The Captive Heart

Chapter Fifteen

Father Walter watched as the two other priests turned without another word and departed the dark tavern. And then he realized Brother George had not given him the name of his master or the unfortunate wife. But no matter. The names could be quickly inserted. Four gold coins! He rolled the coin he had been given about his hand. He had never had a gold coin in all his life. Most of his victims paid him with silver and copper. He was rich! Or would be when he collected the other three coins. He was tempted to go and visit Lettice, but he decided it would be foolish for her to learn of his good fortune. She might want a fee for having directed Brother George to him. He was not of a mind to share his gold with a whore. Even a whore as fine as Lettice. Stuffing the coin in his pocket, he hurriedly left the tavern. He had much work to do if he was to finish the required documents within seven days.

Some minutes ahead of the dishonest priest Brother George and Father Henry walked back to St. Cuthbert's. The hour was late and the streets dark. Father Henry carried a lantern that lit their way. Thieves lingering in the shadowed alleys and doorways remained where they were as they saw the two men were clerics. Priests never had any coin or other valuables about them, and they could damn a man's soul to hell if attacked. Here in York that was a serious deterrent to robbing a man of God.

Father Henry's small house was behind his church on the other side of a garden. Entering it, the two men found a plate with cold meat, bread, and cheese, along with a pitcher of ale left by one of the women of the parish. They prayed over the food, ate it, prayed again, and went to bed. Both men arose several short hours later to say the Mass. Both heard early confessions and then broke their fast with a hot oat porridge brought in by one of the women of the parish. Then together they walked to Yorkminster to see Sister Mary Agnes. Inviting them into the archbishop's garden, she inquired as to what they had learned. "Was Lettice truthful?"

"She was indeed," Brother George replied. "This priest is a greedy fool, and the sight of gold was enough to convince him to do our bidding."

"You should have heard the tale my cousin told," Father Henry chuckled, and then went on to enlighten the nun. "At one point I almost believed him myself."

Sister Mary Agnes gave a little chuckle herself as she listened to Father Henry. "I would say you will go far in the secretariat of St. Andrew's," she observed.

"Should one not be as ambitious for God as others?" Brother George asked.

She reached out and patted his arm soothingly. "I do not criticize, Brother. I am actually admiring of your skills. In my convent we have several women like you. They will serve God in a far higher capacity than I ever will housekeeping for the archbishop. Some days I envy them, and then I pray to our Lord for his forgiveness for that sin."

"We all have our gifts," Father Henry murmured.

"You will serve God's greater good helping us to rid your master of this dishonest priest who eats like a poison at the holiness of York," Brother George said. "Can you aid us in gaining the archbishop's ear, Good Sister?"

"I can," she said, without hesitation. "Come with me."

They followed the nun through the beautiful garden, and as they rounded the corner of a tall green hedge they saw a man seated upon a small stone bench in seeming meditation. He wore a simple dark robe, but about his neck hung a large jeweled cross, the symbol of his office. Quietly they stood before him, waiting to be recognized, and then finally the archbishop of York looked up.

"Yes, Sister Mary Agnes, what is it?" he said in a quiet voice.

"Your Grace, this is Father Henry from St. Cuthbert's by the walls. And his cousin, Brother George. They need to speak privily with you."

"How is it you know these men?" the archbishop asked her.

"We are all cousins, Your Grace," the nun answered, simplifying the relationships.

The archbishop nodded his understanding, then said, "Very well, Good Fathers. What is it you need speak with me privily about?"

"There is a dishonest priest among those serving in your secretariat who has caused a great deal of difficulty for some and continues to do so," began Brother George.

The archbishop stiffened slightly. "You are a Scot," he said warily.

"I am, Your Grace, and I am in service to the bishop of St. Andrew's," Brother George responded with a polite bow. "Queen Marie requested a boon from my master, and I have been sent to York to expedite the matter."

The archbishop nodded. "Say on, Good Brother. As we all serve the same God, I will hear what you have to say. Would that James Kennedy understood that as well."

