Dreamer (Highland Treasure Trilogy) (18 page)

She took only a moment to study
their surroundings. “There is no place to hide here! Surely, we cannot climb
these trees, for even if we did, they are certain to discover us.”

“Then what shall we do? Tell me,
Catherine. What shall we do?”

“I say we run! Push for the walls
of the city! And I believe we have not a moment to waste! Come, Brother! Run for your life.”

The words had not completely left
Catherine’s mouth when the monk started up the path with more energy than she’d
seen him exert all day. Finding this much better than his earlier whining, she
fought down a grin and started after him.

Falling in behind him, Catherine
considered their situation. Elgin had to be fairly close now. She hadn’t really
seen or heard any indication that those waiting in the hills were pursuing
them, but going at this pace, she and the portly monk were certain to arrive at
Elgin Cathedral before nightfall.

And the first thing she had to do
when they arrived was to send a messenger to her husband at Balvenie Castle. The last thing she wanted was to have him worrying about her after all the
pleasantness that had passed between them last night!

Nay! Worrying him was not something
she ever intended to do!

*****

Entering his own ornately decorated
Great Hall, Patrick Hepburn, the young bishop of Moray, came to an abrupt stop
at the sight of the irate earl of Athol.

“I assume, my good earl, that you
are not here to congratulate us on the finish of the cathedral’s thirty-year
restoration. You did see the middle tower, did you not? Aren’t the figures of Bishop Innes and...”

“Aye, I saw the blasted thing. And you assume correctly, Patrick. I’m not here for any such thing. I am here to retrieve my
wife.” 

“So!” A slow smile broke out on the
youthful face of the bishop. “So the rumors we’ve heard are true. You have
taken an English
cleric
as a wife. Really, such an act is so
unusual...so progressive--”

“I’m happy to be able to amuse you,
Your Excellency,” Athol growled, speaking through clenched teeth in his effort
not to unleash his fury on the jolly bishop. “But Catherine Percy, my wife,
left Balvenie Castle this morning to--”

“Oh, a woman?” the bishop said with
mock disappointment.

“Aye, of course, a woman!”

“Without you? She left the castle
without you?”

“Aye, without me!” Athol barked. “And she was accompanied by a damned English monk--”

“You are very kind, Athol, to be
providing shelter to every English refugee fleeing...”

“I am
not
providing shelter
to the bloody English monks. I was just trying to...”

“I, too, believe ‘tis a worthy
cause.” The bishop nodded approvingly. “With those henchmen of Henry Tudor’s
tearing through the abbeys in the south of England, ‘tis only a matter of time...”

“Right now, Patrick, I do not give
a tinker’s damn about Henry Tudor, Suleyman the Magnificent, or the devil
himself!” Seeing the bishop draw breath to reply--no doubt about the merits of
helping clerics--Athol barreled on. “What I want to know from you is whether my
wife has arrived here yet!”  

 “You believe that she was headed
here?” Still thoroughly amused, the cleric looked down at his soft, white
hands. “I hope she’s beautiful, my good earl. A beautiful woman is the rarest
of God’s creatu...”

“She was...she is!” John sputtered.
“She
was
headed here. As I tried to say earlier, she left Balvenie Castle this morning with a blasted monk named Bartholomew, and they were
definitely heading for Elgin Cathedral!”

“How delightful! But why would she want to come here without you?”

“‘Tis not so much that she wanted
to come here
without me
as to the fact that she’s eager to solicit your
help in starting a school at Balvenie Castle and...”

“How fascinating! And your feelings on such a project...?”

“Catherine has my consent. But still...”

“Is she not the eldest daughter of
Nichola Erskine?”

“She is, Patrick.” Athol felt his
temper about to explode. “Before nightfall totally descends, I need to know if
she has arrived here at the cathedral!”

The bishop waved a hand vaguely in
the air. “I remember receiving a letter from the mother. Based on what I recall
of the letter, your wife is a very educated woman, quite capable of
accomplishing the task she has chosen for herself.”

“I have no argument with anything
you say. Is she HERE?!”

“No need to shout, John. I can hear
quite well.”

