of the silver box would be worth hundreds of bottles of medicine, but the life of her younger brother could not be measured in gold.

“I will do it,” said Morrigan, and she quit the room without looking back.

Barrick watched her leave with a small smile on his face. How obliging it was of Andrew to be dying at that moment.

“I trust you heard that,” said Barrick.

“Aye,” said a rough lad emerging from behind the screen.

“Follow her to that cave, and see if she is able to find the box.”

“I’ve looked there. The cave is naught but a stinking hole,” whined the lad.

Barrick smiled in his cruel way. “Your grandfather was a great Templar knight. How his seed could ever have produced such a worthless piece of dung as you, Mal, I will never comprehend. Then again, your grandfather was not known as the brightest of men.”

“Smart enough no’ to trust the likes o’ ye,” grumbled Mal.

“Insolence in a fool is hardly becoming.”

“Why do ye want to find it now? I thought ye said ye wanted it to remain hidden until ye became the bishop of Glasgow?”

“I fear the bishop may be attempting to make trouble for me. I will need to hold a strong hand in order to prevail against him. It is time. I need the relic now.”

“What should I do if she finds it?”

“Kill her and bring me the box.” Barrick spoke as if the conclusion was obvious.

“And what if she doesna find the box?”

“Kill her anyway. I do not wish to see her again.” Barrick turned his attention back to his wine. “And tell the brothers not to bother sending the medicine to that worthless McNab. We would not wish to waste it.”

Mal walked toward the door but turned back before opening it. “What is in the box?”

Barrick smiled slowly and dismissed Mal with a wave of his hand. “’Tis not your concern. Now go!”

Dragonet resigned himself to another day’s hard search. When Morrigan told him the cave was on the banks of Loch Pain near the river, he believed it to be a relatively simple matter to find. He was wrong. He had spent all day yesterday searching in the driving snow until the cold forced him to take shelter in the village of Kimlet for the night.

He resumed his search at daybreak. Fortunately the day was as bright and sunny as the previous one was stormy. He hoped he could find it, but the piles of snow rounded all the shapes in the landscape beneath a thick, white blanket and hid all clues to the location of the cave. After several hours, Dragonet knew it was going to be another long, cold day.

Despite the sun, the wind blew hard and the temperature was noticeably colder than the day before. Not that he cared much. He had lost interest in finding the relic. It seemed a grand adventure at one time, but now he simply wanted to be done with it. Yet the mission was all he had. He had to find the relic to return to France—back where it was warm, back where he could hide in a monastery away from temptation. He would find the relic, if it took him until spring to do it.

At the end of a fruitless day, he stopped to sit on a rounded mound of snow he guessed to be a tree trunk in a copse of scraggly trees. The loch was not far from Kimlet, so he had walked the distance to begin his search. The sun was getting low on the horizon, and it was near time to start walking back.

On the road above him, a figure trotted by on horseback. He strained to see around the tree trunks at the figure bundled in several cloaks. Where was that man going? Could he show him the way to the cave?

Dragonet could not think of why the man would be going to the cave, but he had little to lose. Taking care to remain hidden in the brush, he began his pursuit.

***

There were many things in the world that Morrigan hated. The English figured prominently on that list, along with wealthy barons and conceited aristocrats. She did not like days of fasting, cold porridge was not appetizing, and she despised turnips of any temperature. Added to her growing list were women’s clothing, minstrels, and evil abbots.

Though she hated many things, there were only a few she actually feared. She could leap at an armed man from a tree without a second thought. She could tame a wild horse without concern. She had marched into war with few qualms for her personal safety. But caves… caves were different.

When she was young, she was warned not to go in that cave. She was warned not to do many things which she eventually ended up doing anyway, but not the cave. Nothing terrified her as much as the suffocating darkness of a cave.

Morrigan clicked her horse to a trot, the fastest speed she could manage in the snow, and passed by the hills and trees with unseeing eyes. How was she to get the box Barrick wanted? If Archie believed there was treasure inside, he would have explored the cave thoroughly. If he could not find any treasure, how would she be able to?

Morrigan slowed as she approached the mouth of the cave. The snow covered all of the natural landmarks to find the entrance, which was difficult to find on a clear day. With all the snow, it was going to be a challenge.

Morrigan guided her mount along the shore of the loch, looking for the mouth of the river that would lead her to the entrance of the cave. The sun shone brilliantly over the sparkling, white, snow-covered loch. The wind gusted, and freezing cold slithered its icy fingers down the back of her neck. Morrigan adjusted her outer cloak higher around herself. Despite the bright sun, the temperature was crackling cold and the wind was frigid. Dark gray clouds on the horizon told her another storm would soon be upon her.

Morrigan squinted against the blinding sun reflected off the glistening snow, trying to see what was ahead of her. A short distance up the river she found the white lump she was searching for. She dismounted slowly, her joints complaining in the cold. Morrigan crouched down and brushed the snow from the rounded form. Beneath was a narrow plank bridge covered in snow and ice. Morrigan eyed the makeshift bridge with suspicion. It was no more than a few planks tossed across the river.