Brother George's mouth quirked briefly in a small smile, and then he went on to explain the problem between Sir Udolf Watteson of Wulfborn Hall, Malcolm Scott, the Laird of Dunglais, and Mistress Alix Givet. He concluded by saying, "My master knew you would never give such a dispensation, Your Grace. However, until Sir Udolf can be convinced otherwise, he continues to insist the laird's wife is his and causes great distress to both Malcolm Scott and his family. I have been given to understand the lady Alix does not dare to venture outside of her keep anymore for fear Sir Udolf will kidnap her again and carry her off to Wulfborn Hall. The lady is with child again, and should not be harassed so lest her offspring be harmed."

The archbishop nodded. "She has given her husband a son and now is expecting a second child?"

"Aye, Your Grace, and she is a good mother to his daughter from a first union," Brother George explained. "The lady Alix is the only mother the little lass can recall, and she lives in terror of losing her as she once lost the mother who bore her. And all of this unhappiness is being caused because a priest in your secretariat has solicited bribes from petitioners to Your Grace to issue dispensations of all sorts. This is only one case I bring to you, but there are surely others. And last night I offered this same priest a bribe to issue a declaration of divorce for a lord I claimed to represent."

"You will understand that before I act," the archbishop said, "I must be absolutely certain of this priest's guilt, Brother George. I will accuse no man without proof positive." He looked hard at the two priests.

"I would expect no less of Your Grace," Brother George said. "When this priest contacts us to turn over his false documents, we will send to you with the time and place so you may be there to see what transpires and catch this miscreant in the very act."

"Agreed," the archbishop replied. "I am disturbed by what you have told me, for who knows how many other false documents this man has issued in my name?"

"It is likely he has only preyed upon those he believed without other influence, as Sir Udolf Watteson. Men not clever enough to see through his ruse," Brother George said in an effort to calm any fears this high churchman might have regarding his office and most especially his reputation. "He is in actuality a petty thief."

"Indeed you are probably correct in your assumption, Good Brother," the archbishop replied, but his eyes still held worry. Then he gave them a brief smile and raised his hand in blessing. "Go with God, my sons, until we meet again."

Dismissed, they turned away from the great churchman, and led by Sister Mary Agnes, made their way from the cathedral gardens. She brought them to a small gate that opened onto the street.

Brother George turned to the nun to thank her. "I am most grateful for all your help in this matter. Without you my path to the archbishop would have been more difficult," he told her.

"If you are truly grateful, Brother George, then when you retrieve that gold coin you gave Father Walter, stop by St. Mary's Convent as you leave the city and donate it to my order," Sister Mary Agnes said with a small smile.

"I will, and gladly!" Brother George told her with an answering smile. "Were you a man, Good Sister, you would make a fine bishop."

"I have learned well from my master never to let an opportunity pass by," the nun told him with a little chuckle. Then, with a nod of farewell, she closed the gate behind the two priests, who walked off briskly down the narrow street.

"She would make a shrewd chatelaine for a rich man," Brother George noted to his priestly cousin. "She is a clever woman."

"She was her parents' younger daughter, and betrothed to a wealthy man," Father Henry explained. "But she always wanted to serve the church. When her betrothed husband died suddenly a month before the wedding she told her parents that it was obviously God's will that she enter the convent and not the marriage bed. Since their eldest son had been married the year before to the dead man's sister, she now became her father's heiress and nothing was lost. My cousin's elder sister was well married, and the younger brother pledged to a young woman of means. So they gave Mary Agnes her way, and let her enter the convent," Father Henry concluded.

"And yet she does for the archbishop much of what she would do as chatelaine of her own home," Brother George noted. "Nor do I find her particularly pious in her manners. How curious she should know and befriend a whore."

"I have always believed God places us where we are meant to be," Father Henry murmured quietly. "And many who claim piety do so only for others to see but in their hearts are as worldly as those outside of our calling."

Brother George thought a moment at this, and then he nodded. "True, Henry. True." he said.

Five days went by during which time the bishop of St. Andrew's messenger helped his cousin in the small church that was his domain. He celebrated the Mass. He heard confessions, and he ministered to the poor and helpless. And as he did he understood the sense of Father Henry's words, for this kind of priestly life was not at all to his liking. He far preferred being in the thick of things as he was in the bishop of St. Andrew's secretariat. And Brother George smiled to himself as this revelation unfolded itself to him. And, finally, on the sixth day a ragged urchin came into the church as the two clerics were snuffing the precious candles.