Athol tried to calm himself, though
his fingers itched to throttle the rosy-cheeked cleric. Suddenly, thoughts of
Catherine’s threatened annulment raced through his mind. Nay, he thought, trying
to dismiss the idea. They had already consummated their marriage. She had even
seemed fairly...well, pleased with the arrangement now. Nay, their passionate
moments did not speak of a woman unfulfilled. Still, he had to assure himself
that she was not here. That this all too worldly priest was not providing her
with a refuge against him.

He would use Patrick Hepburn’s hide
for a saddlebag if the wee bishop was keeping her.

“‘Tis dangerous out there in those
hills, Patrick! My men and I took the direct route to Elgin and did not catch
up with them. So if you tell me that my wife and her companion have not yet
arrived, then I need to go out in search of them
now
! Adam of the Glen
is out there, and the blackguard would love to have my wife in his clutches...of
that I have no doubt. The wolf has been at my door for months now, raiding my
lands and terrorizing my people.” 

The bishop nodded with concern.
“Aye, so I have heard. You really should catch the villain. I think the gates
of Balvenie Castle would look quite lovely adorned with Adam’s head on a pike.”

Athol clenched his jaw tightly. “So
would I. But is my...”

“If Adam’s thievery were to spill
over into the lands of my bishopric, we would really need to talk about--”

“Not now!” John Stewart interrupted,
taking a half step toward the man. “My wife, Patrick! Is she here?”

The bishop looked up, evidently
startled by the apprehension in the earl’s tone. Patrick Hepburn looked
carefully at Athol’s troubled and exasperated expression.

“‘Tis pleasing for me to know that
your extended wait before choosing a wife was not in vain. It sounds to me as
if you are really concerned about the woman, though I must say that I am
surprised, after hearing how Catherine Percy was literally dragged before you
to take her vows.”

The reason for the bishop’s
reluctance to answer now became clear. The priest who married them at the
hunting lodge must have reported the incident to the bishop. Well, there was no
point in denying the truth.

“A great deal has changed since
then, Patrick.”

“So I see.” The bishop turned and
crossed to one of the large windows overlooking the courtyard. “Now, concerning
the whereabouts of your wife. ‘Tis nearly dark.”

“I know that! Has she arrived?”

“I should say that she has.”

As a sudden relief washed over him,
John watched the bishop raise his pudgy hand and point out through the glass.
Moving rapidly to the window and looking out, John saw the two ragged-looking
travelers making their way past the old porter at the gate of the walled
enclosure. Pushing the hood of her cloak back, Catherine was explaining their
presence to the porter and looking purposefully toward the bishop’s palace. 
The heavyset monk accompanying her was chirping continuously in her ear. Even
in the growing gloom, Athol could tell that she was annoyed with whatever it
was Brother Bartholomew was saying.

In an instant, the sense of relief
caused by the knowledge of her safety was replaced with a growing fury at her
recklessness, and John Stewart started for the door.

With unexpected quickness, the
bishop grabbed the sleeve of Athol’s shirt, detaining him. “You will not be too
harsh with her, my friend, for what she has done?”

The earl stared at the man. “The
hell I won’t. She is my wife now, and she must understand that there are dangers
that surround us in these hills. As the countess of Athol, she is more valuable
to renegades like Adam of the Glen--and more vulnerable--than she was while
escaping England. Nay, Patrick, she will learn that she cannot foolishly
endanger her own life and someone else’s so impulsively.”

The bishop nodded. “Aye, she has to
understand all of those things. But I believe ‘tis more important that she
learn to trust
your
judgment and take you into her confidence in matters
such as this.”

Athol cocked an eyebrow at him. “A
curious position for a churchman to take, but I intend to see to that as well.
Now, if you’ll pardon me, Patrick...”

“I’m looking forward to meeting
her, John. Bring her in and...”

“We’ll not be availing ourselves of
your hospitality tonight.”

The bishop raised a soft hand in
the air. “But...”

“Nay, she’s going home immediately,
if I have to tie her to the back of my horse.” With a curt nod, he started for
the door.

