Am I already burnt flesh?she wondered, still able to recall the victorious gleam in Father Giroldus’s eyes when he accused her of trafficking with the devil.
“What of Galen? Has his condition improved?” she asked, desperate for news of her husband.
“After you were led away, the earl was taken to a room in the abbey’s guesthouse, where he is being closely tended to by Dame Winifred.”
“Dame Winifred!” she hissed, appalled to think that crone would be allowed anywhere near Galen. “What of the abbey’s infirmarian? Has he given Galen a curative?”
The young squire shrugged his shoulders. “I cannot say, milady. When I tried to gain entry to the earl’s chamber, I was refused admittance.”
“But ye are his loyal squire,” she protested.
“Abbot Theodore rules the abbey with an iron hand, and he has decreed that none save for Dame Winifred and the infirmarian shall enter the earl’s bedchamber.”
Heavy-hearted, Laoghaire worried about Galen’s care and well-being.
Is he in pain? What medicines have been administered? Does he wonder why I am not at his side?
“Ye must undertake a vitally important mission,” she said abruptly. “If ye are successful, we will be able to remove Galen from Dame Winifred’s clutches.”
“I will do whatever I can, milady.”
Relieved to have garnered his cooperation, she said with great urgency, “Ye must ride to Castle Balloch posthaste and inform my brother, the laird, of the dire events that have transpired this night. He will know what to do.”
Laoghaire had every confidence there would be no need for the squire to beseech Iain to come to her aid; nothing under the heavens would prevent her brother and kinsmen from riding to her rescue.
“If ye leave immediately, ye should reach the castle late tomorrow evening.”
“I’ll have to ride like the wind if I’m to get there before the sun sets on the morrow.”
“Ye’ll have to ride faster than that,” Laoghaire told him, well aware that each minute they spent in converse was a minute lost.
“But Abbot Theodore has ordered a curfew. No one is allowed to leave the monastery until after matins.”
Through the grille, Laoghaire could see that the abbey was obscured in a thick shroud of gray mist. While the leaden fog lent the landscape an ominous aspect, it would also enable the young squire to abscond from the compound undetected.
“Ye must take yer leave now while ye have the cover of night to mask yer departure.” Laoghaire twisted her wedding ring off of her finger. She then pushed the amethyst ring through the iron grille. “If need be, ye can use this to bribe yer way past the gatekeeper. It has great value.”
As he took the proffered ring from her, there was no mistaking the young man’s apprehension. Snaking her hand through the iron bars, Laoghaire gently patted his cheek. “Ye’re one of the few people I can trust, and I now have need of a heroic chevalier.”
At hearing that, the young squire instantly straightened his shoulders and, with a resolute look upon his face, he said, “I am honored to be of service to you, milady.”
“Godspeed,” Laoghaire told him before she moved away from the window.
Alas, no truer word has ever been uttered,she acknowledged as she clambered off of the sarcophagus. The squire would need to sprout the wings of an angel if he was to reach Castle Balloch in time; no doubt, Father Giroldus would bring her to trial as soon as possible.
In the flickering light of the single torch that burned from a nearby wall bracket, she peered around the makeshift dungeon. Although a large chamber—with massive stone piers bracing the barrel vault above—the crypt was low-ceilinged. Adding to the oppressiveness, the scent of incense and candle wax hung heavily in the air.
Shortly after she’d been incarcerated, a nervous-looking novice had brought her a woolen blanket and a chamber pot. Though she tried to engage him in conversation, the youth had refused to speak to her, more than likely terrified she would bewitch him with an evil incantation.
Determined to find a means of escape, she had explored the undercroft’s main corridor, hoping it would lead to an exit. But her explorations ended abruptly when she happened upon numerous skeletal remains which had been stacked in the niches that lined either side of the passageway.
Slumping against one of the whitewashed stone columns, Laoghaire slowly sank to the floor. Overwhelmed by a sense of helplessness, she thought of Galen lying alone, vulnerable, perhaps even dead. All too easily, she could envision his lifeless corpse placed atop a slab, arms crossed over his chest, his hands curled around his sword hilt.
Dear God, no! Not that! Anything but that, she prayed fervently, her heart beating wildly against her breastbone.
Suddenly it occurred to her that she might never again see Galen.
“Would they do that to me?” she murmured, fighting to keep her tears at bay. “Would they be so cruel?”
