Their eyes met, and he offered a reassuring smile until she released it. Studying it closely, he was impressed by the elaborate drawings and colorful writing. It was the writing of a well-trained cleric.
“Are ye familiar with Saint Columba?” Sister Elizabeth asked.
Lachlann nodded, the vellum pages stiff in his fingers as he turned one leaf after another. “The man who brought Christianity to Scotland.”
“The writer was one of his followers. He writes of the Picts. Long ago, they lived where the priory is now. Columba turned them into followers of Christ.”
Lachlann stopped reading to watch her. Her eyes remained bright and her voice low, bringing him in closer as the story caught his imagination.
“This man writes that he was once called Oengus, a hired killer. Pillaging and raping for whoever would pay him the most: Celt, Pict, Anglo-Saxon. And all the spoils were his to take or use as he chose. He recalls one particularly savage battle; his arm was all but severed from his body. He was left for dead, discarded like he never mattered, while his life’s blood seeped into the hard, cold ground. The blowing leaves covered him as they fell, because he hadn’t the strength to clear them away. Hours and days went by while he waited for his death. That is when Columba found him.
“Columba gave him cool, refreshing water and spoke reassuring words of God’s love and mercy. Oengus’s body raged with fever. In his brokenness, he called Columba a liar, crying out that God could never forgive him for the atrocities he’d inflicted on the innocent. But Columba continued to care for Oengus’s many wounds, insisting God would forgive a repentant heart.
“When the fever finally broke, Oengus awoke in the priory surrounded by monks praying over him. It was several weeks before he fully recovered, but he finally felt well enough to ask for Columba. The man had shown him great love and care, and Oengus wished to be baptized by the man. The monks told him Columba had been dead for hundreds of years.”
Lachlann let out a slow breath. The wind blew against the chapel’s stone walls and the sound sent a chill through him. It was not unheard of. He knew of many stories where saints were seen visiting a battlefield or a dying man. They gave courage where there was none.
“This man—” Sister Elizabeth tapped on the tough hide “—changed his life because of that encounter. He took the vows of a monk, praying and caring for the sick in the surrounding area as far as he was able.” She lifted her gaze to Lachlann. “When he found his true calling, he gave all that he had acquired as a mercenary to the church and lived a peaceful life...until the Norsemen came. That was when the life he’d come to know ended. The monks implored Oengus to again don the garb of a mercenary and take the silver to where it would be safe from the heathens. Oengus finally agreed, taking along their youngest ward to pose as his squire.”
She turned to the next page and pointed out a section. “Here. He tells how he planned to travel to the caves along the north shores that he had visited in his youth. He would wait there for word that the priory had survived the heathen attacks and he could return, but they’d all heard about the savagery committed in these attacks.”
Lachlann asked, “Could this man not have served them better by staying behind and fighting the attackers?”
Father Michael sighed, a woeful sound. “Sister neglected to mention that when the monks took him in and nursed him back to health, they were unable to save his arm.”
Lachlann thought of the man, sitting in the quiet cave with the ocean his constant companion. The cold, wet nights. The fear he must have felt for the brothers he had left behind.
“But word never came.” Sister Elizabeth shook her head. “The monks did not survive the attack.”
“A traveler came at Michaelmas, the year I first was in residence at the priory.” Father Michael took over the telling of the story. “I remember him well. Broad in the shoulders and quite tall, but he struck me as menacing. I shared this with the sisters to be sure they were never alone with him. One night, as we supped, he told us of the legend of silver that had been hidden in the caves along the northern shore. Quite a tale. Enough details to make the story seem…true.”
“Askald. No more. The stories they tell have no root in truth.” Lachlann scoffed. “Surely ye dinna believe he spoke of the silver from this warrior.”
The nun’s eyes were piercing in their intensity. “It was money intended for the church, money that had been moved to protect it from raiders, just like ours.”
Lachlann waited, but she had apparently run out of things to add so he turned to the priest. “What say ye?”
“Trust me when I tell ye I was not even slightly interested in the man’s legends.He was full of himself and his own importance.” Father Michael indicated the small journal with a tilt of his chin. “When Sister brought me this, I recognized the similarities to the man’s story. Since it seems they just left the silver hidden in a cave somewhere, and there was never any large amounts added to the priory’s coffers, the legends may be true.”
Sister Elizabeth shifted her attention back to the small journal. “He writes about the safest location for the coin being in some cave and promises to bring it back to the church as soon as he gets word. I believe this is where the silver remains even now. We need only for ye to retrieve it for us.”
Lachlann held her steady gaze. “Think ye I can just walk in and someone will point me to it?”
Her voice remained quiet. “The silver is there.”
“Where?”
Her earnest expression never faltered. “In the caves.”
“Which caves?”
“The ones along the northern coast in Moray.”
“That area is overrun with lawlessness. They speak our language, but they’re no longer ruled by our King. The Danes and the Islanders to the far north fight over control.”
“’Tis a bit…wild up there.” Sister visibly stiffened.
Lachlann waited, his lips pinched together to keep from begging her to open her eyes and see the truth. Someone else would certainly have found the silver by now. If no one had, then it must be so well hidden that it never would be found.
