Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Michael took the letter, which was folded horizontally into quarters, and carefully unfolded it. One could tell that Henry had carried it about with him for some time, and since their father had died more than two decades before, it was somewhat the worse for wear. However, Sir William had written with a good quill and brown-gall ink on thin, well-scrubbed and chalked calves' vellum, rather than on less durable paper, which told him as clearly as it would anyone else that Sir William had intended his eldest son to keep his letter.

Glancing at the date under the signature, Michael said, "He wrote this shortly before he died."

"Aye," Henry said. "Whilst we were all at Dunclathy."

"That's Hugo's home in Strathearn," Michael told Isobel.

Henry said, "Mother received the letter when she got word of our father's death, for the bearer of those sad tidings delivered it to her. She intended to give it to me straightaway but forgot, so I did not read it until weeks later."

"Forgot?" Michael said skeptically.

"Aye, or so she said. I've long suspected that she read it first and thought it would be kinder not to give it to me just then, because he'd written it after receiving a report from Sir Edward of some mischief I'd committed. So, as you'll see, the first half of it is a lecture on the responsibilities of any heir to the bounty of St. Clair, which he spells as one pronounces it, rather than in the French way. That may be another reason she did not give it to me straightaway, since she always insists on the French spelling and might have feared I'd change it. But I'd wager 'twas its content. Not pleasant reading, certainly, but I've kept it to remind me that a good reputation is more valuable than money, and to live every day as if it were to be my last."

"Does he include both maxims?" Michael asked.

"Aye."

"That last one rather gives one chills if this was his last letter."

"I believe it was," Henry said solemnly. "You will see for yourself why I thought it had no bearing on the family secret we have sought so long to understand, but 'tis possible that a few words of that last paragraph may prove relevant. I own, I have never understood them, but perhaps he expected trouble from Waldron or his ilk. I just thought 'twas more of the scold that precedes it."

Michael read swiftly, understanding why Henry had not wanted to share such a letter. Its searing contents made him curious to know what mischief his brother had embroiled himself in at the age of thirteen to receive such a reprimand. Still, their parents had raised them to have solemn respect for duty and honor, and Michael had received his share of reprimands and worse, if not from their father, who had died when he was only five, then certainly from their foster father.

He came at last to the pertinent paragraph, and found it disappointingly brief. And so, Sir William had written, if aught should happen to prevent my return, you must be prepared to take full responsibility for yourself and for our beloved family. Therefore, keep these my words with you, and study well the philosophers that your tutors present to you. When you seek answers, follow the direction of the bearded men, who will ever reveal the path of truth.May the Almighty watch over you at Roslin, my son, and keep you safe from harm. Your affectionate father.

Michael read Sir William's signature and the date once more, then looked up. "I see why you were loath to share this letter, Henry," he said. "What I do not see is why you think it may prove at all useful to us."

Isobel had been striving to contain her impatience, not to mention her bursting curiosity, but Michael's last comment was too much to bear.

"But what does it say?" she demanded. When Henry looked startled and Michael's lips twitched, she realized that she had sounded just a trifle shrill and added quickly, "If you do not mind sharing that information with me."

"Not the whole letter," Sir Henry said quietly.

"Nay," Michael agreed. "Only the last paragraph, since it is the only part you believe may pertain to our situation. See if it seems likely to you, lass."

After he had read the passage aloud, Isobel asked him to read it again. When he had done so, she said to Henry, "Is it that he mentions a path of truth, sir? For I must agree that it does not otherwise seem at all useful."

Sir Henry stood as he said, "I don't know why it came to mind just now. When you and I have read other letters of his that we found, Michael, searching for answers, I've sometimes felt a twinge of guilt at not having shown this one to you, but only because I'd wondered occasionally if he'd had a premonition of his death."

Michael said, "It has always seemed odd that he left no specific instructions for you to follow if he died. He knew he'd most likely go into battle, and if he did have such a premonition, surely he must have feared that the secret, whatever it is, might be lost forever if he failed to share it with you."

