To The Rescue

“Yeah,” he said gruffly. She wondered if he had any idea at all who was speaking to him.

The next few minutes were difficult ones. Not only as solid as stone, he was tall, easily six feet or more in height. Supporting that weight, with her arm flung around his waist and his own arm draped over her shoulder, was a challenge she undertook but never wanted to repeat. Somehow, stumbling and staggering, they fought their way out of the ditch with the snow driving into their faces at a furious pace.

Jennifer was winded by the time they reached the Ford. She was able to deposit him in the passenger seat where he immediately collapsed, lapsing back into unconsciousness.

Although she wanted nothing more than to get them away from this place as quickly as possible, she spared another moment to trudge back to the SUV. The engine must have stalled when he smashed into the boulder, but the key was still turned on in the ignition and the headlights burning. She switched off the lights, pocketed the key, then trained her flashlight into the back. There was a suitcase on the seat.

Taking the piece of luggage with her, she went back to the road where she shoved it into the trunk of her car next to her own suitcase. Once behind the wheel of the Ford again, she leaned over him to fasten his seat belt in place. He might be in no state to care, but she did.

“No more risks,” she informed him.

She got no response.

THE SNOW AND THE WIND had been bad enough down in the glen. But once they were out on the high moors again, the conditions were fierce. The howling gale alone made the car, which trembled under its force, difficult to handle. The snow made it all the worse.

There were moments when Jennifer could barely see the road. And when she could see it, she was alarmed by the drifts that were building along the shoulders, spreading ridges onto the pavement itself.

She didn’t dare let herself imagine what would happen if the road became impassable before she reached her objective, if the car was no longer able to plow through those growing white swells. All she could trust herself to do was to stubbornly pursue the route, even though it carried her straight into the teeth of the raging storm.

From time to time, Jennifer glanced at her silent passenger sprawled in the seat beside her. He hadn’t stirred since they’d left the scene of the accident. His eyes remained closed, his body inert.

How bad was he? she wondered. And what good did it do to worry about him when she had done all she could by rescuing him from the crippled SUV? At least he was out of the cold now.

Since they were still wearing their coats, both of them were snug with the heater humming away, releasing a blessed warmth. But if they should become trapped out here, run out of gas and the heater quit on them—

What are you doing? Stop thinking about that. Just drive.

There was no other choice. But as the ribbon of road endlessly dipped and turned and rose again, Jennifer wondered if she had misjudged the distance. Or was it the blizzard that seemed to lengthen the miles?

They were in the very heart of the moors now, in its most isolated depths. It would be easy to miss the turning to Warley Castle now that it was dark and snowing so hard. She might already have passed it.

And then suddenly, unexpectedly, as she rounded a bend on the brow of a hill, the castle was there in front of her.

As if by a deliberate magic, the wind dropped at the same time the shroud of snow momentarily lifted. The clouds overhead briefly parted. Halting the car, Jennifer found herself looking across a valley at a steep-sided, craggy peak. The last faint light of day streamed down on the summit where, looking as though it had been carved out of the rock itself, the castle perched, like a great sailing ship in a turbulent sea.

No introduction to that medieval pile could have been more dramatic.

Sitting there, gazing at the structure, it seemed inconceivable to Jennifer that such a formidable fortress could contain anything so benevolent as a monastery. But that’s exactly what the castle housed, and had for centuries.

Guy had told her how Warley had come to be occupied by the brothers, but she didn’t want to remember the story now. The very thought of Guy awakened the shock of his death, and with it a rush of fear and anguish.

As though triggered by those dark emotions, the wind rose again while overhead the clouds closed the gap. With the pale light vanished, the castle became a mass of black stone, grim and forbidding.

The curtain of snow also descended again by the time Jennifer reached the turning on the floor of the valley. The little Ford valiantly climbed a twisting lane through banks of snow that threatened to soon block the way. With the engine straining, it seemed to take forever to crawl to the top of the rise where the castle loomed in front of them.

