Free Cadha's Rogue (The Highland Renegades Book 5) by R.L. Syme Page A

Besides put her in danger.
    Valc pounded harder.
    A voice called out to him in English. “Hold your horses, I’m coming. You’ll wake the whole monastery at that rate.”
    Valc looked up and saw the shape of a man’s head sticking through a small window at the top of what looked like a short tower.
    Monks. Not soldiers. He wasn’t sure whether to thank God or start praying. Monks were the only group of men who liked him less than soldiers. On the other hand, monks weren’t likely to chase him.
    Small favors.
    He stood back as the old man swung open the heavy door. The monk wore a simple, gray habit with a cord around his waist. Not Benedictine, then. Could be Cistercian.
    Knowing your opponent was the key to playing a good game. He couldn’t very well tell the truth to the black monks known to be in the royal pocket. But some of the vow-of-poverty types were safe.
    “What do you want, boy?” the old monk barked.
    “I need your help, brother.” Valc indicated his own clothing. “I’ve just washed ashore and my wife is somewhere out on the beach. I don’t know the rocks and have already done myself injury.”
    The old man drew down one corner of his mouth. In the low, shadowed light, Valc couldn’t tell if it was disdain or compassion that creased his face, but he took a chance.
    “We were set upon in the sea and thrown overboard. Forgive my ignorance of your customs, my friend. We are not from your country.”
    “You speak my language well for a foreigner.”
    “My mother was English.”
    The old man raised an eyebrow, which looked menacing in the shadow. “Where in England?”
    “Canterbury.”
    A scuttling inside took the man’s attention. Just inside the door, a smaller, older man appeared.
    “Who is at the door at this hour, Brother William?” The older man wore a matching cassock, but the cord around his waist was missing. He hobbled on one foot and his hand hovered in the air as though he expected to lean on a cane. Valc almost reached out for the man, but he leaned on Brother William for support instead.
    “A traveler who requests our help, Father.” William gave the old man a deferential bow.
    “Well, we must give it. This is our charge.”
    Valc took his turn to bow. “My wife, sir. We were set upon in the open sea and thrown off our ship. I washed ashore near here, but I was unable to find her in the dark.”
    The older man waved at him. “We’ll have the brothers roused and lanterned in no time. Meanwhile, you come inside, boy, and put on dry clothing. You’ll catch a fever in those wet clothes.” He crossed himself and reached for Valc.
    Brother William’s drawn face darkened as the old man pulled Valc across the threshold. He backed into the door and let them pass.
    “Thomas and Rayner are still at prayers,” the sour monk protested.
    “Then leave them,” said the white-haired man. “But take the rest. Wake the abbot and search the whole island.”
    “Island?” Valc repeated. “Which island?”
    “Why, Holy Island, boy.” Brother William slammed the door and grabbed a torch from the wall. “What other island is there?”
    “Off with you.” The old man waved at his compatriot, grabbing Valc’s arm. Brother William handed the light to Valc and disappeared up some stairs.
    Valc let the old man usher him through the dark interior, down a short but wide flight of stairs, and into their simple dining room. The ceiling was low, but the torch lit most of the space.
    They hobble-walked to the far side of the room, to a small door. The old monk knocked on it.
    “You’ll find dry clothing through here. I’ll wait while you change out of your wet things and you can tell me your story.” He crossed himself once more. “God’s peace with you, brother.”
    Valc hurried into the room with the torch. On one side of the narrow larder were shelves full of dry food. His stomach burbled as a reminder, in case he needed one. He couldn’t remember his last meal.
    The other side was