Page 17 of Highland Spy

“She never gave me a chance to say a word.”

“Nay, we canna go there.” Logan shook his head. “Just thinkin’ of all the death and destruction that happened there makes me want to keep on ridin’ and never look back.”

“It’s the only shelter between here and Hermitage Castle and ye ken it as well as I. What’s the matter, Logan? Afraid to stay there?”

“Hah!” he spat. “I’m no’ afraid of anythin’. It’s just that ye ken the stories of the restless souls that are buried outside the ruins.”

“Superstitious then?” he asked. “God’s eyes, ye’re startin’ to sound a lot like Ethan and the way he fears ghosts. It’s just an old place with a lot of dead bodies buried there and that’s all.”

“All right, we’ll stay,” Logan said, not at all sounding like he agreed with the idea. “But I suggest we dinna talk about the stories we’ve heard, because we dinna want to scare the lassies.”

“Logan, Bridget’s faither is a chronicler. I’m sure he kens the stories more than anyone and that means so does Bridget.”

“Did ye tell her the name of the monastery?” asked Logan.

“Nay.”

“So . . . ye’re no’ goin’ to tell her?”

“She wanted shelter and a place to spend the night, and that’s what she’ll get.”

“She’ll have yer head is what she’ll have, once she finds out where the hell we’re spendin’ the night. Caleb, this place attracts bandits and thugs like flies on a steamin’ pile of dung.”

“Then I suggest ye dinna tell her.”

* * *

By the time they approached the ruins of the priory, Bridget was ready to collapse. Traveling at this rate might come naturally for the Highlanders, but she and her father weren’t used to it. Normally, they were sitting in the king’s castle, being waited on hand and foot. Exposing themselves to the harsh elements, and riding atop a horse at breakneck speeds for hours on end was not to her liking at all.

“This is it, up ahead,” Caleb called back to the rest of them. The rain continued to fall. It had become so foggy now that she could no longer see Caleb, and could barely see her father who traveled right next to her.

“It’s the den of the devil,” mumbled her father, raising his head and peering through the fog.

“We’re stayin’ the night at an old priory,” she told her father. “We’ll be out of the rain and next to a warm fire soon.”

“Nay. We canna stay here.” Her father’s eyes opened wide. “It’s cursed, I tell ye. We need to keep ridin’.” He took off at a shot through the fog and Bridget had no choice but to follow, since she didn’t want to lose him.

“Faither, wait!” Thankfully, she was able to catch up to him, and reached over and grabbed the reins of his horse. “We are goin’ to get in out of the rain. Now come.”

He still looked frightened, but didn’t fight her. She managed to make their way back to the rest of their traveling party.

“Bridget, is somethin’ wrong?” asked Caleb.

“Nay. Everythin’ is fine. Where is the shelter?” She peered through the fog, able to see shadows, but not knowing what she was looking at.

“It’s right there,” said Caleb, pointing. The fog parted for a second and Bridget’s mouth dropped open. They were in the middle of a cemetery with tall gravestones all around them. And where Caleb was pointing was a stone enclosure built into the hill, making a small cave-like structure. In front of the entrance was a rusty, broken iron gate.

A chill crept up her spine as Caleb led the group forward.

“This looks like a graveyard,” she said.

“Aye. There was a battle here hundreds of years ago and many died. The priory was ransacked and everythin’ stolen. Then it was burned.”

“What is this place?” she gasped, feeling suddenly hesitant to enter.

He didn’t answer at first, as if he didn’t want her to know. “It doesna matter.”

“Please. I need to ken.”