"Masters, which one of you is Brother George?" he asked.

"I am," the Scots priest said, stepping forward.

"I have a message for you," the lad said. "Didn't make sense to me, but the man who give it me said I just had to repeat it, and you'd give me a penny."

Brother George reached into his robe and drew out the pouch that held his coins. After extracting a silver penny from it, he restored the pouch and held the coin up for the boy to see. "And what is the message?" he asked.

"Same place, same time, tomorrow" the answer came.

"Same place, same time, tomorrow," Brother George repeated.

"Aye," the lad said, and his dirty hand shot out to catch the silver coin tossed to him. Then he ran from the church.

"We must notify His Grace," Father Henry said. "I will send to him."

"Send to Sister Mary Agnes lest the message is seen by the wrong eyes," Brother George suggested to his cousin, who nodded. "Tell His Grace to come here in disguise with two of his men-at-arms. We will go to the meeting together, and we will go before our dishonest friend gets there so His Grace may secret himself and listen to what is said. Father Walter will incriminate himself nicely before he is arrested."

"You are enjoying this," Father Richard said with a grin. "But then you always did like games when we were boys together."

"Indeed, and I did," Brother George admitted cheerfully with an answering grin.

Early the following evening the archbishop came with two of his men-at-arms. He was dressed in a heavy, hooded dark cloak. Together the men walked to the small disreputable tavern by the city's walls. Entering, they saw with relief that they were there before Father Walter. Brother George led them to the same table in the rear of the room where they had met first with Father Walter.

"This place is foul," the archbishop murmured, his eyes sweeping the tavern.

"It is a perfect place for a villain, Your Grace," Father Henry said quietly.

"God's foot! Is that man fornicating with the tavern wench?" the archbishop asked. He pointed discreetly across the room, where a rough-looking man was lustily fucking a barmaid he had pinned against a wall.

"Yes, Your Grace," Father Henry replied softly. "The wenches are for sale, as is the ale. But you and your men had best secret yourselves in the shadows here," he advised.

No sooner than the three men had done so a tavern maid came to ask what the two men at the table would drink. She did not notice the others. "Ale or wine?" she asked with what she assumed passed for a seductive smile. "We have both, Good Fathers."

"Ale," they answered in unison.

"And would either of you want a little futtering this evening? 'Tis only a ha'penny unless you want my asshole, and then it's a penny," the wench said. "You look like two big strong men who could give a lass a good fucking."

"Not tonight, dearie," Brother George said, reaching out to pat her bottom. "We're meeting someone on a matter of business. Bring three ales."

"Didn't I see you two the other night with Father Walter?" the wench inquired. She was not a striking girl, but pretty enough in the dimly lit room if a man was half-drunk. Her stringy hair was dark blond, but her skin was pockmarked, and she was missing one front tooth. But she had very large breasts.

"Aye, you did," Brother George said.

"If it's Father Walter you're meeting, then I'll be back later when your business is done. No one likes a good jogging like Father Walter. He's as randy as a billy goat," the wench said, and then she laughed heartily. "I'll get your ale." And then she flounced off.

"Turn your head and look," Brother George said to Father Henry. "The villain has just come in from the street. Ah, he sees us, and comes. He has papers with him."

Father Walter hurried to the table where the other two priests sat.

"I've ordered ale," Brother George said. "Let us wait to finalize our business until the wench returns and serves it."

"Agreed!" Father Walter said.

The tavern maid rejoined them, three mugs of ale in her hands. Setting them on the table, she sat down in Father Walter's lap with a giggle. "Do you want a little jog?" she asked him, provocatively wiggling her bottom in his lap.

Father Walter stuck his hand down the girl's gown and pinched her breast. "Aye," he nodded. "Come back later, Violet." Then he tipped her from his lap.

"Here, Violet," Brother George said and handed the wench a coin.

"A silver penny! 'Tis too much for just three mugs of ale, Good Father."

"It's for the ale, and for the pleasure you will give Father Walter later," Brother George said with a grin.