"Sakes," Isobel exclaimed, "just traveling is dangerous enough! I'd think that if your father knew something important that he had not shared with anyone else, something passed to him by his father, that he expected to pass on to you, Sir Henry, surely the first time he did anything that put his life in peril, he would have seen to it that you had knowledge of where that information lies, or how to find it."

Michael grimaced. "One might argue that his not having done that means only that our grandfather failed to pass the information on to our father before setting out for the Holy Land with Robert the Bruce's heart."

"Aye, sure," Henry agreed, "but Father must have known. After all, you just told me that Ian Dubh's documents strongly suggest that our grandfather arranged for the Templars to find sanctuary here in Scotland. If he accepted responsibility for something as valuable as the Templar treasure, he would have made certain that our father knew about it. Father was, after all, an adult by then, and we know he believed the family bore heavy responsibility for something, because he spoke of that responsibility many times, directly and indirectly."

"Very true," Michael agreed. "Moreover, Isobel is right. He would have found a way to pass it on, particularly if that responsibility was entrusted to our grandfather by other Templars. Mayhap Father expected you to learn of it from someone he trusted; perhaps someone who helped conceal it."

"Then surely I'd have heard by now," Henry pointed out dryly. "I'm four-and-thirty and have been head of our clan for twenty years."

"But what if that trusted person also died unexpectedly?" Isobel said.

"Then we are back to this letter of Henry's," Michael said. "I do not recall seeing any other document that he directed to you personally, Henry. Were there other such letters?"

"No," Henry said, visibly struck by the question. "He included other messages for me in letters he sent our lady mother. In truth, when he was away from home, the mendicant friars usually delivered his less personal messages orally. Aside from those letters to our lady mother, I know of no other personal messages to anyone amongst the documents I've seen."

"Well, I doubt that he would have given such information either to the friars or to our mother," Michael said. "I don't remember much about their relationship myself, but you have often commented on how prickly it was."

"That is true, but I agree that he would have made every effort to be sure I had any information I needed," Henry said, clearly thinking aloud. "Others may exist who know the secret—or some of it—particularly if the treasure Ian Dubh described forms part of a larger secret. Our father's personal responsibility, however, would have weighed most heavily on him. We know he did not share it with Sir Edward, although he trusted him so deeply that he trusted him with most of our training."

"But we know, too, that he was unlikely to have risked entrusting the whole tale to a lad as young as you were then, in a letter or otherwise," Michael said.

"Even had I been the sort who consistently applied myself to my studies and weaponry," Henry said with a rueful smile. "That letter you're holding, therefore, contains the only instructions of any sort directed personally to me that we have found, and I cannot imagine why I did not realize that long before now."

"Because we have been searching for formal instructions labeled as such," Michael said. "We assumed that he must have left something of the sort, but I begin to think he simply refused to think that he might die before he could tell you himself, as I'll warrant his own father did with him."

"An error I will not make," Sir Henry said. "But I'm thinking we need to look more narrowly at this letter now. As your lady noted, it does mention a path of truth, and 'tis the only reference that you and I have seen to a path of any kind."

"May we make a fair copy of that final paragraph, sir?" Isobel asked.

"No need, lass," Michael said. "I have memorized it, and you should likewise commit it to memory, if you will. There can be no harm in Henry's continuing to carry the letter on his person, since he has done so for years without incident, but I'd as lief we create no other copies to put at risk."

She nodded, knowing he was right, but Henry looked upset.

Guessing at once that he disliked the risk of sharing the letter's embarrassing contents with her, she said, "I promise, sir, I will read only the last paragraph."

He glanced at Michael, who said, "You may trust her, Henry. Indeed, had I not believed that, I would not have introduced this subject in her presence."

Isobel's heart warmed, but she suppressed her delight and continued to gaze solemnly at Sir Henry.

He said, "Aye, well, I own, I feel most uncomfortable sharing this matter, but since Waldron has apparently learned more about it than we know ourselves, and has already thrust it upon the two of you, you are both party to it now whether you want to be or not. I will trust you, my lady. Give her the letter, Michael."

