Page 24 of Rebellion's Fire

While Findlaech summoned the men back on board, Adam stamped his feet into his boots and grabbed his tunic before leaping into the small boat on the shore side of the galley and beginning to row himself towards the beach.

“Hey!” Findlaech yelled after him. “Where areyougoing?”

“Rosemarkie,” Adam said, loping off along the bank of the river while struggling into his tunic.

*

Perhaps foolishly, Christianhad expected a distinguished town to match the honor of the cathedral. But Rosemarkie was little more than a village. What first caught and held her eye was the church, rising up from the surrounding buildings with pride and elegance. And whatever its size, Rosemarkie was certainly bustling.

The little market was crowded, filling the square outside the cathedral gates. A cross was nailed to one of the wooden buildings next to it, proclaiming this the marketplace, and a balance for weighing stood underneath it for common use. Although small by the standards of Perth or Edinburgh, let alone those of England, the market at Rosemarkie seemed to have everything necessary. As they approached the cathedral gates, Christian glimpsed pots and pans, fresh meat, a few small pigs and sheep, bright-colored silk threads.

“I hadn’t realized this was the king’s burgh,” she said, presuming it had been so since before the current rebellion, for only the royal burghs had the rights to hold markets.

“It isn’t,” Eua said drily. “It’s the earl’s. The lady introduced the market unofficially, giving the merchants much the same rights—and obligations—as in the king’s. It’s good for the local people, farmers, and tradesmen. And we get goods coming in from the north as well as the south, even from the east.”

Christian glanced over her shoulder again. Most of the throng looked like ordinary people, but here and there, a flash of bright-colored cloth proclaimed buyers of higher standing, both men and women. Excitement twinged once more. This would be a good day, an interesting day, a day for meeting people and making things better. Beginning, she told herself firmly, turning back to the church, with the spiritual.

The cathedral gates were not locked. Walking inside the grounds, following the path to the arched entrance, she gazed around in amazement. The gardens were well tended, with spring flowers adding color and beauty. But it was the standing stones that astonished Christian, the kind she associated with the relentlessly pagan.

When she stepped off the path to examine the biggest, she saw that, of course, it was not pagan. Hundreds of years old, perhaps, but bearing the symbols of Christianity. Mostly. Exquisitely carved into the stone were decorated crosses as well as the animal heads, combs, and mirrors common on other stones, including one at Tirebeck. Stones like these surrounded the cathedral, proclaiming what she’d only vaguely understood. There had been churches here long, long before this stone cathedral.

She’d have wandered farther through the grounds except that the sudden soaring of voices from inside the church distracted her attention once more. Raised in song, they were beautifully harmonized and drew her on with a shiver of pleasure.

Henry, ever watchful, opened the door but did not let her pass first. Hand on his sword hilt, he entered, presumably in expectation of the barbarian natives ignoring the sanctity of the place in favor of indiscriminate slaughter. Christian followed him, and, fortunately, he stood aside almost at once before she needed to say the impatient words forming on her tongue.

The cathedral wasn’t magnificent by the standards of others she’d seen, but it was a gracious building with wonderful stone and wood carvings everywhere. A tapestry graced the wall behind the main altar, and several religious paintings hung in fine frames. The smells of stone and incense surrounded her, old and comforting. There was always peace to be found in the house of God. Well, nearly always.

The singing stopped abruptly. A man’s voice murmured something, and one young boy, perhaps ten years old, broke away from the group in the choir who had clearly been responsible for the beautiful singing and bolted across the church. The song master, a young man, smiled and bowed, and spoke words of welcome in Gaelic as he walked toward them. Christian went forward to meet him, but just as they got within speaking distance, a door opened and closed somewhere. At the sound of hurrying footsteps, the master stopped and stood respectfully aside.

A middle-aged man with a beard in shades of gray, wearing plain white robes, strode around the left of the choir and beamed as he approached.

“I’m Symeon, son of Macbethad,” he greeted her. “Welcome to Rosemarkie and the cathedral church. You must be the Lady of Tirebeck.”

Since Symeon was the name of the Bishop of Ross, she could only assume this was the great man himself. She answered him accordingly, with his title, and introduced the women and Henry, who also received the friendly episcopal greeting before the bishop deprived her of breath by introducing the “song master” as his son Gregor.

Behind her, Felicia gasped audibly. Christian hoped she maintained a calm smile, but the bishop’s kind eyes gleamed with amusement. “You are shocked,” he observed. “In many things, our church maintains the old ways, when no one in a distant land told us we couldn’t marry or have children for the glory of God. My father was bishop here before me, and we hope that Gregor will follow.”

Christian regarded him with fascination. “Does His Holiness the Pope know?”

“I have his blessing as Bishop of Ross. I’ve no idea what he knows of my family background. I’ve never hidden it. Come, shall we have refreshment before we begin?”

*

Having retrieved hishorse and more suitable attire from the camp, Adam rode back into the growing town of Rosemarkie, keeping his eyes peeled for the Tirebeck party. As expected, he found them at the church. Or at least, he glimpsed a few Norman soldiers and Eua in the cathedral grounds. Of the lady herself, there was no sign.

Leaving his horse at the gate, Adam strolled up the path. Eua, who must have recognized him from the boat and been keeping watch, saw him at once. A Norman woman kept her distance, which made it easy for Eua to move casually away. The men-at-arms lounging against the building paid her no attention.

She greeted him nervously, adding that the lady was inside with the bishop.

Adam nodded with impatience. That much he’d worked out already. “How are things at the house?” he asked.

“Bearable,” Eua said. “The lady I could grow used to. Her women are foul and so is her husband.”

Adam frowned. He didn’t like to think of her with a foul husband. Although killing him would be that much more pleasant. “Did she say anything about the ship?”

“No, but she saw it. She saw you, too.”

Adam glanced at her. “She recognized me?”

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