Made it, she thought thankfully as the car finally chugged through the portal of a massive gatehouse that once would have been barred by a lowered portcullis.

Swinging into the bailey, Jennifer brought the car to a stop and got out. The place was dim, with only a single lantern burning on one of the walls. But its light was sufficient enough to guide her to a heavy oak door. There was a chain suspended beside the door. She tugged on it, and from somewhere inside a bell clanged hollowly.

As she waited for a response, she looked over her shoulder where she had left her passenger in the car. There had been neither sound nor movement from him since they had left the glen.

Her mind was on him, wondering if he would recover, when the door scraped open. Head swiveling, she was startled by the sight of a robed figure standing in the shadows of the archway, his face hidden in the depths of a cowl.

An ancient castle, flickering light, a mysterious figure. It was the stuff of Gothic legends. But even before he spoke to her in a gentle voice, Jennifer knew she was being foolishly imaginative. There was nothing diabolical here. And of course he wore a robe with a cowl. This was a monastery, after all.

“What is it?” he inquired kindly. “Have you lost your way in the storm?”

“Please, I need your help. I have an injured man in my car, and I think he may be in a bad way.”

Chapter Two

Heat radiated from the glowing core of the peat fire. Huddled on a stool close to the wide hearth, Jennifer tried to keep warm without scorching herself.

There was apparently no central heating in the castle. Either funds didn’t permit it, or the good brothers were obeying a spartan existence dictated by their order.

The room they had given her was a testament to that. Its thick stone walls were unadorned except for a plain wooden cross. The furnishings were sparse and simple, though the bed looked comfortable enough even in the poor light. There was a single lamp on the bedside table, which made her think that the electricity must be limited to essential uses. But even with the menacing shadows in the corners, Jennifer was glad to be out of the storm, which had worsened since her arrival. She could hear the snow being driven against the window by a raging wind that battered the ancient walls.

Looking up from the fire, she cast a nervous glance in the direction of the closed door that connected her room with the one that adjoined it. Jennifer wondered what was happening behind it.

“We’ll let you know as soon as Brother Timothy has examined him,” she had been assured.

The monks assumed she was concerned about her unconscious passenger who had been installed in that other room. Although it was true that his condition mattered to her, they didn’t know that she was equally worried about his identity.

She had sacrificed an opportunity at the scene of the accident to search him, suppressing her longing to know who he was. Since he could be in a critical state, it had been far more important to get help for him without wasting a moment of time.

Jennifer regretted that lost opportunity now because she still knew nothing. She was certain of only one thing, that the man she had rescued was no one she had ever met before.

But whoever was with him now might be learning not just his identity but why he’d been pursuing her. And if he was carrying anything on him that implicated her in Guy’s murder, then—

Jennifer started at the sound of a knock on the hall door. Leaving the stool, she crossed the room to answer it. When she opened the door, a tall, almost gaunt figure stood there in the dimness of the passage. The habit he wore of coarse, undyed sheep’s wool identified him as one of the brothers. He bore a tray with covered dishes on it.

“I’ve brought you some supper,” he said. “If I might come in…”

“Please.”

She stood aside in the doorway. He glided on sandaled feet into the room where he paused to look around.

“In front of the hearth, I think. If you’ll just hold the tray for me, I’ll drag the table there into place.”

She took the tray from him, watching him as he drew a small table over to the fireplace. When he’d placed a chair at the side of the table, he recovered the tray from her and carried it to the table. Satisfied with the arrangement, he turned to her.

“I hope you don’t mind eating in your room. We do have a dining parlor for our guests, and tomorrow you’ll be able to have your meals there. But what with the weather and all, we’re in rather a muddle tonight. This seemed to be the most expedient way of seeing to it that you didn’t go hungry.”

“I don’t mind in the least. I’m just grateful to be here at all.”

“Yes, I understand you had rather a bad time of it out on the road. It’s Miss Rowan, isn’t it?”

“That’s right, Jennifer Rowan.”

