A Mad Monk
Corbin startled awake. The door to Hamish’s quarters stood open, just enough to allow a sliver of daylight to penetrate the hovel. He got to his feet and examined his legs. Satisfied they weren’t full of flea bites, he grimaced as he shrugged on the hated robe and slipped his feet into the worn sandals. He’d barely slept, convinced he was being bitten. How else to explain why his whole body itched?
He’d heard the creak of the main gates opening earlier. Hamish was nowhere to be seen, though he must have peeked in and left the door ajar. Had he gone to inform the laird of his visitor? The faint echo of voices indicated folk were up and about. The gatekeeper would soon return to his post.
Corbin scanned his dingy, cramped surroundings. It was evident the old man lived a hand-to-mouth existence. There was a pile of clothing in one corner. It was unlikely any of it would fit, but he grabbed a yellowed shirt and well-worn trews, tucking the malodorous garments under his robe. Patting the resulting paunch held in place by the rope belt, he chuckled, pleased it added to his disguise. As did the odor, he supposed.
It was risky, but he decided to make for the kitchens, mainly to filch food, but also to arm himself with a sharp knife since he’d not had the opportunity to steal one from Darling.
He gritted his teeth when the hinges of the arched door creaked as he carefully eased it open. After looking right and left down the tunnel, he slipped into the shadows.
*
Broderick encountered Hamish standing outside his gatehouse door, the heel of bread still in his hands. The old man looked confused, but that wasn’t unusual. “What’s amiss?” he asked.
Hamish shrugged and entered the chamber. “I dinna rightly ken,” he admitted.
Broderick followed, wrinkling his nose against the odors of age and neglect. He’d have a word with Hamish about the conditions he lived in. As laird, he ought to have inspected these quarters before now.
It was clear the visitor had left. The linens on the pallet were rumpled, but such was probably always the case.
“Did he sleep here?” he asked.
Hamish nodded. “Aye, curled up like a babe when I peeked in on my way back from…er. Mayhap, he didna want to impose.”
The certainty this elusive cleric had something to do with Cladh’s death weighed heavily on Broderick. “If he returns, he’s to be detained. Looks like we have a mad monk in our midst.”
He made a detour to the barracks where he ordered a search be undertaken and the missing man apprehended on suspicion of murder.
“Willna be hard to find a monk,” one of his knights jested. “If he’s still in the castle.”
Confident that was true, Broderick decided against postponing the sling lessons.
*
Kyla was glad to see a smiling Broderick waiting for them at the entrance to the tunnel. It was irrational, but she found the dark passageway oppressive. As if sensing her unease, Broderick proffered his arm. “May I escort ye, Lady Kyla?”
She willingly accepted his support, but Lily pouted. “What about me?”
Broderick crooked his other arm. “Of course,” he replied with mock seriousness. “How remiss of me, Lady Lily.”
Giggling, she linked her arm in his and the trio proceeded jauntily through the tunnel.
Anxious to be out in the open air, Kyla didn’t speak until they’d crossed the drawbridge. She wanted to express her gratitude for his consideration of her silly fears, but perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to always reveal her feelings to this man. Instead, she remarked on something she’d noticed earlier. “Yer men seem to be searching for someone.”
Lily ran ahead into the fields, twirling the empty sling over her head.
Broderick put a reassuring hand on Kyla’s arm. “Aye. The gatekeeper gave shelter to a monk yestereve. He’s disappeared, which is suspicious given the murder of the sexton.”
A chill prickled Kyla’s nape. She covered Broderick’s hand with her own, lest he try to pull away. “Was he from Darling?”
He looked into her eyes. “He says nay, but why are ye so worried?”
“I dinna ken. The monastery is far away, across the Nith, yet the sight of it fills me with foreboding.”
Broderick put his arm around her shoulders as they walked. “My theory is that the monastic life has driven the man mad. ’Tis possible he murdered the sexton who likely ferried him across the river.”
It sounded feasible, yet…
“Why cross to Caerlochnaven? Couldna he disappear more easily if he went north to Dumfries?”
Broderick scratched the stubble on his chin. “Ye make a valid point, but who can predict what a madman might do?”
“Are we going to learn how to use a sling or nay?” Lily cried from the riverbank.
Kyla suddenly realized she’d slipped her arm around Broderick’s waist as they’d walked hip to hip, as if they were friends—or more, judging by the impertinent grin on Lily’s face.
Kyla stepped away. “Yer pardon. ’Twas for balance,” she lied.
“Aye,” he replied with an enigmatic smile, “’tis easy to lose yer balance in unfamiliar terrain.”