He did, and Isobel paid little heed to their conversation after that, exerting herself instead to commit the contents of the final paragraph to memory. As she did, a thought struck her. "Did your father have a favorite philosopher, Sir Henry?"

He shrugged. "If he did, I know not who it might have been."

"Hector and Aunt Euphemia like Publius Syrus," she said. "Both of the maxims in this passage are his, I believe, but I have heard my aunt speak of other Roman philosophers. Surely, Rome did produce the best-known ones."

Sir Henry and Michael exchanged a look.

"What?" she demanded. "I wish you would not speak to each other without words. You and Sir Hugo do that, too, Michael, and it is most irritating."

Sir Henry's eyes twinkled. "My mother complains of that whenever we are all together in the same place, so I do apologize most sincerely, my lady. 'Tis only that we studied a host of other philosophers, many of whom were not Roman, and I warrant that my father did, too."

"Mercy, were there so many of them, then?"

Michael said, "Hundreds, I expect. We cannot tell you many details about our training, lass, but since you may hear things that will confuse you, particularly since the Green Abbot has involved himself in our affairs, you should know that the Kirk of Rome considers much of what we studied, including certain Judaic, Islamic, and Gnostic philosophers, to be heresy."

Isobel grinned. "I'm not sure what those words mean, but my father complains that the Pope does not understand simple matters of Celtic life, that he condemns anything that disagrees with Kirk teachings or gives one pleasure, and also foolishly claims that a wise respect for superstition is naught but heresy."

"I have heard that Macleod of Glenelg is a gey superstitious man," Sir Henry said with an answering gleam.

"Aye, he kisses his thumb to seal a promise. He avoids travel on Fridays, particularly if that day should fall on the thirteenth of the month, and he insisted that my sister Cristina marry before any of his other daughters could, because he believed that if she did not dire things would befall Clan Macleod. That is how she came to marry Hector," Isobel said, adding quickly when the two men exchanged another look, "I mean only to say, however, that I am not quick to condemn all that the Kirk thinks is wrong. Indeed, I would like to learn more about such things."

"The Holy Kirk certainly teaches that men who study the philosophies of Jews, Muslims, and Gnostics are heretical, my lady," Henry said. "I shudder to imagine what his opinion would be if we introduced such ideas to our lady wives. But my father and men of his ilk simply called it education. They believed that if men would just seek creative unity among world races and religions, and attempt to fuse the philosophies that underlie Roman, Greek, Islamic, Christian, and Judaic thought—they would find that we all have much more in common than otherwise."

"Are the philosophers all bearded men?" Isobel asked.

Sir Henry and Michael looked at her in surprise, then at each other.

"Why do you ask that?" Michael asked.

"Because he underscored those two words," she said, showing him.

He looked briefly and smiled. "Certainly not all philosophers had beards, lass. Beards were but matters of fashion as they are now. I should say that he meant to emphasize certain phrases in his letter. Recall that he was angry when he began it. He has rested his pen a few times, too, as you can see by the dots of ink here and about."

"Some are just spatters," she said. "Only a few phrases are underscored."

"Many men do that, though," Sir Henry told her.

Nodding, she continued to study the last paragraph, hoping both men would believe she needed the extra time to memorize its contents. Trying not to be obvious, she skimmed over the rest of the page, taking care not to read more but looking for other underscored or dotted words. She saw none other than in the one paragraph.

"Listen," she said, interrupting Michael. "These are the words he underscored or put dots under in that last paragraph: ‘Keep these my words with you. Study well. Follow bearded men. Path of truth at Roslin. Keep safe.'"

"Let me see that again," Michael demanded, holding out his hand.

Sir Henry moved nearer so that he could read it as Michael did. The latter finished first. "By heaven," he said, "I believe my lass has found your message."

"Aye," Henry said, scratching his head. "It seems obvious now. How could we not have seen it before?" His eyes narrowed as they shifted back to her.