“I’m Father Stephen, the abbot of Warley Monastery.”

Jennifer was surprised by his identity. She wouldn’t have expected the abbot himself to serve her like this. Nor was there anything about his robe, except perhaps for the heavy cross that dangled from the cord around his waist, to distinguish him from the other monks.

He must have sensed her confusion. “This was an opportunity for me to meet and welcome you to Warley,” he explained. “I’m sorry I was unable to come to you sooner, but there were other matters that needed my attention. Have they made you comfortable?”

“They have,” she assured him, though he needn’t have concerned himself.

The brother who had answered the bell in the courtyard and the monk he’d summoned to help him, had been efficient from the moment of her arrival. Taking charge, they had managed between them to move both her and her unconscious passenger into the area of the castle reserved for guests, delivered their luggage to the connecting rooms and even saw to it afterwards that her car was garaged in one of the old stables.

“In that case I’ll leave you to your supper.”

He started to move toward the hall door, but Jennifer stopped him.

“Father, before you go…”

“You have questions. Yes, that’s understandable.” He hesitated. “We’ll visit then for a few minutes.”

He waited until she was seated at the table before he placed himself on the stool across from her.

“You’d better eat your supper before it gets cold.”

Whatever his garb, she should have known he was a figure of authority. It was evident in his voice and manner. He had that kind of face, too, beneath his tonsure. It was narrow with deep grooves from his hawklike nose to his thin mouth. It would have been austere if it hadn’t been softened by a pair of cheerful blue eyes.

Jennifer uncovered the dishes on the tray, exposing a simple fare of thick vegetable soup, bread, slices of cheese, and a small bowl of stewed apricots. The soup was steaming and smelled delicious. Tasted delicious, too, when she began to spoon it into her mouth.

“Now for those questions,” he said.

She reached for a slice of bread, her gaze slewing in the direction of the connecting door that remained closed. He understood.

“You’re wondering about the condition of our patient.”

“Is he awake, Father?”

The abbot shook his head. “Not yet, no. But I had an encouraging report from Brother Timothy who saw him earlier. Brother Timothy doesn’t think his injuries are serious.”

“And Brother Timothy is…”

“Our healer in charge of both the infirmary and the dispensary. He’s quite knowledgeable.”

“Does that mean he was in medicine before he joined the order?”

Father Stephen chuckled. “Brother Timothy was a prize fighter before he came to us. By his own admission, not a very good one. But he claims that all the punishment he suffered in the ring has turned out to be quite beneficial. There aren’t many injuries he didn’t learn how to treat, the external ones in particular.”

The abbot paused, glancing down at her hand. Only then did Jennifer realize she’d been unconsciously crumbling the bread into bits. It was a result of her tension over the man in the next room. She’d have to be more careful. She didn’t want Father Stephen to suspect that she was worried about more than the health of Brother Timothy’s patient.

She took a fresh slice of bread and went on with her soup.

“Of course,” the abbot continued, “capable though our Brother Timothy is, whenever there is any question about an injury or an illness, we don’t hesitate to consult with a doctor in Heathside. Unfortunately, that won’t be possible in this case.”

“Oh?”

“Both the phone and power lines are down. It happens more often than we’d like with our situation as exposed as it is, which is why we have a generator. It’s enough to operate our water pump, as well as permit us a reduced number of electric lamps.”

That explained the poor lighting in the castle. The generator was obviously unable to provide anything but essential power during any outage.

“Will the lines be restored tomorrow, Father?”

He shook his head. “Doubtful with this storm. By morning the road will be blocked with heavy snow. I’ve seen it happen before. And the forecast promises more of the same for the next few days.”

“So we’re cut off until the weather clears.”

“It’s the price we pay for the seclusion we prize.”

Jennifer knew about that seclusion. She thought again of the story Guy had told her that explained the monastery’s unlikely existence in a castle. How, at the time of the Dissolution in the sixteenth century, the brothers had been driven out of their abbey, their properties stripped from them. Warley’s devout owner had risked his life and his own wealth by offering them the castle, which had been abandoned by his titled family in the previous century for a more convenient location. The order had managed to survive at Warley only because its extreme isolation drew no attention to them.

