Claire Delacroix (34 page)

He turned his bright gaze abruptly upon Luc once more. “I was told in trust,” he confided in a low voice, “and to break that trust is no small thing.”

“Whose trust?”

“Connor’s own,” the monk confirmed and Luc’s heart began to pound. Brother Thomas’ gaze raked the height of the tall keep rising before them. “I cannot lightly discard a pledge sworn to a man no longer of this earth.”

“Even if the tale could see his killer brought to justice?”

Brother Thomas eyed Luc for a long moment, then he clucked his tongue and shook his head. “ ’Tis no good thing for a man to be murdered in his own home.”

“Still less in a chapel.”

Brother Thomas gasped and crossed himself, even as he sought Luc’s gaze once more. “Nay!”

“Aye,” Luc confirmed grimly. “ ’Tis a sight for which you must brace yourself.”

Brother Thomas blanched, his brow knotted, then he strode onward with new vigor.

Gavin and Father Padraig stood sentinel at the base of the stairs to the chapel, an unlikely pair of comrades, if ever there had been. They exchanged greetings with Brother Thomas and let him pass, though Father Padraig tried to halt Luc’s progress.

“I have need of his aid,” the monk said sternly, then proceeded up the stairs.

Father Padraig hesitated tellingly.

“Let him pass!” Gavin snapped. “Or I shall see that you pay the price.”

The priest’s lips thinned and he stepped just sufficiently aside that Luc could brush past him. Luc reached the chapel to find the monk clutching the wall. The older man was trembling slightly. His eyes were closed in dismay, and one hand fingered the rosary hanging from his girdle.

Luc turned his attention to a review of the damage done to the chapel, granting the monk a moment to collect himself. He was surprised to feel the weight of Brother Thomas’ hand on his shoulder a short moment later.

Luc looked into that man’s avid gaze. “I will tell you,” Brother Thomas said heatedly. “But not within these walls.” He looked once more upon his old friend, his expression strained. “This evil cannot pass unchallenged.”

Luc raised his voice slightly, knowing full well that two pairs of ears below would strive to hear what was said. “Aye, he is not a small man. ’Tis no trouble at all for me to aid you in moving him. I am well used to labor.”

“Bless you,” Brother Thomas whispered, then crossed the tiny chapel like a man in a dream. He knelt with surprising grace beside the broken body upon the floor and laid a hand upon that man’s pale brow.

“And godspeed to you, Connor,” he whispered huskily. “Know that I betray your trust only in the hope that a greater justice may be served.” He closed Connor’s eyes with gentle fingers. “Forgive me, my friend.”

And when the monk bowed his head to pray, Luc glimpsed the tears flowing down his cheeks.

’T
was later that eve when Luc abandoned his inquiries for the day. The hall was sliding into shadows, he and Uther and Brother Thomas were exhausted. Luc and Uther had talked to half the household while Gavin paced agitatedly behind them, but had learned precious little.

Everyone had evidently been in the hall, the kitchens, or the stables. No one had noted any omissions, but with the household being of such number and spread between three locales, ’twas difficult to ensure anyone was anywhere at any point in time.

Someone, ’twas clear, lied.

But Luc did not know who. And he was too tired to fathom a guess. A night’s sleep might set details more clearly in his mind. He bade Uther good evening, confirmed again that Brianna was secure in her chambers, and left the hall.

Luc was stepping into the darkness of the bailey when a whisper caught at his ear yet again.

Immediately, he froze and shrank back against the wall.

“My lady must never know,” came the low words.

’Twas a woman, Luc discerned, and he strained his ear. He scanned the bailey, seeking some darker silhouette in the
myriad shadows of the rain. Indeed, its incessant patter made the words most difficult to hear.

“ ’Tis imperative that she never guess—”

“Shhhh,” a man’s low tones were fiendishly difficult to hear. “She will never guess the truth until ’tis too late.” The man’s fervor echoed even in the whisper. “Is this not what you desire?”

Luc straightened silently, a jolt of fear running through him. What was being plotted against Brianna? Were these the same two responsible for Connor’s death?

He thought of the two men he had heard in the stables and reasoned that if all were together ’twas two men and a woman involved in this scheme.

“Aye!” the woman affirmed, then the pair dropped their voices, frustrating Luc’s attempts to eavesdrop.

It sounded as though the whispered words came from the left, around the corner of the keep. Luc recalled that there was a bare nook between keep and wall on that side, where a rough shed covered a supply of firewood for the kitchen hearth.

The woman gasped at something her companion said. “Oh! We should not! We could not! I could not even think of …”

Luc’s heart leapt. A thousand foul possibilities of what the man might be proposing flooded his mind.

“
Hush!
” The man’s whisper was imperative. “You have come this far—would you not see all resolved to our own satisfaction?”

“All?” The woman gasped again, then her cry of protest was muffled.

’Twas clear the man intended to force her to his will!

“Who lurks there?” Luc leapt into the darkness. “Who is there and what do you do?”

But by the time the shed was in full view, ’twas clear no
one lingered there. Luc heard the patter of running feet, but could not discern their direction. The pair had ducked between the keep and curtain wall.

He cursed and kicked the ground, knowing well enough that beyond was one of those three spots where the wall was incomplete. They could have gone to the river, made their way to the village, or crept back to the keep from the other side.

There was no way of knowing even who they had been.

Luc’s lips tightened grimly and he wished he had been quicker. Or had had a torch!