" 'Tis still too much," the girl said slowly.

"Then take what is left over and buy something for your child," Brother George told her quietly.

"How did you know I had a child?" Violet wanted to know.

Brother George shrugged, and the girl bobbed a curtsy before running off. He picked up his mug of ale and drank a deep draft. It was good, which surprised him, for the tavern was so low. "Now, Good Father, to business," Brother George said. "Have you brought the documents I require?"

"I have, but one thing is missing. I do not have the names of the parties involved. Will you add them? Or shall I? I have brought my quill and inkpot."

"Spread your parchments out, and I will tell you the names. You may write them into the document so there is no confusion in the matter," Brother George said. He watched as Father Walter unrolled the parchments. The work was flawless, and there at the bottom of the bill of divorcement was the seal of the archbishop of York. "Your work is excellent," he complimented. "No one will ever know it is a fraud."

"The archbishop's seal makes it quite official even if the old man hasn't authorized such a divorce. The names now?" He set his inkpot on the table and drew out his quill.

"My master's name is Sir Richard Dunn," Brother George said, watching as the priest carefully wrote the name he had been given. "His wife is Mary Anne."

Father Walter added the second name.

"Do you do all of this yourself?" Brother George answered. "The work is so fine."

"I do," Father Walter said. "I should not like to have to share my gains with anyone else. And, too, I should not like a dissatisfied client returning because the fraud was discovered. Your master should not be pleased when he remarries and gets an heir on his new wife to learn the child is a bastard. No! No! I do all my own work."

"And the archbishop's seal? Is it real?"

"His Grace has several seals. I took one once, and no one has been the wiser. No secretariat of a great man is so free from disorganization that everything can be accounted for, which allows for the more enterprising among us," Father Walter admitted. "Now, if you are satisfied, I should like payment for my work. Four gold pieces I believe we agreed upon, and you have given me one as a down payment."

Brother George drew a small pouch from his robes, and as he did Father Walter said, "You said you had also heard of my skills from another. Can you tell me who?"

"A priest named Father Peter, whose master, the lord of Wulfborn Hall, needed a dispensation to wed his son's widow," Brother George said, cupping the pouch in his hand but not yet releasing it to the dishonest priest.

"Aye! I remember him. I was able to extract three payments from his master, for the old fool lusted after his widowed daughter-in-law. It is not often I find someone as gullible as that lordling. If I had only been dealing with him I might have gotten more, but his priest began to get suspicious of the delay, so I turned over the dispensation I had written up for him to Father Peter so he might wed the woman." He laughed. Then held out his hand again. "My gold," Father Walter said.

"I think not," Brother George replied. He turned to the shadows and said, "Have you heard enough, Your Grace?"

The archbishop of York stepped from the dim recess where he had been listening to everything that was said. His two men-at-arms were by his side. "Arrest him!" the archbishop said in a cold voice, "and take him to the cathedral dungeons."

"What is this?" Father Walter cried, jumping back. "You have tricked me! And you have cheated me! A pox on you for it!"

Brother George stepped forward, and reaching out, he grasped the priest by the neckline of his robe. "Where is the gold coin I gave you the other day? You'll have it on you, I know, for you would not hide it for fear it would be stolen. Where is it?" He began to rummage in the pockets of the robe, and then he smiled. "Here it is!" Taking the coin, he stepped back, releasing Father Walter. "I promised Sister Mary Agnes to donate this coin to her convent," he told the archbishop, "and so I shall."

"Before you leave York we must have your testimony, Brother George," the archbishop said to him. "I know time is of the essence to you and so tomorrow you shall be examined by a panel of priests. And you as well, Father Henry." He turned to Father Walter. "You will be defrocked, and then you will be executed as a warning to others who consider dishonesty," he told Father Walter. "Take him away!"

"Help! Help!" the dishonest priest cried, drawing the attention of others in the tavern as he was dragged forward.

The archbishop followed, saying in a loud voice, "This is church business, my children. This unworthy priest has stolen and lied."

"Make way for His Grace, the archbishop!" Brother George said as he stepped before York's prelate. Father Henry brought up the rear. The inhabitants of the tavern looked the other way, and went back to the business of drinking and wenching. Those who knew Father Walter didn't particularly like him and saw no reason to go to his defense. His pleas for aid were in vain. The archbishop's men dragged him off down the street in the direction of the cathedral.