And now Jennifer was stranded in all this vast solitude. It could work for her, give her the time she needed. Or it could be a disadvantage. She thought of the man lying in the room next door. Everything depended on him.

Wanting to be in no suspicious hurry about what she was so anxious to know, she tried the cheese but found it too strong for her taste. She finished the soup, then framed her question in what she hoped was a casual tone as she laid down her spoon.

“I’ve been wondering, Father, whether anyone managed to find some identification on the patient.”

“Yes, I’d forgotten that I was told you mentioned when you arrived you have no connection with this man. You happened to be passing when you saw his car in the ditch, wasn’t that it? Well, he was fortunate you were on the road and found him.”

Jennifer didn’t correct him, allowing him to believe it was all just by chance.

“Since he owes his life to you, he shouldn’t remain a stranger. Brother Timothy was able to learn his identity from both his driver’s license in his wallet and the passport he carries. His name is Leo McKenzie. An American like you, I believe.”

Leo McKenzie. No, she didn’t recognize the name. It meant nothing to her. “I wonder. Did Brother Timothy happen to find anything else on him?”

She had gone too far in her desire to know whether Leo McKenzie was connected somehow with the London police. Jennifer realized that immediately when Father Stephen gazed at her thoughtfully. Was there a hint of suspicion now in those intelligent blue eyes?

“Did you have something particular in mind?” he asked her slowly.

Hoping to cover her mistake, she turned to the dish of stewed apricots. “Only,” she replied nonchalantly, “that he probably has family or friends somewhere who could be worried about him, and if we knew who they were—”

“They should be contacted. I see what you mean. No, Brother Timothy said nothing about any evidence on him of family or friends. We’ll have to wait until Leo McKenzie is awake to learn that. In any case, nothing can be done in that direction until we can communicate again with the outside world.”

Jennifer began on the apricots. They had a sour flavor, but she didn’t feel she could leave them uneaten, as she had the cheese. It would look as if she didn’t appreciate the meal.

“In the meantime,” the abbot said, getting to his feet, “you and our patient are safe here. I can only give thanks that providence led you out of the storm to our door.”

Jennifer could have left it at that, but she knew that Father Stephen would have to be told at least a part of the truth at some point. It might as well be now.

“I’m afraid it wasn’t anything like that, Father.”

“Then you weren’t lost out on the road when you found us?”

“No. Warley Castle was my destination all along.”

“I see.” Puzzled, the abbot lowered himself again on the stool. “But, of course, I don’t see at all.”

Jennifer tried to explain without telling him what she couldn’t afford to reveal. “I came to see one of the brothers. It’s something that…well, I need his help. I’m not at all certain he can provide it, but I’m hoping he can.”

“One of our order, you say.” He was understandably surprised. “And this would be?”

“Brother Anthony. He is here, isn’t he?”

“He is, yes,” the abbot admitted, sounding suddenly reluctant now. He had to be wondering just why she needed to speak to Brother Anthony. Maybe his position even entitled him to know, but he remained polite. “However, I’m sorry to tell you that you won’t be able to see him.”

“May I ask why, Father?”

“Brother Anthony is cloistered in his cell under a self-imposed vow of silence.”

“I don’t understand.”

The abbot hesitated, looking at her solemnly. Her disappointment must have been all too evident, because in the end he relented.

“I don’t suppose there’s any reason you shouldn’t know. Brother Anthony recently came back from London where he met with an old friend.”

On behalf of the monastery. The abbot probably wouldn’t tell her that, but then he didn’t have to. Jennifer knew all about it.

“This morning,” Father Stephen continued, “Brother Anthony learned of the death of that friend.”

Guy’s murder, Jennifer thought.

“I think you can appreciate just how shocked and upset our Brother Anthony was. His friend was very dear to him.”