Isobel chuckled. "I am no witch, sir, I promise you. Michael said your father must have left you some instructions, and you both agreed that this is the only letter he ever directed to you alone. I merely accepted both of those statements as fact and tried to figure out how he might have included a message in this letter that anyone reading it would not instantly recognize. The lines and dots are not nearly as dark as the words they mark, and perhaps they are darker now with age than when he put them there, and thus noticeable to one seeking a message. I warrant you would have noticed them yourself before long."

"You are kind, my lady, and generous, but I still feel like a noddy to have carried such a thing with me all these years without deciphering its true meaning."

"You'd best keep deciphering, my lad," Michael said. "Because if you know the meaning of those words, I do not. I own, I did wonder why he should pray for you ‘at Roslin' rather than simply offer a prayer for your safety."

Henry grinned suddenly. "I recall wondering if it meant that he did not trust Sir Edward," he said. "That he was advising me to look elsewhere for answers than to his cousin. Fortunately for me, I never suggested as much to Sir Edward."

"I understand that he is your foster father, but who is Sir Edward exactly?" Isobel asked.

"Sir Edward Robison of Strathearn is Hugo's father," Michael said.

"But I thought Sir Hugo was a connection of your mother's," she said. "I am sure that is what he told Hector."

"And that is also true," Sir Henry said, "because he is a double cousin. His mother is a St. Clair, our father's youngest sister."

"If Sir Hugo's mother had the same father that your father did, does that mean that Hugo is a Knight Templar, too?" she asked.

Sir Henry looked at Michael, but this time Isobel did not object. She looked at him, too, and waited.

He rolled his eyes, but he smiled, too. "Hugo's father was, and we all had the same training, lass. But if you would please me, you'll not mention the Templars to anyone even when it seems safe, as it does here, for there are ears everywhere."

"Aye, there are, indeed," she said, remembering the many times she had eavesdropped as a child.

"You know, Michael," Henry said, "many of the carvings at Roslin portray bearded men."

"That thought had occurred to me also," Michael said. "Every lintel, pediment, and pillar contains different carvings, however, as do most of the door panels, but I have never paid any particular heed to their details."

"The message does seem to refer to Roslin," Isobel said.

"Aye, and I'm thinking that the sooner we can search for a pattern amongst those carvings, the better," Michael said.

"You cannot leave here before the ceremony," Henry said with a sigh. "I would not mind in the least if you did, especially if you can find the key to this puzzle, but our lady mother—"

"Say no more," Michael interjected hastily. "I've no wish to infuriate her any more at present. I could see at once that my marriage displeases her."

"I cannot think why," Henry said, smiling at Isobel. "Pray, do not take offense at her megrims, my lady. Much as she may think she commands all in her orbit, she does not rule at Kirkwall, or at Roslin."

"She will not trouble me, sir," Isobel said confidently.

Michael put his arm around her. "It must be nearly time for supper, Henry," he said. "Had you better not go and prepare yourself to receive your company?"

"Aye, for my Jean will be fearing that our mother will blame her for my tardiness. I must therefore make haste, but put your wits to work, Michael. It will not do for you to declare that you are bound for Roslin. Waldron will be hot on your heels if not well ahead of you if he suspects that we have learned something new."

Michael nodded, and Isobel made her curtsy, but Henry caught her hands and pulled her up again, planting a firm if brotherly kiss on her cheek. "Welcome to Clan St. Clair, my lady," he said warmly.

"I do not think he is at all eccentric," she said when he had gone. "He seems most pleasant and kind."

"Aye, he is a good man," Michael said. "For all that he believes he can sail a ship to the edge of the earth and beyond."

"He said he had seen a map," she reminded him.

"Aye," he said. "But I'm thinking he dreamed it, for I have never seen such a thing, nor do I think anyone else has. And right now," he added in a warmer tone, "I am recalling that Henry interrupted us at a most inopportune moment. Shall I untie your laces for you, madam?"

Feeling the surge of heat that particular tone always stirred in her, she grinned saucily and said, "You may loosen them for me, sir, but if you do not want to anger your mother, I'd suggest that you attempt no more just now."

