Three streets away, as he rounded a curve, he spied several knights halting travelers and questioning them. With a curse he drew back and then peered around the corner.
One of the men turned.
He flattened himself against the wall. ’Twas the man who’d shot him with the bolt. He glanced down the alley. If he backtracked, ’twould make his journey twice as long. He grimaced. Alesia would worry at his being late, but he dared nae take the street.
Several hours later, the bells announcing the arrival of midday tolled as Colyne reached the Glasgow Cathedral. He grimaced. Alesia would be expecting him. At least she was safe where at the inn. But what if the men had discovered her whereabouts? Nay, he’d hidden their identities well.
He slipped into a side entrance. The scent of frankincense and myrrh hung in the air. Having visited the cathedral many times before, he moved with sure steps through the solemn hallways adorned with intricately woven tapestries.
At the end of the corridor, he gently pushed open a thick oak door. Stained-glass windows encased by sturdy, handcrafted frames arched toward the ceiling, designed with various finely crafted pictures of Jesus, Mary, and several biblical settings. With his every entry into this chamber, the enormous sense of spirituality filled him. ’Twas as if he could feel God’s presence.
The murmurings of a deep voice in Latin had Colyne glancing toward the front of the room.
On his knees, a bishop with his head bowed, adorned in long flowing robes, flanked by two priests, continued with their prayers.
Colyne walked forward, the thick woolen rug muting his steps. Several paces from the altar, he halted.
Melodic chants filled the chamber.
Familiar with the prayer, he silently followed along, saddened by his dual purpose here. He’d come to request aid in ensuring Alesia’s safety and future travel to France. But he also needed to break the news of the loss of their mutual friend, a man who had saved the bishop’s life.
Over the years he’d always anticipated his visits and enjoyed their time together. But he’d never considered that he’d offer Robert Wishart, a man who’d acted as his mentor throughout the years, such heartbreaking news. Though his friend wore the robe of a bishop, it wouldna protect him against the grief of learning about Douglas’s death.
With a heavy heart, Colyne brushed his hand against the placewhere the document lay hidden. Nay, he wouldna fail their friend. The writ would be delivered to King Philip.
The murmurs ended. Whispered strains of the prayer faded.
“Leave us,” Bishop Wishart said to the two members of the clergy without turning.
Colyne smiled at his friend’s ability to sense the presence of others. Another reason he’d chosen Robert to watch over Alesia. His innate sense would add another layer of safety against those who sought her. And though a bishop, with his broad shoulders and sturdy frame, his friend appeared more as if a knight.
Both priests rose. As they noticed Colyne, surprise, then recognition flashed on their faces. They nodded and then walked past. Moments later, the door closed with a soft swish behind them.
Robert made the sign of the cross. He stood and turned, his wizened face wrought with concern. “I am surprised to see you. The last I had heard, you were attending a secret meeting of Parliament in the Highlands.”
“Aye,” Colyne replied, nae shocked his friend would be so well informed. His station provided him with many venues in which to gather news of importance to Scotland’s fight for freedom. “You have heard about the abduction of King Philip’s bastard daughter?”
The bishop gave a solemn nod.
Hope filled Colyne. “Have they found her?”
Thick, shaggy brows dipped in worry. “Nay. Wherever the Duke of Renard has hidden her, ’twas with a crafty hand.”
“I had hoped they would have found her by now.” Colyne paused, hating the sad news he brought.
He frowned. “What is wrong?”
“Douglas is dead.”
The warmth in Robert’s eyes shattered to sorrow. “How?”
“By Robert Bruce, Earl of Carrick, Guardian of the Realm of Scotland’s dictate, Douglas was carrying a writ to King Philip, explaining the English duke’s treachery,” Colyne replied. “En route to the coast to sail to France, Renard’s knights attacked him.”
His friend’s face paled. “God in heaven! Renard has the writ Robert Bruce intended for King Philip?”
With a hard swallow, Colyne touched his cloak. “Nay, I have it. I came upon Douglas wounded and dying. I swore to him that I woulddeliver the writ.” He stepped forward and clasped a firm hand upon the bishop’s shoulder. “I give you my oath that his death will nae be in vain.”
Wishart’s fingers trembled as they touched the cross hanging from his neck. “I thank God you made it here safely.”