“Well,” the bishop called after, “then
please pass on my encouragement regarding the school. At least, leave her
jovial looking friend, and I’ll tell him what we can do to help. Oh, and John!”

Exasperated, the earl of Athol
whirled at the door.

“Be gentle!”

******

He came out the door into the
courtyard with all the delicacy of a charging bull.

Slowing her steps as she moved
across the yard, Catherine’s initial excitement at seeing her husband here
quickly turned to caution. His long strides and the scowl darkening his looks
made it clear that he did not share her enthusiasm about this meeting.
Realizing that this was probably not the best place for Brother Bartholomew, she stopped, turned, and quietly advised the monk to continue on to the chapter
house, where she could meet him later. But her traveling companion gave her
only the most perfunctory of bows before practically running the few remaining
steps to the oncoming earl of Athol.

“I cannot tell you, m’lord, how
happy I am to find you here. Considering the fact that we quite nearly lost our
lives during our journey here, the idea of having to return to Balvenie Castle on our own, unprotected, has been most dreadful! Most dreadful, indeed!”

Catherine watched her husband
ignore the cleric, passing him without so much as a glance and closing the
distance between them. His eyes bore into hers and he stopped an arm’s length
from her. The monk, continuing to chatter away, was instantly at the earl’s
elbow, gesturing and whining.

“The dangers we faced in these
hills were terrifying, m’lord--far more frightening than anything I’ve encountered
in my entire life.”

Catherine rolled her eyes.
Certainly, her husband would recognize the ridiculousness of the monk’s
overstatement. 

“One moment, we’re faced with
cutthroats and thieves in the hills, and the next we’re forced to leave our
mules and walk over the most mountainous ground God ever created. Why, Hannibal and his elephants couldn’t have crossed the terrain we covered today. You do not
know, m’lord--”

“That is enough, Brother Bartholomew,” Catherine interrupted, turning her gaze from husband to the monk. The
cleric continued to puff and throw his hands in the air. “I am certain the earl
has a very good idea of how our trip went.”

“Nay, Lady Catherine. I haven’t
even begun to tell of the assassins who nearly caught us not two leagues from
here.”

Her gaze darted back to Athol’s
face. His eyes shone with fury.

“Oh, aye,” she scoffed, though not
very convincingly, she thought. She tried to make her words drip with sarcasm.
“If it were not for our superior speed afoot, they’d have certainly caught us
at the very gates of Elgin itself.”

“True!” the monk agreed. “And I think they were the same band of murderers that chased us most of the day. They followed
us from the hills, m’lord, ready to cut our throat, if they were to catch us.”

The darkness of Athol’s scowl was
starting to make her nervous. She turned sternly to the monk. “We arrived
safely. There is no reason now to exaggerate the details of our journey, Brother Bartholomew.”

“Exaggerate?” the monk huffed. “You
were the one who pointed out the flash of their blades in the sunlight,
mistress.”

“I was just looking for an excuse
to travel into the hills,” she lied. “You, of all people, should know my
fondness for this high country.”

“Nay, you are being too modest,
mistress. Certainly, your husband should know the courage you showed.” The monk
turned toward the earl, and Catherine had to control her urge to stuff the
man’s hood in his mouth.

 “I would say...there were
fifty...maybe a hundred of them closing in on us...”

Catherine looked pleadingly at her
husband. But he simply stood there directing his murderous gaze at her, taking
in all the decoratively embellished gibberish the monk was so eloquently
delivering into his ear. Well, darkness had all but descended upon them, and
she turned as a torch flared up by the pen between the stables and the
gatekeeper’s cell. Suddenly, she became very aware of her aching feet, and her
interest in listening to much more of this dissipated. She turned toward her
husband.

“If you’ll forgive me, I have not yet
accomplished the task that brought me to Elgin and the cathedral. So while you
catch up on Brother Bartholomew’s tales of the murderers haunting these hills,
I think I’ll just continue on to the chapter house to inquire about the
possibility of seeing the bishop tonight regarding the matter of the school.”

With an authoritative sweep of his
arm, the earl of Athol brushed the monk back and stepped in, cutting off
Catherine’s line of retreat. “You’ll not be moving from this spot until such
time as
I
move you.”