“I see.”Hew’s lips twitched as he repressed a smile.Any lad who took his trade so seriously was an unlikely suspect.“Well, Alan, apprentice butcher, what would you recommend I purchase for…” He peered into his purse.“Two pence?”
Alan screwed up his face, considering.“A brace o’ coneys?”
His father said, “We sold the last to Lady Carenza, remember?”
“Och aye,” Alan gushed, turning bright scarlet.“I for-, forgot.”
Hew frowned.Had the lady kissed him on the brow as well?Evidently she had the power to reduce wee lads to stammering fools.
“Go on, son,” the butcher nudged.
Recovering from his fluster, Alan suggested, “How about a leg o’ mutton?”He glanced over his shoulder to check that with his father, who nodded his approval.
“Good,” Hew said.
Carrying the wrapped meat over one shoulder and his axe over the other, Hew yawned as he strode back up the street.He figured he’d arrive at the monastery after midday Mass and before the first meal of the day.So he’d have to decide whether he wanted to eat or sleep.At the moment, despite his earlier nap, sleep was winning.
He wasn’t sure the prior would approve of the sudden increase of meat in the monks’ diet.But a “rampaging Viking” like Hew had to eat well.Especially if he was required to travel from monastery to monastery to continue his investigation.Besides, he doubted the monks would complain.
Chapter 4
Carenza was simultaneously pleased and ashamed that the ragpicker in the village believed her story.It was an outright lie, after all.Carenza had no intention of making clothing for the poor with the scraps of wool and linen she’d purchased from him.
She meant to make a disguise for herself.Something dark.Warm.Bulky.Something that would render her unrecognizable.
She quickly found what she needed.The shopkeeper tied it into a parcel.When she exited the shop, Symon was across the lane, chatting with a friend.Her father had insisted she bring the servant along for safety.
The street was busy now.Everyone knew the laird’s daughter, of course, and they all paid their respects.Vendors bobbed their heads as they carried parcels here and there.Young lads gaped as they scurried past, making deliveries and fetching coffyns for their masters’ dinner.Women paused to smile and nod at her as they shopped, counting out coins for autumn apples and hard cheese and fresh fish.Carts rolled past, brimming with hay or stacked with barrels, and their drivers tipped their caps to her.She beamed at all of them.
Then she stepped into the road.All at once, a man rushed by her so closely and in such haste, she felt the breeze of his passing.
With a tiny squeak, she recoiled.
“Sorry,” he muttered, continuing on.
She frowned.The rude oaf didn’t even bother to turn around to make sure she was unharmed.He just kept taking gigantic strides down the middle of the road, as if he owned it.
Who was he anyway?She knew everyone in the village, and she didn’t recognize his tree-like height, his ox-wide back, or his tawny gold hair.
And that axe.Who carried a fierce battleaxe over his shoulder like that?He looked like a marauding Norseman.
He had something else over his other shoulder.Something round, wrapped in waxed cloth.
She smirked.Maybe it was a head.Aye, that was it.The marauding Norseman had cut off someone’s head and was carrying it back to his longboat.
Then, shaking off her silly wandering thoughts, she continued carefully across the road.There was much to do and no time to waste.She couldn’t afford to be distracted by marauding Norsemen.
“I’m ready to return now,” she told Symon.She’d already purchased a brace of coneys, a dozen beeswax candles, lavender bath oil, and a pair of hair ribbons, mostly for cover.
He tied her last parcel onto his horse and helped her onto Leannan.
Unfortunately, as they rode out of the village and onto the main road, she discovered they were traveling along the same route as the Viking.
When she drew up within sight of the striding giant, she was tempted to seek revenge, to terrorize him by spurring her horse and grazing past him at a gallop.But she resisted the urge.
He looked quite formidable, even from the back.The cloth of his leine strained around his bulky arms, outlining each impressive muscle.The hand gripping the parcel on his shoulder looked massive.His hair gleamed like gold over broad shoulders that funneled down to narrow hips.A leather belt hung low across his buttocks, and it shifted with each long and confident stride.
She told herself he probably had the face of a monster.Scarred from battle.Fierce with berserker rage.Bloody from the beheading he’d just done.
