Page 21 of True Highland Spirit (The Highlander #3)

Morrigan woke up warm and content in the arms of her lover… an occurrence so unprecedented it took her several minutes to remember all that had happened. Icy river. Freezing to death. Cuddling to keep warm. And then… well, she did not even have words for it. If she knew what she had been missing all these years, she would have abandoned her sword and signed on as a tavern wench.

Except she didn’t want that from any man. Just one. The one who was softly snoring next to her. The one who opened a world of unknown pleasure. The one who used her to find the cave that held the treasure.

She elbowed him in the side and was rewarded by a snort and louder snoring. She elbowed him harder. He started and awoke. His eyes went wide.

“Morrigan!” He jerked his arm from around her as if she was poison. “I… we…”

“I have a problem.”

“I am so sorry.” Dragonet pressed his head into the blankets beside her. “It was the only way to save you from the freezing to death.”

“Ye regret it?”

“Never!”

“Neither do I. Now back to my problem. I need to find something in this cave. Andrew’s life is at stake. I need to know if ye will help me or if I need to kill ye, for as much as I appreciate our… er… ye saving my life. I still need to save his.”

“I will help you as I am able.” Dragonet’s eyes were solemn, as if he were speaking a vow. Her instinct told her to trust him. Of course, last time her instinct had been dead wrong.

Morrigan nodded and sat up. Dragonet did too, taking his blanket and his heat with him. She inhaled sharply at the shock of the freezing air hitting her naked body. Scrambling up quickly, she wrapped one of the blankets around her. She was cold again, but not dangerously so.

Her clothes were still soaking wet and half-frozen, discarded on the floor of the cave. Putting them on was not a possibility. Outside the mouth of the cave darkness had fallen, a single shaft of light from the rising moon illuminated the cavern. Her shoulders sagged. She could barely keep herself alive, let alone find some hidden treasure and save Andrew.

“May I cut a strip from this blanket to fashion shoes for you and me? Now that feeling has returned to my feet, they are quite cold,” said Dragonet.

Morrigan nodded. She needed to start thinking smart. Grabbing her belt, she wrapped it around her blanket at her waist, gathering her blanket around herself and pinning it at her shoulders the way the men in her clan wore their plaids as a great kilt. The belt was still wet, but it kept her wool blanket around her and provided for more overall warmth.

“Here,” said Dragonet, kneeling at her feet. She lifted up one very cold foot, and he wrapped a strip of wool around it as protection from the freezing temperatures. It worked well, or at least much better than nothing, and she willingly held up her other foot.

So many questions rattled around in her head it hurt. What did he think of her? Why had he misled her before? Why was he searching the cave?

“Ye spoke many words in a foreign tongue at the end when we…” Morrigan cleared her throat. “Were ye calling out the name o’ yer betrothed?”

Dragonet hung his head and finished with her foot. He sat on a rock and began to fashion shoes for himself.

“I think ye owe me some answers,” said Morrigan.

Dragonet nodded, but did not look up from his work. “In my life there is no lady but you. I told you I was raised by the Hospitallers. What I did not say is that I am a Hospitaller Knight.”

“A knight? But I thought the Hospitallers were all monks.”

“They are.”

“But ye are not a—”

Dragonet looked up at her, her eyes large and mournful in the dim light.

Morrigan gasped and put her hands over her mouth. The truth sank cold and heavy in her gut. “Ye’re a monk?”

Dragonet’s eyes met hers, holding them as she held her breath waiting for his reply.

“Yes.”

Morrigan staggered from the shock of his confession and sat down hard on a rock. “A monk ? But why did ye…?” A fresh wave of anger rippled through her, familiar and warm. “Why lie to me?”

“An important relic was taken by the Templars and hidden in Scotland. I was sent on a quest to find it.”

“But why lie to everyone? Why not say ye were a Hospitaller?”

“Several men came before me, trying to find the relic. They were all killed. I was sent in disguise with the Duke of Argitaine. We hoped that if no one knew I was looking for it, I could have better success.”

“I dinna ken anything about ye,” she murmured. She had been completely and utterly misled.

Dragonet sighed, worry lines etching on his forehead. “I never meant to hurt you.”

Morrigan picked up a rock and threw it at him.

“Ow!” said Dragonet, rubbing his shoulder.

“Oh, did I hurt ye? Maybe if I said I dinna mean to, it would make it better.” She picked up another rock and Dragonet backed away from her. She followed.

“If ye were a monk, why kiss me? Why feign interest?” Morrigan threw hard and was rewarded by a loud thud as it bounced off his chest. “Was it all a ruse to find the location of the cave?” Morrigan set her jaw and grabbed another rock. Maybe she was going to kill him after all.