"An unpleasant business," the archbishop said.

"I apologize, Your Grace, if I have embarrassed you in any way by bringing this matter to your attention," Brother George said.

"None of it shall be made public," the archbishop responded. "Whatever he has done shall remain done. We cannot know how many people this affects."

"But I would beg Your Grace to settle the matter of Sir Udolf Watteson, the Laird of Dunglais, and his wife, the lady Alix," Brother George reminded the prelate. "That is why I came to York in the first place."

"Come to the cathedral in the morning to see me," the archbishop said. "You have rid me of a bad priest. In this case I will correct the fraud, for you have told me of it." Then, as they had finally reached the cathedral, he bid Brother George and Father Henry a good evening. The two cousins returned to St. Cuthbert's.

When the morning came Father Henry and Brother George said the Mass for the parishioners of St. Cuthbert's, broke their fast, and then walked to the archbishop's house on the cathedral grounds. They were admitted by Sister Mary Agnes, who whispered to them as she escorted them into her master's privy chamber, "See me before you leave."

The archbishop greeted the two priests, holding out an elegant hand so they might kiss his ring of office. Then he invited them to sit opposite him on the two chairs that faced the long oak table he used to write. There were two sealed parchments tied with black ribbon upon the table. The two priests waited for the archbishop to speak.

"Late last night," he began, "I had two of the most trusted members of my secretariat draw up these papers. They are identical. They nullify any dispensation received earlier from this bishopric by Sir Udolf Watteson in the matter of Alix Givet. This document explains the clerk writing the parchment was young, inexperienced, and misunderstood the instructions given to him. That he sent the fraudulent dispensation off to Wulfborn Hall without the proper seals. Alix Givet, being as a daughter to Sir Udolf Watteson, would not be allowed to enter into an incestuous union with him. That upon having this matter brought to our attention by the bishop of St. Andrew's we have sought to correct the misunderstanding. Sir Udolf Watteson is advised to seek another wife. He is forbidden by God's law, and the king's law, to take Alix Givet from her lawful husband and attempt to force her into an illegal union. Will this satisfy your master, Brother George?" the archbishop asked.

The Franciscan nodded, and then he said, "Two parchments?"

"Actually three," came the reply, "but the third has already been placed among the official documents. This one is for you. See that it is delivered to the Laird of Dunglais and his wife. Then tell James Kennedy he will owe me a favor eventually for this favor I have done for him." He handed a rolled parchment to Brother George. "And this last one will be delivered by one of my messengers into Sir Udolf Watteson's own hand. It is hoped this will end the matter once and for all."

Brother George arose. "I am most grateful to Your Grace for all he has done," the priest said. "I will leave for Scotland on the morrow." He kissed the hand extended to him once more, and with Father Henry left the archbishop's privy chamber.

Sister Mary Agnes was waiting for them. "You should know Father Walter is dead," she whispered to them. "They tortured him to gain any information he had, but he was naught but a greedy little man, so they garroted him to put him out of his misery."

"Thank you," Brother George said softly. "God bless you, Sister."

"Go with God, Good Brother," she responded as she ushered them through the front door of the archbishop's dwelling, closing the door firmly behind them.

"Did you notice," Father Henry said, "how neatly he solved the matter without ever accepting blame for it?"

Brother George laughed. "Such is the way of the world, Henry. You are carefully insulated in your little church with its merchants and artisans and goodwives. I live in a world of pride and power, as does your archbishop. I am rarely, if ever, surprised."

The next morning the bishop of St. Andrew's emissary rode out of York heading north to Scotland. And on a separate road the archbishop's messenger directed his horse towards Wulfborn Hall, which he reached several days later. On his master's instructions he sought out Father Peter first.

"My master, the archbishop, asked that you be with me when I deliver this parchment," the messenger said.

Ah, bad news, Father Peter thought to himself. "I will gladly accompany you," he told the messenger, and directed their footsteps to the house and the great hall.

