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

packed with supplies. Candles, clothes, utensils, bowls, cups, and a surprising pile of hilted weapons. Valc grabbed clothes and tried not to think of the fact that his sword and dagger were both aboard his ship. Greta’s ship.
    He deposited the torch in the dining room, leaving the larder door open, and found the old man huddled at the end of the room by the fireplace. Valc hurried to him and righted him.
    “Let me do that, Brother.”
    “Father,” the old man corrected. “I am a priest, not a monk.”
    “Very well. Let me do that, Father .”
    The old man pushed at him. “I can light a fire well enough. You change that clothing before you make yourself sick.”
    Valc stepped back, but hovered. He’d cared for Greta long enough to know that old people often thought they were more capable than they were, and sometimes that knowledge could save them from injury.
    “Go,” the Father ordered.
    Valc retreated out of the light, barely inside the door, and stripped off the remains of his clothing. The heavy purse that had been tied to his belt sank to the floor once he loosed it. Valc had forgotten he was carrying it.
    Greta had taught him well. If only he could have kept his sword.
    The daggers on the thrawl inside the larder looked far too tempting when Valc considered how far he would have to travel to get Cadha to the north of Scotland. It would take them days to walk, likely even days to ride. He would need a weapon.
    But he wouldn’t steal from a priest. Lying to one was bad enough. Valc couldn’t afford to put his eternal soul in so much jeopardy. He left the daggers where they lay.
    He pulled on the warmer clothing and searched the lower larder shelves for a pair of boots that looked like they might fit. The ones he settled on were tight, but would serve. All were simple, which he preferred. He took out two of the precious gold pieces and tied the purse back to the inside of his trousers, near his left hip.
    He needed to find Cadha.
    Valc set the two coins on the table. “For your coffers,” he said. “I thank you for the dry clothing.”
    “No need to pay us, my boy. Our charge is to help the needy.” With a low fire burning in the hearth, the old man rose and hobbled to the table. He took a seat, let out a stale breath, and looked up at Valc. “Now. Tell me this story of yours.”
    Valc tried to recount as much truth as he could, careful to keep the details vague. The lie about his marriage to Cadha was necessary. They would never allow him to take an unmarried woman into the night as he would need to, once they found Cadha. Hopefully God would forgive him.
    The old priest folded his hands as he listened and rested them on the table in front of him, though they shook with age. His interest perked when Valc mentioned their captor.
    “Calum Acheson?” he asked. “The Scottish pirate?”
    Valc nodded. “He boarded us somewhere north of Scarborough.”
    “I know this man. His southern berth is not far from here, near Berwick, when he is not in Balfour.” The old man glanced at the larder. “We often retrieve Acheson’s bodies on our beach.”
    Valc’s ears perked. “He has a southern berth, you say? The old Sheriff at Berwick was notorious for giving safe passage to privateers.”
    “And the new Sheriff has unfortunately continued in those same practices. The shores of Northumberland are awash with debris from the conquests of men like Calum Acheson.”
    With downcast eyes, Valc ventured, “Would it be possible for me to purchase transportation to Berwick?”
    The priest pounded the table. “We will do you one better, boy. One of my brothers will take you to the port once your wife is returned.”
    “My wife,” Valc repeated. Something twisted inside and he had to catch his breath. He still hadn’t forgotten her kiss, in the middle of the dark waters. So searching, so open. “I should join the brothers as they look for her.”
    “Nonsense. You would be more of a hindrance to them. They know