A feeble light spilled ahead of them, weaving into the dismal shadows that engulfed the streets. Each darkened passageway held the promise of danger.
Or possible death.
A shiver rippled through her. She couldn’t allow anyone to recognize her; neither could she risk slipping away from Colyne and traveling through this dangerous part of the city alone. Until she met whoever he led her to, neither would she know whether her identity had been compromised. Fighting for calm, Marie glanced at Colyne. He reminded her of her father, of his love for an unpopular cause, and then of his proving how an unthinkable goal could be achieved. In his offering support to the Scots, her father dared to confront King Edward, aware his actions could incite war. Like Colyne, he valued freedom.
Surely her father would find favor in this courageous Scot. She exhaled a rough sigh. Unless he learned she had given Colyne her innocence.
And what of her betrothed? She’d convinced herself that Gaston de Croix wouldn’t care if she came to him unchaste. But what if she’d erred? What if, furious at her unfaithfulness, her betrothed insisted in her incarceration in a nunnery for the rest of her life? Or would he demand Colyne’s death? Icy fear cut through her. No, whatever restitution necessary would be hers alone to bear.
Colyne pulled her deeper into the shadows, and then halted. He gently squeezed her hand. “My regrets for the numerous alleys wehave traveled, but I believe this is the safest route.” With a gentle caress, he brushed his mouth against hers, then broke the kiss. “You are trembling.”
“I am tired.” Not a lie, but far from the truth.
With a sigh, he brushed back a lock of her hair and tucked it behind her ear. “We must continue.”
He led her through the alley, but the aged walls blurred through her tears. Worse, because she’d withheld her identity, Colyne hadn’t a clue as to the perilous boundaries he had crossed.
As they stole past a corner illuminated by an oil lamp, Colyne caught a glimpse of Alesia’s face. Her pallor worried him. If the bishop’s report hadna indicated the strong presence of the English duke’s knights within Glasgow, he would have accepted Robert’s offer to use his coach.
But he’d nae risk a connection between him and the bishop. Such a link would end his ability to transmit vital communications for the rebel cause. That didna ease his guilt at how his ties kept him from giving Alesia respite from her exhaustion.
The echo of bells tolled nearby.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Look ahead.”
In the decaying light, an enormous structure rose from the earth. With hard angles of stone that arched to frame windows of elaborate design, the architecture appeared as if crafted for royalty.
“Glasgow Cathedral,” she breathed. “That is our destination?”
“Aye.” The relief in her expression eased his misgivings of her having lied about being a missionary. A muscle worked in his jaw as Colyne scanned the streets. He hated his doubts. Why couldna he erase his suspicions?
Confident nay one was watching them, he guided her toward the rear of the church. Clusters of vines thick with leaves shielded them as they hurried down a path of stone steps embraced by moss that curved to a thick oak door.
He rapped twice on the solid wood. Paused. Then knocked again three times in rapid succession.
Soundlessly, the door swung open. Robert’s shadowed form filled the somber light. He gestured them inside. “Hurry.”
After Alesia entered, Colyne followed and secured the door. Thecoolness of the earth below was a sharp contrast to the warmth outside. Robert gave her hooded form a cursory glance before meeting Colyne’s gaze. “You were gone overly long. I grew worried.”
Colyne shoved back his hood. “It was necessary to evade the knights searching for us.”
The bishop gave an understanding nod. “I suspected as much. Though I doubt anyone will visit the cathedral’s cellars at this late hour, we must nae tarry. Follow me.” He lifted a taper, turned, and started down a narrow hall.
The scent of age, oak, and myrrh surrounded them as they moved deeper inside. Wine casks stacked on either side boasted of the cathedral’s wealth. Ahead, the hallway curved and then opened to a set of sturdy steps that led to the chamber Colyne had visited hours before.
Instead of starting up, the bishop moved behind the stairs to a hidden door. He motioned them inside.
Colyne noted Alesia’s surprise as she entered the concealed chamber. Several candles on a small table illuminated the room, its musty scent confirmation of its infrequent use. The dirt floor lay bare, the walls were unadorned, and a large cloth covered an indiscernible heap in the corner. The room also contained a bed and food stores.
He remembered the first time Robert had brought him here. Carried him, he corrected. He’d had the misfortune of running across drunken English troops. Under their interpretation of King Edward’s orders to quell any Scot they met into submission, he’d almost died. Safe from prying eyes, he’d recuperated in this room.
Alesia pushed back her hood as she turned to Colyne, her gaze apprehensive.
He took her hand. “My Lord Bishop, may I present to you Lady Alesia, the noblewoman I spoke of earlier.”
Robert gave her a courtly bow. “My lady.”