Sir Udolf Watteson lay sprawled in a high-backed chair by the hearth, which burned low. A large goblet hung from his hand. There were no servants in sight, and the hall was rank with the smell of urine and rotting food. He did not move as the priest and the messenger entered the hall, and as they drew nearer they could hear the sound of snoring coming from the chair.

"He has not been well," the priest excused his master.

"Wake him so I may deliver the parchment," the archbishop's messenger said. He had stayed the night before at a nearby monastery and as the sun had not even reached the midheavens yet he intended returning back to York this very day. Looking about the hall, he could tell its hospitality would be scant. He wanted to be on his way as quickly as he could be. He gazed at the sleeping man. It was obvious that he was drunk.

"My lord. My lord!" The priest gently shook Sir Udolf. "Please awaken, I pray you. There is a messenger here for you from York."

Sir Udolf struggled to open his eyes, to gather his thoughts. Only one word had penetrated his foggy brain. York. "Give me some wine," he husked, and the priest hurried to fill the silver goblet that was held out to him. Sir Udolf gulped down half the cup. His eyes began to open. He drank the rest of the liquid and tossed the cup aside. It hit the stone floor with a clatter. Then, rising, he pissed into the hearth, thoroughly extinguishing what little fire was left. Then, turning about, he said to the messenger in a rough voice, "Who are you, and what do you want?"

"Message from His Grace, the archbishop of York," the messenger said, shoving the rolled parchment into Sir Udolf's hand. Then he moved to leave the hall.

"Wait! Are you not to remain to carry back a reply?" Sir Udolf asked.

"I was told there would be no reply, my lord," the messenger said. He could hardly wait to get out of this place.

"Go on! Get out, then!" Sir Udolf said in not particularly hospitable tones. He unrolled the parchment and began to read it. As he read his face began to flush and then grow scarlet with his outrage and his anger. Finally he flung the document towards the dead hearth, shouting, "I will not be cheated! I will not!"

"What is it, my lord?" But Father Peter suspected he already knew.

"Read it yourself!" Sir Udolf said grimly, gesturing toward the fireplace where the crumpled document now lay. "I will not be cheated of what is mine! Does that fool in York think he can cheat me?"

Father Peter picked up the parchment and, smoothing it out, read it. He had been a fool, of course, to allow his master to keep giving that priest in York-what was his name-Walter? Aye! Father Walter, monies. While he had not sensed it immediately, he had sensed later on that the priest was dishonest. And now that he recalled it, there were no seals but one on the alleged dispensation. "You have been the victim of a fraud, my lord," he said quietly to Sir Udolf. "I am sorry, my lord. But now you have been given His Grace's official ruling in the matter and must abide by it."

"I must abide by it? Why must I abide by it?" Sir Udolf demanded. "Alix Givet is mine, and I will have her no matter what this archbishop says!"

"My lord," Father Peter pleaded, "Do not, I beg you, persist in this folly."

"There is but one woman for me, and that is Alix Givet," Sir Udolf declared.

"My lord! The church forbids any union with Alix Givet. They have declared it incestuous! You must understand that. You must! Will you damn your immortal soul to everlasting hellfire, my lord? You cannot have this woman!"

Sir Udolf grabbed Father Peter by the neck of his robe, glaring down into his face. His eyes almost bulged from their sockets. "Cannot? Do you dare to tell me what I can and cannot do, Priest? I will do as I please!" And he flung the frail man from him. As Father Peter fell backwards, his head hit the iron ball of an andiron in the great fireplace. His neck snapped audibly as he crumpled into the now-cold ashes of the hearth, which were quickly stained with the priest's blood. He was quite dead, and Sir Udolf knew it just looking at him. "Old fool!" he muttered. Then, picking up his goblet, he went to the sideboard and refilled it. "I must go to Scotland and fetch Alix," he said aloud. He drank down the contents of the goblet. "Aye, I must go to Scotland today. I will change my garments and then be on my way. My horse!" he shouted. "I want my horse saddled immediately!" Then he hurried upstairs to find fresh clothing. Where were the servants? Lazy good for naughts! Alix would see they behaved when she returned home. She would see they did their duty.

