Lachlann studied the priest, his back permanently stooped from so many hours in supplication, but he showed no sign of having heard Aldred’s comment. To the contrary, he continued to swing the incense-filled orb, chanting the Latin words few understood even though they listened intently. Lachlann was one of those few.
“Gaudeamus onmes… ” the priest murmured.
Om-nes,Lachlann corrected in his head.
“…in Domino diem festum celebrantes sub horone… ”
Sub ho-nore. Lachlann had loved learning the language of the church.
“Sanctorum onimum… ”
Om-ni-um.
This was painful to listen to so Lachlann focused instead on the priest’s precise movement as he took communion. The act, which was comfortingly accurate, would be followed by the post-communion prayer.
The priest began, “Quod ore mumpsimus, Domine—”
“Sumpsimus!” Lachlann slammed his lips together and cringed at his slip. Had he actually said that aloud? No one else would have caught the priest’s mistake. Mayhap it would go unnoticed.
The sudden silence confirmed that was not the case.
The priest moved closer with slow, heavy steps scraping along the stone floor. Lachlann swallowed past his tightening throat, but refused to confirm the priest’s location even though he was fairly certain Aldred was the only thing between him and Father Michael.
“Ah, Lachlann.” The interminable silence that followed demanded Lachlann turn his gaze to the priest. “Is there ought ye would like to share?”
Just like that, and he was again a lad receiving reprimands from the itinerant priest whose flock covered much of the highlands, but somehow knewhimby name. Hoping the man would just ignore the correction and continue with the service, Lachlann shook his head. A wasted gesture.
“Hmmm.”
The sarcastic lilt of the sound sent a wave of heat across Lachlann’s chest.
“Did ye not correct my Latin?”
When Lachlann opened his mouth to apologize, the priest’s eyes flared. “Think ye a man of the cloth deserves such a rebuke? Verily do ye test my patience, lad.”
Shame swamped Lachlann. This priest could cause him to feel guilty for breathing. “Forgiveness for my outburst, Father. No insult was intended.”
Lachlann held himself taut. That was all the man would get from him. He was a warrior. He did not apologize like some youngling.
The slight quiver of the blond Norseman beside Lachlann made matters so much worse. But it was the near uncontrollable twitch of Lachlann’s own lips that Father Michael’s piercing eyes did not seem willing to ignore. “Do ye find humor in this interruption?”
“Nay—”
Aldred made a strangled sound.
An answering high squeak slipped out, and although Lachlann cleared his throat into his hand in an attempt to cover the noise, his face was in flames. “I do not, Father Michael.”
After a hard, quelling glare, the priest turned about. Aldred bestowed a face-splitting grin on him. Lachlann’s relief was short-lived.
“Enough!” The deep warning voice came from the man to Lachlann’s left, Niall, who gave a sharp shake of his red head.
Lachlann poked his elbow into Aldred’s side. He shouldn’t be surprised by Aldred’s blatant disrespect, but he was. He always hoped for a change, but the truth was the man had no shame.
The priest stopped before the altar. Lachlann’s breath stilled in his chest. But Father Michael kept his back to them, his eyes heavenward as he chanted on in more far-from-perfect Latin.
The many churchgoers surrounding them showed no sign of having been disturbed by the encounter. It had been a long while since any priest had visited, and the masses were in desperate need of penance. When one could drop dead at any moment, acceptance into God’s kingdom was an essential part of life. Their focus was on Father Michael. Unlike Aldred, who had no respect for anyone. Not even the Almighty.
Lachlann knew better than to sit next to Aldred even on a good day, but especially when he’d not slept for two days. And certainlynotafter he’d had enough to drink the night before and still felt the effects this morning. Though he had to admit, his endurance for the stuff was diminishing the older he became.