“But to restrict himself to his cell…”

“You think it extreme. It isn’t, you know. Not when you understand, as we do, that there are times when one of our order needs absolute solitude for prayer and meditation.”

“I can respect that, Father, but I was just wondering…”

“What?”

“Whether Brother Anthony was troubled even before he heard of his friend’s death.”

Jennifer knew that the monk had, in fact, been worried when he visited Guy in London. Guy had confided as much to her. And this, among other reasons, was what had brought her to Warley Castle. But she couldn’t tell the abbot this without disclosing her connection to Guy. That would be a dangerous admission that could destroy her chance of getting answers.

Or maybe she had already lost her opportunity. She could see by the guarded expression on the abbot’s face that her probing had again been a mistake. He was definitely uncertain about her motives now.

“That isn’t something I can tell you.”

Because he didn’t know, she wondered. Or because he was being protective of Brother Anthony? It was understandable. His role must require him to safeguard all the members of his community.

Jennifer heard the slow tolling of a bell somewhere off in the distance.

“You’ll have to excuse me,” the abbot said, coming to his feet again. “I need to be in the refectory for vespers and our evening meal.”

Jennifer didn’t think it was her imagination that his tone was on the severe side when, crossing the room to the door, he turned to address her again.

“We’ll let you know when Brother Anthony is able to speak to you. I can’t say just when that will be. Until then, you’re welcome to move around the castle. With one exception. I must ask that you not try to visit the wing occupied by the monastery itself.”

A warning because he didn’t trust her not to try to see Brother Anthony in his cell? Or because the brothers’ domain was off limits to any secular outsiders, especially women?

“I’ll remember that.”

“Don’t concern yourself about the tray. It can be collected in the morning. Good night, Miss Rowan.”

He slipped out of the room. She gazed at the door that closed silently behind him. Whatever his wariness with her in the end, she decided that she liked Father Stephen, even though his formal manner and mode of speech struck her as oddly old-fashioned. But then, from the moment of her arrival at Warley, Jennifer had felt as though she’d gone back in time to another age. One in which the innocent battled dark forces. And didn’t always win.

IT HAD BEEN a long and daunting day. Jennifer’s exhaustion should have guaranteed her a solid, uninterrupted sleep when she climbed into bed. It didn’t work that way.

She found herself awake and restless, listening to the mournful wind outside. At some point she heard the soft tolling of the bell again that measured the canonical hours of devotion.

Another hour must have passed before Jennifer realized how cold the room was. The fire had dwindled to smoldering embers. Turning on the bedside lamp, she pushed back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She shivered when she came to her feet. Her robe was draped over the chair. She reached for it, hugging its thick folds around her as she padded on bare feet to the fireplace where she fed the grate with fresh peat chunks from the basket beside the hearth.

Safe, she thought as she crouched there, feeling the heat from the glow that slowly developed. That’s what Father Stephen had told her. That she was safe now in the sanctuary of the monastery.

The abbot had meant she was safe from the harsh weather. He didn’t know she was threatened by something far worse than the elements.

And right now, she thought, gazing at the connecting door, that something was not only in the monastery with her but inside the room behind that door.

Father Stephen had informed her that Leo McKenzie’s identity had been established by his driver’s license and his American passport. Nothing had been said about a discovery of anything that would give her a reason to be alarmed. But what if there was something?

It was no use. Jennifer knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep until she had satisfied herself that Leo McKenzie wasn’t carrying something that incriminated her. If not, she might at least be able to learn how he had traced her to Yorkshire. And why he’d been hunting for her.

She crossed the room and put her ear against the connecting door, listening. Silence. She tried the door. It was unlocked.

Opening the door slowly and carefully, hoping she wouldn’t find him awake, she entered the room.

A single lamp burning on the bedside table revealed that the chamber was similar to her own. What she could see of it, anyway. The light here was also weak, leaving the corners in darkness. But it was sufficient to show her the man on the bed.