Free Knight Triumphant by Heather Graham

gone.”
    â€œIs it?” the priest asked. “I have a feeling that an illness far worse festers within your soul.”
    â€œMy soul is of little interest to me at the moment, if you will forgive me, Father.”
    â€œWhether I forgive you or not—”
    â€œLet’s not get into a philosophical discussion, Father, on my soul. There are other matters to be discussed. First, Garth, I am very hungry.”
    â€œAye, sir.”
    He turned to leave.
    â€œGarth.”
    The man paused, looking back. He was wary, but also worn.
    â€œI have no real liking for bloodshed and death. But if I—or any of my men—are poisoned here, the retaliation upon those here will be swift and any who die at your hands will wish that they had been taken by the plague. You understand that.”
    â€œAye, my lord. That was made quite clear at the beginning of your illness by your man, MacDonald.”
    Eric smiled. Thank God for Peter MacDonald. His right hand. Because of Peter, and this priest, he had lived. When he should have died. When he would have gladly died. He dared not think too long on that fact. Dark clouds seemed to fog his vision when he did so, and the dull pain would begin to thud again, and he wanted to rage, and tear the place apart stone by stone, though nothing would bring back Margot and his daughter.
    â€œGood. Bring food. Father MacKinley, sit.”
    Garth left the hall, hurrying to bring food as bidden. As bidden, Father MacKinley sat, his eyes wary.
    â€œSo, Father, tell me about the state of affairs.”
    â€œThe state of affairs?” MacKinley said. “War, I believe. It has been war here, as long as I remember.”
    â€œAh, yes, it’s a way of life, isn’t it? Here, Father, you know exactly what I am asking you.”
    â€œI’m sure that you know everything that is going on, and that your man, MacDonald, has brought you up to date.”
    â€œYes, but I would like to hear your assessment of the current situation at the castle.”
    â€œPeople have stopped dying. Most of the poor deceased have been burned in great heaps just beyond the walls.”
    â€œMost of the dead.”
    â€œYour wife and child are buried in the wall with the late Lord Afton.”
    Eric stared down at his hands for a moment. “There will be masses said,” he murmured quietly.
    â€œThere have been masses said. All men are equal before God.”
    Eric allowed his mouth to curl just slightly. MacKinley was either a fool or a very brave man.
    â€œWhere is your mistress?”
    MacKinley stiffened at Eric’s evenly voiced question.
    â€œGone.”’
    â€œThat’s evident. Gone where?”
    â€œBack to her brother.”
    â€œThe young widow, returned to England to be a pawn in another advantageous marriage.”
    â€œGone back to the love and care of her family.”
    â€œWhen did she leave?”
    â€œI don’t remember—”
    â€œWhen?”
    â€œSeveral days ago.”
    â€œHow many?”
    â€œPerhaps five . . . or six.”
    â€œAh. So she cannot have gotten far.”
    â€œShe has been gone many days. It would be folly to pursue her.”
    â€œBut she has gone on foot.”
    The priest frowned, and Eric knew he was right.
    â€œHow—”
    â€œShe departed through a secret tunnel, certainly, or my men would have known. So, at the least, she started out by foot. I think I will be able to find her.”
    â€œShe was not responsible for the death here. She saved your life.”
    â€œI survived. She is not capable of saving lives. My wife is dead.”
    â€œShe is not a magician.”
    â€œShe has the reputation of a healer.”
    â€œBut no man can work miracles.”
    â€œI repeat, my wife is dead. And my babe. A child as innocent of evil as any soul could be.”
    â€œBut what matters here—”
    â€œNothing else matters. My wife and child are dead.”
    â€œBut