An hour later Sir Udolf Watteson rode forth from Wulfborn Hall and headed north for Scotland. He knew Alix would be at Dunglais. She was a prisoner, of course. Had she been free she would have returned home to him at Wulfborn. He thought of how beautiful she was with her honey-colored curls. He thought how his foolish son had mistreated her. I will not mistreat her, Sir Udolf thought to himself. I will love her, and she will give me another heir. He rode on determinedly.

At Dunglais a different scene had played out. The bishop's Franciscan, Brother George, had come directly from York with the good news he knew the Laird of Dunglais and his wife were waiting for and would welcome. The drawbridge leading into the keep was up as he approached it in late afternoon. "Brother George from the bishop of St. Andrew's with a message for the laird," he called up to the watch. Then he sat upon his horse and waited. After a few minutes the drawbridge was lowered, and the iron portcullis raised up to allow him through. He heard both means of entry being replaced as he rode into the courtyard. A boy hurried to take his horse away, and a man was suddenly at his side, bowing respectfully.

"I am Iver, the laird's steward," the man said. "If you will come with me, Brother George, I'll bring you to the great hall. The laird has been anxiously awaiting your arrival for some weeks now." As Iver spoke, he hurried along into the house, leading Brother George into the hall.

The scene that greeted the priest brought back memories of his own childhood. The hall was not large, but it had two fireplaces now burning. Four arched windows were set high in the stone walls. The furniture was well polished. The stone floors clean. On a cushioned settle by one of the fireplaces sat a young woman who he saw was with child. She was sewing. On the floor at her feet sat two children. A lovely little girl with long dark hair and a little dark-haired boy who looked perhaps two. They were playing with a puppy. The man who had been seated next to the woman now rose and came forward, his hand outstretched.

"I am Malcolm Scott, the Laird of Dunglais," he said.

"Brother George of the bishop of St. Andrew's secretariat," the cleric replied.

"Welcome to Dunglais," the laird said.

"I have just come from York, and I believe I bring good news, my lord," Brother George said with a smile.

The laird brought him to the hearth where his family sat, introducing him to Alix and the children. He offered him a comfortable high-backed chair in which to sit. "First some wine," he said, as a servant stepped forward to offer Brother George a goblet. "Hospitality should not be neglected even when the news is of great importance."

The Franciscan took the goblet, swallowed down some wine, and then set the goblet down upon the floor next to his chair. Reaching into his robes, he withdrew the rolled parchment with it red wax seal and black ribbon binding. "With the compliments of His Grace, the archbishop of York, my lord. And the compliments of my lord, His Grace the bishop of St. Andrew's," he said, handing the document to the laird. "If you cannot read I will read it for you," Brother George offered.

"I can read, and so can my wife and daughter," the laird replied, "but I thank you." He slowly unrolled the parchment, and his eyes began to scan the words written thereon. When he had finished he handed it to Alix. There were tears in his eyes.

She took the document from him and read it. Then she began to weep.

"Mam!" The little girl sprang up from the floor and put her arms around Alix.

"It's all right, Fiona," Alix said. "Sometimes grown-ups cry when they are happy. And I am very happy by the news Brother George has brought us. Remember the wicked man who had me taken away and whose men frightened you so?"

Fiona, her blue eyes wide, nodded. "Aye, I remember."

"Well, he can no longer harm us. God has forbidden him from it, my daughter. We are now safe and may ride out again once I have birthed this new bairn who currently resides in my belly," Alix told Fiona. "We must thank Brother George for riding all this way to bring us this happy news."

Fiona turned and smiled at the priest. "Thank you," she said.

"You are most welcome, young mistress," he told her. They were a beautiful family, he thought. And he was glad for his part in lifting this burden from them.

"You will remain the night," the laird said. "I've some fine venison, and rather good whiskey we make here. You've ridden a long ways, and have more miles ahead of you, I know. When you reach St. Andrew's, tell James Kennedy I am in his debt, even though he already knows it. Ahh, Father Donald. Here is Brother George, who has ridden from York with good news. We have been freed of the lord of Wulfborn at last. Father Donald is our priest, Brother George. He once served your bishop."

"Praise God and his Blessed Mother you are now rid of that crazed lord," Father Donald said. "We are free to roam our own hills again in safety."