“I was interested! I am! How can I explain it?” He continued to back away, running his fingers through his hair and making it stick out at odd angles. “I took my vows when I was twelve. The Hospitallers had lost many of their brethren and were willing to let me continue to stay with them, but only if I took orders. My family all died in the great death and I had nowhere else to go. Taking a vow of celibacy was nothing to me. What did I know of women at that age? It was not until I met you that I knew true temptation.”

“Should I be flattered?” She let another rock fly.

“Ow! I beg your forgiveness. Everything I did with you, every time I touched you, was wrong. But it was not false. Ow! It was true to my heart. If I were free to marry you, I would.”

Morrigan stopped short. Something inside her crunched in pain. She fell back on a boulder and put her head in her hands. Finally a man who wished to marry her, and he was a monk. That was the ol’ McNab luck at work. “Ow,” she said softly.

“If the circumstances, they were different…”

“If ye are trying to make me feel better, ye have missed yer mark.”

“I am sorry…”

“For the love o’ the saints, stop saying that! It does not help.”

“Oh, I am…”

Morrigan shot him a glare.

“Right. Sorry.” He cringed.

“Ye canna help yerself.” Morrigan shook her head. She did not know what to feel any more. Strong emotions were so jumbled inside she went numb. She took a deep breath. Whatever he was or whatever they had done, it was not relevant to her current situation. What truly mattered was she was still alive, and Andrew would not be if she did not meet the abbot’s demands to get the medicine.

Morrigan stood and gestured wildly in the air as if to banish the conversation and its confusing emotions. “I dinna have time for this. I concede ye played me well. But I still need to find something in this cave to save Andrew’s life.” She stood with a large, jagged rock in hand. “Are ye going to help or do I need to kill ye now?”

“I am at your service.”

Morrigan nodded. She could not begin to discern her feelings for him, but she did know she could use some help. “I propose we work together to find it. We can fight over it later.” It was time to get back to the problem at hand. She needed to save Andrew.

“How is anything in this cave going to save Andrew?” asked Dragonet.

“Mother Enid’s medicine at St. Margaret’s was stolen by Abbot Barrick. He is demanding I bring him something he believes is here before he will give me any more medicine. Andrew wanes; he has a fever. He needs it.”

Dragonet nodded. “What did he tell you to retrieve?”

“A silver box.”

Dragonet’s eyes flashed, but he said nothing.

“That is what ye are seeking too?” asked Morrigan.

“Yes,” acknowledged Dragonet softly. “Barrick must never be allowed to have it. He may be the one who killed the monks who came before me.”

“I dinna doubt it, but Andrew must not be allowed to die.” Their eyes met across the dimly lit cave. So close, and yet a barrier loomed between them. Lovers and enemies. For once in her life she knew exactly what she wanted, and it could never, ever be hers.

The moon was rising, and soon the angle would block its light from the cave. She needed to push aside the remnants of her heart, her dreams, and her dignity, and get to work before they were in complete darkness.

“Truce for now?” she asked, belting on her sword.

“Agreed.”

“I believe I have a candle in my saddlebag,” said Morrigan, searching for the precious item. She held out a tallow candle in success. “Now to light it before we lose the moonlight.”

They had no flame or kindling, but Morrigan scraped off some cloth fibers from her blanket, which Dragonet lit with his flint, and from that tiny spark, she lit the candle.

Morrigan was pleased with their success but not with the prospect of going farther into the cave. She liked staying where she could still see the sky. The back of the cave stretched out before them like a gaping hole of doom. She did not wish to enter.

Dragonet belted a knife around his waist and made a clumsy attempt to copy her method of wearing a blanket.

“Och, let me,” said Morrigan, turning to help Dragonet arrange his blanket.

“I can manage.”

“Nonsense, ye’re making a mess of it.” Morrigan took the ends of the blanket from his hands and peeled it down to reveal his waist in order to pleat the garment correctly. She worked quickly, her mind abandoning its needful focus on her quest to admire the muscular physique before her. Dragonet was a tall, trim man. She bit her lip and resisted running her hand over his rippling stomach muscles.

Morrigan stepped around to his back to finish her work and get her mind off his chest, and froze at what she saw.

“I can take it from here,” said Dragonet trying to cover his back.

Morrigan stepped back and allowed him to cover the deep, ugly scars searing tracks down his backs. “What are those scars?” she asked, trying not to wince.

“It is nothing. Let us continue our quest.”

“Are those burns?”

“I was an awkward child.” He took the candle and walked into the darkness of the cave.

Like a moth to the flame, Morrigan followed. “No one is that clumsy. Tell me the truth.”

