“So you settled for a bottle of wine, a young Frenchman, and enlightenment of another sort.”
It hadn't been as wonderful as it sounded. There had been a rainstorm. She had missed her train connection back to Paris, and then discovered that the 'young Frenchman' who had offered to guide her and her roommate around had made off with their travelers’ checks. She had to call home for money to continue the trip. So much for romantic trips abroad and enlightenment.
“It was two bottles of wine,” she confessed, walking on ahead along the passage that led to the Cloisters.
In the muted quiet of stone walls, she could imagine what another young woman might have found in the solitude of the abbey, with only the murmurings of the monks at their prayers, and the distant sounds of the sea measuring out the hours, days, weeks, and years.
That picture was in stark contrast to the image Vilette Moreau had shared of a rebellious, headstrong young woman who had defied both family and possibly the French king, and set off to Spain with a cache of gold and a handful of mercenaries.
Mercenaries—that was the only word for it, in a dangerous land, in dangerous times.
Was it really any different now?
It might have been a trick of the light, her own sense of history, or the story Vilette Moreau had told them. Kris wondered what Isa Raveneau had thought of this remote island sanctuary, far away from family, from everything she had known—a choice made out of anger. Or love?
They crossed another hallway, following the signage and the cloisters opened up in front of them, arched stone columns spanning the massive chamber, leaded glass windows in the outside wall, and the expanse of wall at the end of those rows of columns, modern lighting softly illuminating the massive stone chamber.
She took out the color print of the tapestry that Diana Jodion had printed out for them.
“It was here.”
The wall was made of precisely cut granite stones, and matched the wall in the print-out where the tapestry had once hung. It was the same, the corner of one large stone broken off in the fourth row up from the floor; two rows up another stone lighter than the others. It was here when that photograph had been taken.
Voices echoed from the hallway as a group of tourists approached the cloisters. Conversations were a blend of languages and accents as they made their way to the hallway that led from the abbey church.
They retraced their steps to the entrance of the church.
It didn't matter how many churches or cathedrals she'd seen in her travels, there was always that moment first stepping inside that was both amazing and awe-inspiring. Awe at the craftsmanship, the Gothic arches that were like pieces of art, perfectly aligned, identical with a precision that was almost impossible to comprehend, given the era they were built, and amazement at the power of faith that had built them with only hand labor over the centuries.
The abbey church at Mont St. Michel was no different—Norman influence in the base columns, Gothic vaults blending into Romanesque, faith through the centuries.
Rows of benches filled both sides of the church. Candles were set on the walls, while modern lighting drew the eye up to those Gothic arches and the stained-glass dome.
Kris hesitated, then slowly approached the altar.
“Oh, God.”
James heard the sound she made, a small sound that echoed in the silence of the church. He saw the expression on her face, colorless, eyes dark. Then he saw the blood where Brother Thomas lay on the church floor.
“No!” He pulled her away, at the same time he scanned the interior of the church, looking for any sign of movement, listening for a sound that they weren't alone.
“We have to help him!” She tried to pull free.
“You can't help him now.”
She fought to breathe at the same time it was impossible to breathe, fighting her way past the shock, past what she already knew, had seen in the monk's sightless eyes.
“We have to call someone...”
“Kris.” He shook her. “Listen to me! You can't help him, but you can help yourself.”
Her gaze snapped to his, still dark, but past that first shock.
“We can't just leave him...”
She had said those exact words once before, staring at Brynn Halliday's twisted body, her sightless eyes. This couldn't be happening!
He shook her. “Whoever did this is out there. We have to get out of here.”
