“But that is hours away on the morrow,” Sir William protested.
The gatekeeper, who did not appear the least bit sympathetic to their plight, scoffed and said, “Aye, so it is.”
Enraged that they would be treated so dismissively—the man oblivious to the dire nature of their visit—Laoghaire stepped to the fore. “I am Lady Angus and I demand that ye immediately open this gate. If ye do not, I will order my men-at-arms to show ye no mercy,” she threatened, infusing her voice with as much authority as she could muster.
The gatekeeper glared at her sharply, but in the end he acquiesced with a grudging nod. He then called out to an unseen comrade, “Open the gate!”
Upon hearing that, Laoghaire breathed a sigh of relief. At a young age she’d learned from her brother Iain, laird of Clan MacKinnon, that there were times when a strongly worded threat was more effective than reasonable discourse.
Without uttering a word of welcome, a porter opened the heavy wooden gate. Sir William and Piers Burnett were the first to enter, followed by Dame Winifred and Lady Melisande. Laoghaire proceeded on foot, walking beside the coach. Their party was small, nine in total. Worried the abbey would be unable to accommodate a large group, she’d ordered the rest of the entourage to set up camp in a clearing several miles away in the outlying countryside.
After passing through an arched portal, they emerged in a courtyard, which was dominated by St. Dunstan’s church. An impressively large structure, it boasted a bell tower that soared at least a hundred feet into the air.
The reticent porter, who followed them into the forecourt, bid them to remain there with the coach and horses while he went to inform the abbot of their arrival.
As she peered around the courtyard, Laoghaire took note of the many outbuildings—stables, brew house, buttery, forge—situated in the shadow of the towering wall that separated the abbey from the outside world. In the far distance she could make out what appeared to be an herb garden; a welcoming sight, indeed, for it meant the resident infirmarian would have access to a variety of medicinal herbs.
When she caught sight of a cluster of monks making their way across the courtyard, Laoghaire ordered the two foot soldiers who’d accompanied them to remove Galen’s stretcher from the coach. Once the introductions were made, it was imperative that he be taken immediately to the infirmary.
The solemn-looking group—all of whom were attired in the plain black habit of the Benedictine order—was led by a monk who illuminated the way with a torch. More than a few of the brothers had cowls pulled over their heads, the dark fabric obscuring their facial features. Even though she knew it was a ridiculous notion, Laoghaire thought there was something sinister about those hidden faces.
A tall man broke away from the group and approached her. Attired like the others in a black cowl and habit, the simplicity of his garb was at odds with the jewel-encrusted cross that hung from his neck, dangling from a thick gold chain. “I am Abbot Theodore.Pax vobiscum,”he said, as he raised a beringed hand and made the sign of the cross in her general direction.
Laoghaire acknowledged the greeting with a nod of the head.
Standing a goodly distance from the stretcher—as though he feared contracting some deadly contagion—the abbot’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly when he noticed the red-and-black plaid that had been wrapped around Galen to ward off the evening chill. “I have been informed that the Earl of Angus has taken ill.”
“Several hours ago my lord husband was struck with a mysterious ailment which has rendered him insensible,” Laoghaire informed him.
“He must be attended to at once.” With a jut of the chin, the abbot singled out one of the monks. “Our chamberlain, Brother Finian, will lead the way to the infirmary.”
Relieved, Laoghaire glanced heavenward and gave silent thanks. She then nodded to the two men who bore the stretcher aloft, motioning for them to follow the monk who’d been designated as their escort.
“Wait!” Dame Winifred suddenly called out, as she stepped in front of the stretcher bearers, effectively blocking their path. “I speak verily when I say that for some time now Lady Angus has been possessed of an evil desire to kill her husband.”
“Sweet Jesu!” Laoghaire blurted, wondering if the older woman had taken leave of her senses.
“Although it gives me no great pleasure to do so, I am duty-bound to make these charges,” Dame Winifred continued, directing her remarks to the abbot. “Forsooth, ’twas only yesterday that I overheard the earl accuse Lady Angus of being one of the Morrigu.”
“The pagan goddesses of death and destruction,” Abbot Theodore uttered in a shocked tone of voice. In the torchlight, Laoghaire could see that the cleric had gone puce.
“Moreover, the Morrigu are the known companions of witches, and those who would use magic to violent ends.”
The older woman’s allegations were so breathtaking that Laoghaire swayed unsteadily, forced to grab hold of the coach in order to keep from collapsing.
I have foolishly wandered into the spider’s web,she realized, only now able to see that Dame Winifred, seizing the advantage when Galen took ill, had plotted against her.
Felled by the other woman’s treachery, Laoghaire was rendered speechless.
Surely, no one here believes her outrageous assertions,she told herself.
But when she spared a quick glance at Sir William, the knight gaped at her with a round-eyed expression. Piers Burnett also appeared shocked, the young squire’s mouth hanging wide open. As for the gathered monks, several of them could be seen crossing themselves as they began to murmur in Latin, presumably some prayer to ward off the evil that they now feared was in their midst. Only Melisande, who was clearly bewildered by the unexpected turn of events, stared—not at Laoghaire—but at her mother.
“This is a serious allegation,” Abbot Theodore declared.
“This is sheer nonsense, that’s what it is!” Laoghaire exclaimed, finally finding her voice.
“Lady Angus, you will silence your tongue,” the abbot ordered. “A charge of witchcraft is a grave matter, and you would be well advised to act in a manner befitting your noble station.”