On the other side of the river, in the hillside concealed behind scrubby brush, was the entrance to the cave. It would be unrecognizable except for the plank bridge that crossed the frozen river.

“Can ye make it o’er that bridge wi’out breaking it through?” Morrigan asked her mount. The horse hung his head in silence. He was cold. She was cold. They both needed to get to the relative shelter of the cave before night came and the temperatures dropped further.

“Ye best tread lightly, ye ken?”

Her horse snorted in response.

Morrigan stepped onto the narrow plank bridge, her boot crunching down into the deep snow. The top of the river beneath was frozen, but she suspected under the thin layer of ice, frigid water still ran deep. Falling into the icy water would be a death sentence.

Morrigan slid her feet along the plank, cautiously finding ice beneath the layer of snow. She clicked her tongue, and the horse stepped onto the plank. “Easy now, easy.”

Slowly she backed onto the bridge, leading her horse across the narrow, icy passage. She froze once at the sound of a loud crack, but the boards held, so she continued carefully guiding her mount. Finally across, she breathed a sigh of relief. Now all she needed was to find a treasure that not even her greedy brother had been able to find. Her shoulders slumped, but she continued to tramp through the snow to the cave.

Morrigan reached up to pat her horse’s neck. He had done a good job. Over her mount’s withers she caught a glimpse of a black form on the other side of the river. Was someone following her?

Morrigan ducked herself and her horse out of sight behind a large, snow-covered bush and wrapped the reins around a branch. Making her way around the other side, she concealed herself behind the snow-laden brush, slowly making her way back to the bridge. When she was close, she hid behind a large white lump that must have been a boulder and waited. She crouched in the snow as the cold seeped through her boots and her thick woolen mittens. Still she waited for her quarry.

A dark-clad figure emerged from behind some trees and made his way forward following her footsteps. She did not know who he was, but following her might be the last thing he ever did. He came to the icy bridge and paused for a moment. Morrigan gripped her sword and made ready to strike. The man crossed over the bridge quick as a cat, but it was Morrigan who was ready to pounce.

Morrigan leapt before the man, drawing her sword as she sprung, the ringing of steel slicing through the muffled, snow-coated landscape. He drew his sword instantly, and Morrigan attacked in one fluid movement, determined to disarm him quick. It was a move she had perfected, and it rarely failed her. It failed her today.

The man was clothed in multiple cloaks and had a muffler wrapped around his mouth and nose, much like herself. Whoever he was, he was no stranger to sword play. He attacked with precision, skilled and sure. She took one step back then another, trying to find a weakness in his attack. She defended herself, searching for the opportunity to strike, but found none. She tried to note the pattern of his attack, but he varied his approach, keeping her off balance. He was in control.

“Drop your sword, knave, or I’ll drop you,” commanded Dragonet.

Morrigan’s jaw dropped. The man was Dragonet? Was it Dragonet who always treated her with such respect, consideration, and downright timidity? Her sword wavered and he attacked. Morrigan dove out of the way of his blade and rolled to the side. He raised his sword to strike.

“Dragonet!”

The man stopped mid swing and staggered back as if struck. “Morrigan? Is it you?”

Morrigan stood, lowering her scarf. He did the same. It was indeed her French knight. The last man on earth she wanted to see.

“What are ye doing here?” Morrigan asked. Where was his horse? Was he
walking
home to France?

“I… I… did not expect to see you,” stammered Dragonet.

“Why are ye still in McNab territory?” asked Morrigan, growing suspicious. “Tell me yer business here.”

The French knight said nothing, silent as the snowflakes beginning to fall.

Morrigan’s mind whirled until pieces of the puzzle began to fit together. Was it any coincidence that he was near the cave that supposedly held the treasure?

“I dinna think ye came here to look for bats.” Her voice was flat.

“I am sorry,” said Dragonet. Three little words that cut her broken heart to shards.

“Ye are here to find the treasure, no? The Templar treasure! Dinna dare lie to me!”

Dragonet’s face was impassive. “I came for the treasure.”

“All this time I thought ye cared for Andrew, for me, but nay, ye were only using our friendship to find out where the cave was. Ye used me. Ye used Andrew and put his life at risk by bringing him home.”

“He wanted to—”

“Silence!” Blood was pounding in her ears in a deafening roar. Her vision narrowed, with Dragonet in the center like a target. Never had she wanted to kill a man more than that moment. “I’ll hear no more o’ yer lies. How could I have been so stupid? Damn ye Dragonet. Damn ye to hell!”

Morrigan attacked with everything she had, driving him backwards. She swung to kill, attacking his legs, slicing at his neck. He no longer attacked but defended her blows with speed and skill. She lunged forward again, and he deflected with precision. He was good. Irritatingly good. Impressively good. And it only made her hate him more.