smile.
Trouble, in fact, had bought them each a cup of ale.
* * *
The chapel was of goodly size and solidly built. I pulled my hood over my head as I crossed the threshold, hiding my features in its shadows. Though still damp, the chapel was warm enough to melt the snow and light enough to reveal that I was not in fact Connor MacDoughall.
Whoever that man might happen to be.
He might even be here. How strange a prospect!
I found myself conveniently near the altar, surrounded by fighting men who were clearly sworn to the lord. Niall was not alone in his dissatisfaction, apparently, for there was more than one skeptical expression in this company. The doors were closed behind the assembly of villagers and warriors, allowing a meager warmth to gather. Prayers were murmured all around me, but I did not pray.
Instead, I seized the chance to study the chapel that I would have to raid again without anyone realizing what I did.
The hewn stones that formed the walls were huge but expertly fitted. None of them would be loose, I knew. There was solely one door and the sanctuary itself was simply a large room. There was not so much as an alcove in its walls and no shadow where one might hide. The floor was stone, and I guessed that no crypt was carved out of the rock below.
There was only one window, high above the table that served as an altar. It was small and filled with a colored glass depiction of the crucifixion. The window was quite splendid, if small, and could fetch a goodly price. I was certain it had not been there before, as I had used that opening to fetch the Titulus the last time.
Of course, I was not quite as lithe and agile as I had been in my youth. I studied the window, surprised to find such artistry in such a remote place, though it was common enough in the great cathedrals. These lairds had either been far wealthier than I had imagined or fools with their coin.
They might be devout. I would have to remember that. This beleaguered Fergus might seek to quietly replace the Titulus with a greater treasure if his suzerainty rested upon such trinkets.
Other than the window, now obstructed with glass, the sole access to the chapel was the door, which would surely be locked or watched or both.
I peered through the haze of incense and smoke from the candles at the altar, seeking to confirm the relic’s location. I was disinterested in the richly embroidered cloth covering what appeared to be solely a table, and spared only a brief assessment for the chalice and charger wrought of pounded silver.
They might be worth taking along, although there were not particularly remarkable. It would depend upon their weight and how much time I had.
There was no sign of the relic upon the altar. The reliquary that I had once robbed no longer lurked there, nor was it in the hands of the monks standing solemnly behind the altar. The four monks began to chant as the two on either end swung the brass censers.
“Let the festivities begin,” I muttered to none in particular.
My eyes narrowed as the company of monks parted and moved to either side of the altar. A wooden door was revealed in the back wall of the chapel, directly below the stained glass window.
It had not been there before.
I almost smiled that my theft had prompted a more secure reliquary for the relic - or whatever they had shown in its stead. One monk held a great brass key, I saw now.
I dearly love brass keys. They are so large and solid that they inspire confidence - yet their tumblers are clumsy and easily encouraged even without the key. The keys themselves are easily borrowed, hooked and dropped precisely where one wishes to drop them, because of their weight.
I was much reassured. I scanned the company unobtrusively, seeking Evangeline, but she was not present. I must have been more overt than I thought, for I glanced up to find Niall’s assessing gaze upon me. He looked away as soon as I noted his perusal of me, leaving me wondering what
Trouble, in fact, had bought them each a cup of ale.
* * *
The chapel was of goodly size and solidly built. I pulled my hood over my head as I crossed the threshold, hiding my features in its shadows. Though still damp, the chapel was warm enough to melt the snow and light enough to reveal that I was not in fact Connor MacDoughall.
Whoever that man might happen to be.
He might even be here. How strange a prospect!
I found myself conveniently near the altar, surrounded by fighting men who were clearly sworn to the lord. Niall was not alone in his dissatisfaction, apparently, for there was more than one skeptical expression in this company. The doors were closed behind the assembly of villagers and warriors, allowing a meager warmth to gather. Prayers were murmured all around me, but I did not pray.
Instead, I seized the chance to study the chapel that I would have to raid again without anyone realizing what I did.
The hewn stones that formed the walls were huge but expertly fitted. None of them would be loose, I knew. There was solely one door and the sanctuary itself was simply a large room. There was not so much as an alcove in its walls and no shadow where one might hide. The floor was stone, and I guessed that no crypt was carved out of the rock below.
There was only one window, high above the table that served as an altar. It was small and filled with a colored glass depiction of the crucifixion. The window was quite splendid, if small, and could fetch a goodly price. I was certain it had not been there before, as I had used that opening to fetch the Titulus the last time.
Of course, I was not quite as lithe and agile as I had been in my youth. I studied the window, surprised to find such artistry in such a remote place, though it was common enough in the great cathedrals. These lairds had either been far wealthier than I had imagined or fools with their coin.
They might be devout. I would have to remember that. This beleaguered Fergus might seek to quietly replace the Titulus with a greater treasure if his suzerainty rested upon such trinkets.
Other than the window, now obstructed with glass, the sole access to the chapel was the door, which would surely be locked or watched or both.
I peered through the haze of incense and smoke from the candles at the altar, seeking to confirm the relic’s location. I was disinterested in the richly embroidered cloth covering what appeared to be solely a table, and spared only a brief assessment for the chalice and charger wrought of pounded silver.
They might be worth taking along, although there were not particularly remarkable. It would depend upon their weight and how much time I had.
There was no sign of the relic upon the altar. The reliquary that I had once robbed no longer lurked there, nor was it in the hands of the monks standing solemnly behind the altar. The four monks began to chant as the two on either end swung the brass censers.
“Let the festivities begin,” I muttered to none in particular.
My eyes narrowed as the company of monks parted and moved to either side of the altar. A wooden door was revealed in the back wall of the chapel, directly below the stained glass window.
It had not been there before.
I almost smiled that my theft had prompted a more secure reliquary for the relic - or whatever they had shown in its stead. One monk held a great brass key, I saw now.
I dearly love brass keys. They are so large and solid that they inspire confidence - yet their tumblers are clumsy and easily encouraged even without the key. The keys themselves are easily borrowed, hooked and dropped precisely where one wishes to drop them, because of their weight.
I was much reassured. I scanned the company unobtrusively, seeking Evangeline, but she was not present. I must have been more overt than I thought, for I glanced up to find Niall’s assessing gaze upon me. He looked away as soon as I noted his perusal of me, leaving me wondering what
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