Page 41 of My Highland Bride

“Nay,” I say, “I’ve learned on my own.”

I do look at her then.

“Ale is a special interest of mine.”

She gives me a look as if to say, stop. Which I most certainly will not.

“If brewed correctly, there is no better taste than . . . ale.”

Enjoying jesting with her, I continue until she leaps up and walks away. Without reacting, I turn to Warin as the others continue discussing the merits of good ale.

“Have you discovered anything?”

Warin nods, standing. I follow him away from the fires as Gille walks up behind us.

“My father was in the stands for the saber toss, and he managed to position himself close to Rawlins.”

Gille and I exchange a look.

“Did he say anything of import?”

Warin frowns. “Perhaps. Do you know an Elderman by the name of Father Aiken?”

I think back to the last time the Prima visited Breywood. The church’s leader was accompanied by a contingent of guards.

“Aye,” I say, remembering. “He was with Father Silvester at the queen’s coronation, I believe.”

“He was the one who never spoke,” Gille adds. “Do you remember we discussed the possibility of him being one of Silvester’s Shadow Warriors?”

I can envision him standing at the side of the hall now. Never eating. Never speaking. And though Silvester has never identified his secret army or acknowledged that they in fact exist, all know of them. Throughout the years these highly skilled fighters, who take the same vows as the Eldermen, have made targeted attacks to help advance the Prima’s agenda. Some of the time, they enforce the church’s laws. Once, a minor border lord thought to encroach on land owned by the church, reasoning the only building on it, an old monastery, had not been used in years. But the Shadow Warriors either chased away or killed every man within its boundaries. There are other occasions when their might is used for reasons of political expediency.

“What of this Father Aiken?” I ask. “And what is his connection to Rawlins’s meeting?”

“Maybe none,” Warin admits. “But Rawlins mentioned him by name, which leads me to believe he may be here. Have you seen any of the Prima’s men at this tourney?”

Gille frowns. “The church’s warriors do not participate in tournaments.”

Increasingly, over the years, the church has distanced itself from such things. Father Silvester would preach about “excess” and “immodesty.” And though most on the Isle are believers, with the exception of the Voyagers of Murwood End, even the most loyal among them have begun to question the Prima’s increasingly stringent interpretation of the church’s teachings.

“Precisely,” Warin agrees. “So why is he here, if indeed it is true?”

We fall silent.

Why indeed?

He has not shown himself. Though hundreds attend this event, a hooded man would have been easy to spot, presuming he was not dressed in disguise. And if he had been in attendance, surely others would likely have remarked on it.

“You believe the church is involved in whatever Rawlins has planned?” I ask the obvious question.

“I think it possible,” Warin says.

“We need to be at that meeting,” Gille says.

“What will we do,” Warin asks, “if we discover its whereabouts? Surely we cannot simply stroll in and ask for seats?”

“Surely not,” I agree. “But we’ve limited choices to make unless we at least learn where it is being held.” I clasp Warin’s shoulder. “Gille and I are glad to have an ally in this, at least.”

Warin gives me a look, and though we’ve not discussed Reyne, who asked me not to reveal that I shared the truth with her, something passes between us.