Page 33 of True Highland Spirit (The Highlander #3)

Dragonet walked up the dark stairs to his father’s comfortable chamber at a nearby inn. It was late, but he knew his father would be waiting for him. He slipped in the door without knocking.

“Leave us,” commanded his father, and a serving wench darted past Dragonet into the hall.

“Am I disturbing you?” asked Dragonet.

“I am finished with her,” said his father, readjusting his robes.

Dragonet looked away, recognizing with displeasure the hypocrisy with which he mentally judged his sire for breaking his vow of celibacy as Dragonet had done too. The difference was he loved Morrigan. But did that truly matter?

“Where is it?” asked his father. “The linen sheets Father Luke and Father Pierre brought were nothing but bed sheets. Barrick swears he had the real shroud, so where is it?”

“What will you do with it?” asked Dragonet, surreptitiously feeling the velvet pouch hidden within the interior pocket of his cloak.

The bishop gave him a cunning look. “Have you seen the cloth, boy?”

Dragonet nodded.

“Is it convincing?”

Dragonet tilted his head. Odd question. His father was not concerned about its authenticity but rather if it appeared to be real. “I am no expert, but it could be the true shroud. I have been looking for this relic for many years. Now that it is found, I want to know why you want it, and what you will do with it.”

“You want your share of the reward.” His father’s eyes narrowed. “It was not enough that I saved you from starvation, saw to your care, ensured your advancement in the knighthood. No, now you want more. So tell me what you want, my lad. What is it you want from me?” His father’s icy blue eyes cut through him.

“I want…” Dragonet paused. What did he want from him? For many years his father protected him and saw to his training and advancement, even as he criticized and used him. Dragonet had wished to find the shroud to prove his worth to his father. And yet his father’s approval did not hold the power over him it once had. “I want to know what you will do with the shroud.”

“You want to share in the glory the shroud will bring. You are no fool. You understand what this could do for the man who holds it.”

Dragonet took a deep breath. It was not what he meant. “The shroud, what will it do for you?”

His father’s eyes gleamed. “First I will demand a new castle and more land. The shroud must be housed in a grand palace. I will offer monthly viewings to generate the steady revenue pilgrims would bring, and allow more wealthy patrons closer access to the cloth for a greater price. Having the shroud under my control will do great things for me.” He rubbed his hands together.

“Your control? So you do not intend to give it to the Church?”

The bishop shrugged. “I am the Church. And with that relic I could be the head of it.”

Dragonet pushed his hair out of his eyes in a nervous gesture. “The head of the Church?”

“Why not? This find is extraordinary. Even the Holy Grail cannot compare. With it I should be moved up to the college of cardinals and from there…”

“Pope?”

His father smiled a cheerless grin. “Yes, I will be pope. When I am elevated, I can make you a bishop somewhere nice.”

It was an offer he would have taken six months ago, but now the thought turned his stomach. He could not use a relic for selfish gain. Dragonet took a deep breath. He needed to find courage. “I only wanted to be acknowledged as your son.”

The bishop of Troyes’s blue eyes grew ice cold. “You are not my son. You are a mistake. An itch I needed to scratch.”

“The girl who just left, she was an itch to scratch?”

“Who are you to judge me? I have heard the rumors of you and some lad.”

“She is a girl dressed in the boys’ clothing!” Dragonet felt heat rise.

His father smirked. “Yes, I know. I also know you may well leave her in the same condition that I leave that tavern wench. And neither one of us will ever look back. I took you in when you came to me starving. It is more than most in my position would have done. I deserve your gratitude and devotion.”

“I do thank you, my father. But I cannot be your slave any longer.”

His father’s eyes flashed and he pressed his lips together until they were a thin white line. Silence filled the room, broken only by the steady drip of the rain. His father gave a forced smile that did not meet his eyes. “Let us not argue. Show me the shroud you found. I am anxious to see it for myself.”

“I am sorry. I do not have it here for you.”

“Then go retrieve it and bring it back.”

Dragonet stood still, meeting his father’s gaze.

“Dragonet… my son. Go bring your father the shroud.” His forced smile turned to a snarl.

Dragonet shook his head. His father only acknowledged him when he wanted something. “No, Father.”

The bishop rose from his chair, the smiling mask falling from his face. “What did you say to me?”

“I will not give you the shroud. It is holy. It should be treated with reverence, not used as a pawn in your bid for power.”

“If you try to deny me the shroud, I will deny you!” The vein in his father’s head bulged. “I have the power to build you up, and I can destroy you! Think carefully about the words you will say next. I will get the shroud, one way or another, but you need to decide whether you will continue to have a home. You were starving when I first met you, I can put you back there!”

“I wish to do right by this relic.”

“I have told you what is right,” roared the bishop. “Give me the shroud now, or you are no longer worthy to be called my son.”

“You have never been worthy to be called my father.”

“You leave me no choice. Father Luke! Father Pierre!” The two priests entered the room and stood on either side of Dragonet. He was trapped.

“You know who these men are?” asked the bishop of Troyes, his face hard.

Dragonet nodded. The Inquisition. To fall into their hands was an unspeakable fate.

“Tell me the truth. Where is the shroud?”

Dragonet paused. “I do not have it.”

“Search him!” ordered the bishop.

Dragonet made no attempt to resist and Father Luke found the velvet pouch, hidden in his cloak.

“Open it!” demanded the bishop, his face flushed, his beady eyes wide.

Father Luke gently opened the pouch and paused. “It is empty.”

***

Earlier that day, Dragonet met with Chaumont before the sun rose above the tree tops. Dragonet handed over the shroud, wrapped in parchment and placed in a plain linen pouch. “For the people,” said Dragonet, his breath visible in the cool gray of dawn.

“For the people,” said Chaumont, accepting the precious package. “There is a knight I know in France who is incorruptible. He will see this cloth is given to those who will share it, not use it for their own gain.”

“Who is this knight?”

“He is Geoffroi de Charny, founder of the Order of the Star and the standard bearer for France.”

“I have heard of him; in truth what knight has not? He is known for his piety and honor, I am sure he will do what is right.” Dragonet leaned closer. “The bishop of Troyes will be determined to get it. I would leave soon and move fast.”

Chaumont nodded. “Gavin and I will leave for France at once. You are a good man, Sir Dragonet.”

“Few people think so at this point.”

Chaumont smiled. “I imagine the bishop will ensure you no longer have a home with the Hospitallers. Will you continue to serve Argitaine?”

“No, he returns to France, and that country can no longer be my home.”

“So what will you do now?”

“Now that I have nothing?” Dragonet shook his head. “I do not yet know.”

“ Bon

chance, mon ami .”

Dragonet had no money, no home, and no current means to support himself. He was going to need more than luck.