Or heard more of what they schemed. He swore softly under his breath as he turned toward the stables. There had been too many missed opportunities, to his way of thinking, and Luc could not help but fear the import of that.

’Twas late on Monday afternoon by the time Brother Thomas and Luc stole a moment away from the keep. Ismay had been buried with suitable ceremony earlier that day, Brother Thomas had prepared Connor to take Ismay’s place in the chapel. ’Twas a grey day, which seemed to suit the mood of the keep well.

They sat on the orchard wall to share a flagon of wine, Luc’s mind whirling with the testimony he had already heard this day. All remembered precious little, the events of the day overshadowing such small recollections as whom they had seen where and when.

Curse yesterday for being one of such turmoil! In normal circumstance, all would have recalled much more.

Luc could not help but wonder whether Connor’s killer had planned as much.

Luc took a draught of wine. He had just seen Brianna and assured himself that she was secure in the company of her maids. The shock that still claimed her lovely features tore
at Luc’s heart, for he could well understand the difficulty of adjustment. It had been no easy task for him to accept Tyrell’s sudden demise.

She had taken more than her measure of the wine again this day and Luc thought it might do the lady good. Sleep would be the best thing for her, and amidst the circle of her handmaids, within her own chamber, Brianna would be safe.

The lady needed time and Luc was content to wait.

At this hour, the bare branches of the apple trees were stark black against the brilliantly streaked sky. The bite of winter was in the wind and Luc drew his cloak higher around his throat. But they two were the only ones outside the warmth of the keep.

None could overhear them here.

Brother Thomas took a hearty swig of the wine, both that and the wind restoring the color to his cheeks. Luc knew the monk was still shaken by the sight of his fallen friend the day before.

Brother Thomas pursed his lips now. “ ’Tis a startling thing,” he commented softly, “to see a contemporary die.” Brother Thomas took another sip of his wine and huddled lower in the folds of his own cloak. “It makes a man taste his own mortality and so much more keenly than when death takes its toll only from the aged and the infirm.”

Luc could well imagine that to be so. He sipped his own wine and waited for the monk to compose his thoughts.

Finally, Thomas cleared his throat. “I told you once that Connor had been a young man much infatuated with the allure of battle and the art of swordplay.”

“Aye, and I know that he took the cross.”

“Aye. He was gone a goodly time, for I had finished my novitiate and taken my vows long before his return. ’Twas years before I saw him again—I came for some funeral or another—by then, Connor was wed and Brianna was a tot
making her way into all manner of mischief.” A smile of recollection briefly played upon the monk’s lips before he sobered. “ ’Twas then that I first saw the Rose of Tullymullagh.”

“Brianna,” Luc affirmed, surprised when the monk looked quickly to him as though he had said something amiss.

He was even more startled when the monk shook his head vigorously. “Nay, not Brianna. The true Rose of Tullymullagh.”

Luc frowned. “But I thought she
was
the Rose in question.”

Brother Thomas shook his head again. “Nay, nay, though later that was what Connor wanted people to believe. Nay, there was another Rose of Tullymullagh and ’tis that I fear which is at the root of this.”

“What was it?”

“Ah, well, Connor had taken trade with a gem merchant in Outremer—”

“Aye, Brianna told me of it. And he was paid for his labor in gems, which he brought home and sold to pay for this keep.”

The monk slanted a glance in Luc’s direction. “She told you much.”

“Inadvertently,” Luc admitted with a smile of his own. “ ’Twas mixed in the recounting of her parents’ love.”

“Ah! There was a rare affection between those two.” The two men took a draught of wine, as though saluting the departed pair. “That time I came, Connor was very secretive. He wanted to show me a prize, though I had to swear a pledge that I would tell naught of it before he would unveil it.”

The monk frowned at his chalice. “It seemed that the merchant had granted Connor a special gift of his esteem, a
trinket he had had crafted particularly for him in the design of Connor’s own faith.”

“Brianna said that pair had treated Connor as their own son.”

“Perhaps, for ’twas a princely gift indeed.” Brother Thomas flattened his hand and traced a cross across it, from the tip of middle finger to wrist, from thumb to base of smallest finger.

“ ’Twas a crucifix, about this size, wrought of gold and infested with gems of rare size and clarity. Two massive rounds of amber made each short arm, four made the longer one. There were several amethysts tucked here and there, but the most striking gem was set dead center. ’Twas an enormous ruby, the like of which I had never seen, the size of a man’s thumb and as red as blood.”

Luc’s mouth went dry. “As red as a rose.”

“Aye.” Brother Thomas nodded. “So, Connor had named it the Rose of Tullymullagh. He intended it to be the legacy of his holding, an heirloom that would pass through the generations of his spawn. Perhaps ’twas the merchant’s thinking behind that.”

“But where is it?”

Brother Thomas shrugged. “I do not know. I saw it only the once, so long ago.” His gaze rose to meet Luc’s and that man saw the monk’s concern. “Connor told me then that ’twas secreted where none would think to look, where none would dare to suspect. He told me that the Rose was safe beneath God’s own eye.”

“The chapel,” Luc concluded, the location of Connor’s demise making markedly more sense.

“Indeed, I wonder,” the monk acknowledged. “For all these years, no one but Connor and Eva and Brianna was permitted to use that chapel. None would dare venture there
uninvited, and ’twould be difficult indeed to pass through the lord’s own solar unobserved.”