Dragonet turned, the candle’s orange light flickering on his face. “To find this box, we must focus most diligently. Do you know where it is located, did Barrick give you any clues?”

Morrigan gave Dragonet a hard look. She did not like to have her questions ignored.

“Please, Morrigan.” He spoke softly.

Morrigan sighed. She wanted to understand him, to know if he could be trusted. Yet what she really wanted was forever beyond her grasp. She needed to let him go.

“I dinna ken there is any treasure here,” said Morrigan, allowing her question to drop. “Archie said he searched but found nothing.”

“That does not bode well.” Dragonet continued down the passageway of the cave, which became narrower with every step.

The walls were closing in on her, suffocating her. Morrigan worked on controlling her breathing. She must not let the cave get to her. She must not let him see weakness. “Do ye ken where it is hidden?”

“I am sorry, but no.”

“What have I told ye about apologizing?” asked Morrigan with a sharp edge. Her anxiety was turning her usually sunny disposition into something less than hospitable.

“As you wish.”

They walked on a little farther, utter blackness stretching on ahead and behind her like an abyss. All she could see were the cave walls around her, illuminated by the dim light of a single candle. Morrigan’s heart pounded, throbbing in her ears. She wanted out.

“Here, what is this?” Dragonet ducked his head to fit through a narrow gap and disappeared. Morrigan rushed after the light and stumbled into a large cavern. Gleaming crystals on the walls and ceiling reflected the light of the candle, dazzling the eye with its brilliance. Morrigan squinted at the sudden light and turned a circle awed by the sparkling crystals.

“Which path?” asked Dragonet.

Morrigan realized that multiple passages led from the dazzling room. “I know not,” said Morrigan. She turned back the passages she came from and drew her sword to make a mark on the floor before the tunnel they had come from. She did not wish to be lost there.

“What is it you are doing?” asked Dragonet.

“Marking the tunnel we came from so we can get out of here.”

“Good idea.” Dragonet began looking around the entrances of the other tunnels. “I would wager the Templars did the same thing.”

They searched the entrances to the tunnels leading from the crystal room. The dirt floor of the crystal cave was frozen and the crystals themselves were like chunks of ice. Still, Morrigan searched around the tunnel entrance, feeling the cold, rough cave walls for any clues.

“What kind of marking would they leave?” asked Morrigan.

“I know not,” answered Dragonet, standing on a rock to look up at the top of a long, narrow tunnel entrance. “Anything that looks man-made.”

Morrigan grunted a response and went on to search the next tunnel. This one was small, a round hole barely large enough for a person to fit through, and a trim person at that. She brushed aside some debris on the floor and searched along the outside of the tunnel but found nothing. With considerable reluctance, Morrigan went down on hands and knees and put her head in the tunnel to inspect the inside. It was black and damp. Resisting the urge to crawl out, Morrigan felt around the inside of the tunnel, freezing slime oozing through her fingers. She shuddered, the inky blackness of the tunnel closing in on her.

She couldn’t breathe. She needed air. Backing out of the tunnel in a mad scramble she scraped her knees and hit her head on the top of the tunnel.

“Ow! Hell and damnation!”

“What is wrong?” Dragonet was immediately at her side.

Morrigan grabbed the back of her head with one hand and a rock on the top of the tunnel with the other, and heaved herself to her feet. The rock came off in her hand, causing her to stumble, but she was caught in the strong arms of Dragonet.

“Stupid cave! It’s too dark and too small and too repulsive. I canna do this.”

Dragonet pulled her close in embrace. She opened her mouth to complain, but sighed instead. Fool she was, but everything seemed better when she was in the warm arms of her lover… monk… enemy. Damn, she hated her life.

Morrigan tipped up her head, instinctively hoping for a kiss, but he was looking at something over her shoulder. “What are ye looking at?”

“Look, you uncovered a mark.”

Above the tunnel where the rock had broken off in her hand was indeed a small mark carved into the stone. They both drew closer and inspected the mark, Dragonet holding up the candle to see it clearly. It was made by human hands, engraved into the stone in the shape of a V .

“What does it mean?” asked Morrigan.

“Maybe there are more,” said Dragonet. He moved to the next tunnel entrance and pulled at the stones above the entrance. One came off easily. They converged on the space, putting their heads together and inspecting it with the candle. With growing excitement, Morrigan saw there was another mark, this one a letter L .

In unspoken agreement, they went around the glimmering room and pulled rocks from the top of each tunnel. Each tunnel had a letter. There were five tunnels leading away from the room, with the letters, V, L, T, P , and S .

“Vltps? What is that?” asked Morrigan.

“Lptvs?” Dragonet pushed his hair out of his eyes with a dirty hand.