He raised his eyebrows. "I warrant you think you have found the one weapon that will win over all of mine, lass, but you are mistaken. My mother does not terrify me, although I own, she does try. I am my own man."

He reached then for her laces, and she did not attempt to dissuade him, neither when his fingers wandered more freely about her body than the changing of her clothes for supper warranted, nor when he stripped her clothing from her and carried her to the bed.

As he quickly disrobed, she murmured, "We'll be late."

"Aye, perhaps."

She chuckled low in her throat as he climbed into bed with her, but moments later, she was moaning. She had forgotten how swiftly his mouth and fingers could stir her body's responses. She did remember the aching pain she had felt at Glenelg Bay, however, and that memory made her wary.

When his fingers touched her between the legs, she tensed.

"Relax, sweetheart," he murmured. "Touch me."

She had been kissing him and moving against him, stirred by his caresses, but she had kept her hands near his sides or back, uncertain what else to do with them. Remembering certain things he had done that she had found particularly pleasurable, she began to experiment, scooting lower to kiss his nipples, and lick and suck them as he had done with hers. When he gasped, she smiled, and as his hands continued their explorations, her body responded more and more fervently.

She felt no pain, only desire, and when he shifted his body to possess hers, she welcomed him, finding it easy to match the rhythm of her responses to his thrusts. As their passion increased, she stopped thinking of everything but the sensations he stirred and what she could do to stimulate equal feelings in him.

With no more than a change in his breathing to warn her, his rhythm altered to a more urgent pace, but her body responded with equal fervor. The sensations she experienced then overwhelmed her, giving her a sense of soaring higher and higher until her mind seemed to have entered a place filled with sunlight, where she felt warmth and joy unlike any she had ever known.

With a groan, Michael collapsed atop her, his face buried between her shoulder and her neck. Gently, he kissed her just below her ear and murmured, "Ah, sweetheart, that was wonderful."

Gasping, almost sobbing, she tried to draw a deep breath, but he was too heavy. Choking back a bubble of laughter, she said, "It was splendid, sir, but if you do not move, you will render yourself wifeless and thus unable to repeat it."

"A dire fate," he said with a chuckle as he shifted his weight off her. "I collect that you found this experience more enjoyable than last time."

"Aye," she said, "It was wonderful, but I don't understand how a body can go from having so much energy to so little." She felt languorous and content to stay where she was. Even as that thought drifted through her mind, though, another trailed behind it, reminding her of the time. "Mercy," she exclaimed, sitting bolt upright, "we are going to be late for supper!"

"Very likely," he agreed, his tone of voice mirroring the feelings she had had before the unwelcome reminder presented itself.

"Well, don't just lie there," she said, tugging at one muscular shoulder. "Get up and get dressed—and make haste about it, too!"

"Gently, lass," he said. "We'll not starve, even if we are late."

"Now, you listen to me, Michael St. Clair. Your mother already looks at me as if I were something she'd scrape off her shoe. I don't want to do more to irritate her before she has even come to know me. Up, sir, or you will not need to suffocate me to render yourself wifeless in bed."

"Heaven forfend," he said, laughing but getting out of bed nonetheless.

The others were all at their places when Michael and Isobel entered the great hall, but she noticed straightaway that Sir Henry's chaplain had not yet spoken the grace before meat. One seat was empty on the ladies' side of the high table, between Cristina and Adela, and another was empty on the gentleman's side, between Lachlan and Sir Hugo. Princess Margaret occupied the ladies' place of honor, next to Sir Henry's wife, Jean, with Mairi beside her. Macleod of Glenelg sat at the far end of the table on the men's side, and Waldron sat at a central table below the dais with a number of men she did not know. She saw Michael eye them narrowly, but she did not see the Green Abbot, so perhaps he was late, too.

The meal passed quickly and without incident. The food was excellent although plainer than what Isobel was accustomed to at Lochbuie, and the claret flowed freely at both ends of the table. Minstrels played throughout the meal, and when servants presented the banquet of sweets, a troupe of players ran into the center of the lower hall. A space had been cleared for them there, and a fool emerged to direct their antics. Jugglers and acrobats displayed their skills first.

Many travelers in Isobel's party were covering yawns before the jugglers had finished. Isobel had had but one goblet of wine, but although she still felt the aftereffects of her interlude with Michael, she was not tired. Cristina clearly was, however, and Lady Euphemia, and before long, Princess Margaret stood, thereby announcing her intention to retire.

Everyone else stood until she and her ladies had departed from the hall, but then others prepared to leave, including Lady Euphemia, who paused beside Adela and Isobel to say, "I shall not presume to tell you when you should go to bed, Isobel. Now that you are a married lady, you are at your husband's beck and bay, but you, my dear Adela, will come along with me, and go straight to bed."

"Oh, pray do not take me away so soon, Aunt. I promise you, I am not at all sleepy, and I want to watch the players. See, they are even now taking their places."

Lady Euphemia looked as if she would insist, so Isobel said, "She can stay with me, Aunt. Cristina is still here, too, so we'll see that she gets back safely. Indeed, I cannot imagine what could happen to her in a bishop's palace."

"Nor can I, my dear, but there are a good many young men here, and young men, by their very nature, cannot be trusted to behave. Do not go anywhere alone tonight. Indeed, you should not go anywhere without a good strong, trustworthy gentleman to accompany you. But I warrant Sir Michael will look after you both, so I shall leave you now and bid you goodnight."

Adela chuckled when Lady Euphemia was safely out of earshot. "Faith, I did not think she'd give in so easily. Is this what it is like at his grace's court, Isobel? I never had interest in such things, you know, but I hope there will be dancing tonight. I fear I have grown quite sinful of late. Sir Hugo has not gone yet, has he?"

Isobel looked at her. "Do you like him?"

Adela shrugged. "He is very merry, is he not? But I do think he ought to be more serious about some things. He seems to laugh at everything."

"He does have a cheerful disposition," Isobel agreed. "Still, I think he takes his duties seriously."

"Oh, aye, indeed he does," Adela said, frowning. "I had forgotten that. Do you know he refused to ride with me to Chalamine to collect your maid? And he had no way to know at the time that we would be seeing you again so soon. Indeed, I did not know that myself. And he might have taken her with him quite easily."

"It all came right in the end," Isobel said soothingly. "Yes?" she added, when a gillie wearing the St. Clair gray tunic with its distinguishing black cross stepped up to her and made his bow.

"Beg pardon, madam, but the princess Margaret has asked that you and the lady Adela join her in her chamber at once. I am to escort you there."

"Just Lady Adela and me?" Isobel asked.

"Aye, madam."

Adela paled. "What do you think we have done?" she asked.

"I cannot think of anything," Isobel said. "But we had better not tarry."

They got up at once, and when Cristina turned with a questioning look, Isobel said, "Princess Margaret sent for Adela and me. I cannot think why, but we'll be back in a trice, I expect. If Michael asks, tell him we have a St. Clair gillie with us."

Cristina nodded and turned to relay the information to Mairi.

They followed the gillie out of the hall, along a corridor to the main stairway, and up two flights to another corridor. Halfway along, he stopped at a door and rapped. The door swung inward, revealing the golden glow of candlelight within, and he gestured for them to precede him.

Adela went first, but Isobel bumped into her when she stopped just inside the door and cried out in surprise. Before Isobel could see what had startled her, a hard hand pushed her into Adela, and the door snapped shut behind them. Hearing a bar thud into place, she turned and saw the gillie who had accompanied them standing in front of the now-barred door, fists on his hips, grinning at her insolently.

"Sakes, what do you think you are doing?" she demanded.

"Don't blame him," a familiar voice said. "He just followed my orders."

Adela stepped aside, and Isobel found herself face to face with Waldron of Edgelaw. Beyond him stood the Green Abbot of Iona, the flickering light and his vulpine features making him appear even more predatory than his companion.