“Stplv? I am no’ the best with my letters, but do we no’ need a vowel?”

“Pray the hours,” murmured Dragonet. He turned toward her with a flash of a smile. “Pray the hours!”

“What are ye saying? Have ye gone daft?”

“The last words of the dying Templar to the Mother Enid were, ‘Pray the hours.’”

“And?” Morrigan shrugged.

“The hours for prayer are Vigils, Lauds, Prime, Terce, Sext, None, Vespers, and Compline. I suppose they did not have enough tunnels for all of them but see—VLPTS—Vigils, Lauds, Prime, Terce, and Sext!”

Morrigan’s pulse quickened. “So which tunnel do we want?”

“We should start with the first hour of the day, Vigils.”

Naturally it was the small, grimy, panic-inducing tunnel. Morrigan stood in front of the passage, peering down into the dark, dank hole.

“Do you wish for me to go first?” asked Dragonet.

“Nay, I am taking mental accounts of my brother and deciding if he is worth this bother.”

Dragonet raised an eyebrow.

“Give the candle, I’ll go,” groused Morrigan. The last thing in the world she wanted to do was crawl down a cold, slime-filled passage, leading deeper into the bowels of the cave. She gritted her teeth, kneeled down, and did it anyway.

She expected it to be unpleasant. It was that and more. The cold, the walls rubbing against her shoulders, the freezing slime she crawled through, any of it alone she could have handled, but in combination with the suffocating, trapped feeling of being in a small tunnel, it was too much. Her breath came in rapid gulps, her heart pounded until she feared it would explode and she would die in that squalid tunnel.

“Panting for me, my love?” teased Dragonet behind her.

“Wh-what?” Morrigan tried to turn to confront him, but was unable due to the confines of the tunnel. “Ye fool bastard. I coud’na care less about yer sorry self.” Morrigan crawled faster through the tunnel, determined to find a larger space where she could confront the conceited Frenchman. Did he believe her thoughts contained nothing but him?

After crawling over several large rocks, the tunnel opened into another room-like space in the cave. This cavern was not so brilliant, just dark and damp, with large stalagmites and stalactites. Morrigan whirled around to face Dragonet, her hand on the hilt of her sword.

“You are out of the tunnel, Morrigan,” noted Dragonet calmly as he stepped into the cavern.

Morrigan opened her mouth to berate him, then closed it again. “Ye did that on purpose to distract me.”

Dragonet gave a half smile. “I noticed you are not overly fond of caves.”

“That is one way to put it.” Truth was she was terrified. She knew in her core she could not do it without him. “Which way now?”

This cavern had four tunnels leading from it, but once again they found, beneath easily removable rocks, letters above the tunnels and chose the one marked L for Lauds. This tunnel proved short, only a few feet, opening into another cavern. The cavern was not of even footing, having large slabs of crumbling rock dividing the cave into several levels.

They repeated the same process, but this time there were only three tunnels marked S, T , and V .

Dragonet shook his head. “Prime should be next.”

“Well it is not here. Let’s go to the next one, there is a T for Terce.”

Dragonet remained unmoved. “We must be missing something. The monks would not forget Prime. The prayer is for early morning, before the first meal of the day. Many monks confessed the sins committed during the night before joining their brothers in the communal meal.”

Morrigan walked around the walls of the cave, climbing up and down rocks to do so, but no other opening was found. “There is no other tunnel.”

“We are missing something,” repeated Dragonet.

Morrigan bit back a caustic remark. What she was missing was fresh air and the immeasurable joy of not being in a cave. “So what would you do for this prayer?” she asked, trying to stay focused.

Dragonet lay on his stomach on the floor of the cave, spreading his arms wide.

“I canna see how this is going to help us.” Morrigan crossed her arms.

“This is how we would pray,” said Dragonet, turning his head to see her. “We would…”

“Ye would what?” asked Morrigan, wondering why he had stopped talking.

He jumped up and ran to a slab of rock. “Here, look.” Carved into the rock by the floor, only visible if one laid one’s head on the ground, was the letter P .

Morrigan smiled. “Good one. But where is the tunnel?”

Dragonet felt around the base of the crumbling rock and discovered a small hole.

“Well I’m no’ going in there!”

Dragonet reached his hand in the hole and frowned. All was silent in the cave except for the occasional drip of water from the stalactites. A slow smile warmed his face and he drew back his hand. He opened his fist to reveal a rusted iron object.

“A key!” exclaimed Morrigan. It was large and old and smelled like treasure, if such a thing was possible. Her pulse quickened once again, but this time it was more excitement than fear. She met Dragonet’s gleaming eyes.

They were on the hunt.