“And the original twelfth-century portions, which are they?” Rohan asked as the innkeeper opened another door onto a larger bedchamber, the bed at least large enough for Susannah pressed against her husband. There wasn’t enough room for an armoire, so the innkeeper had put a row of pegs on the walls. There was a lovely silk screen in the corner of the room. It was charming, but Susannah didn’t believe she wanted to spend the rest of her life here.
“The nave piers are from the whole way back, for surely they’re older than the graves sunk around the cathedral. Most of the cathedral dates from the fourteenth century. Ye’ll see that the nave and aisles had no roof since the savage Reformation desecration of 1560.”
This was one too many desecrations for Susannah. She walked to the narrow window, pulled back the soft white lacy curtain and stared out onto the beautiful river, surrounded with gardens and so many trees.
Rohan had thought he was tired to his very bones when they had finally arrived in the small town of Dunkeld. But now, looking at that beautiful old cathedral, with piles of rubble lying about, parts of the roof caved in, yet still looking glorious and proud, he wondered what it had looked like before the desecration of 1560—or was it the desecration of 1689?
Phillip was standing in the doorway of their bedchamber, rubbing his hands together, his eyes sparkling. “Anyone ready for a stroll?”
The cathedral rose elegant and ruined from the tree-shaded lawns beside the Tay. The townfolk eyed the two gentlemen and the young lady. There was suspicion on some faces and smiles on others. The town was very small but busy, with drays, one carriage, and at least a dozen horses. Housewives moved through the streets carrying baskets, wearing old-fashioned gowns with shawls that crossed over their bosoms and tied at their waists in the back.
“I hadn’t thought of this,” Rohan said. “We’re drawing attention. Damnation, I don’t see any way around it now. Even if we adopt the local garb, there will still be attention.”
“Then let’s act like newlyweds and visit the cathedral.”
Rohan laughed down at her, took her hand to rest it on his forearm, and the three of them strolled to the cathedral. “You, Phillip, can be her brother.”
They walked through the ruins, ever watchful. “ ‘Beneath the abbot’s resting stone,” ’ Rohan said. “There’s a tomb with the remains of Wolf of Badenoch, whoever that was.”
They walked gingerly through the twelfth-century nave, careful where they stepped because many varieties of birds had made their nests here and the floor stones were splotched white with their droppings.
It was Susannah who saw it, a tomb so flat into the stones that the years had very nearly erased the face of the man buried there and his name.
Rohan went down on his knees, took out his handkerchief and carefully wiped the filth away from the inscription.
“This is the tomb of the abbot of Dunkeld, Crinan by name. He died in 1050, at least seventy-five years before the cathedral was built. So his body was transferred here then, out of respect. One of his followers who shared the secret must have placed the Devil’s Vessel beneath the stone. There must be a passageway or catacombs beneath the tomb.”
“Yes,” Rohan said, “and there must also be some way to get the tomb stone up.”
They were all on their knees feeling carefully along the edges of the tomb. It was Rohan who whistled. “I think I’ve found something.”
“Not yet,” Phillip said, rising quickly. “We have company.”
A group of holiday visitors was coming into the church, a curate leading them. He was telling them the history of the cathedral and about each separate devastation. They could do nothing until the group left, which took another half hour.
Then there were some boys who came in to chase birds.
Finally they were alone again. “Now,” Rohan said, “now.” He was on his knees, feeling again at the particular spot at the upper left-hand corner of the tomb. “It’s a latch of some sort, well hidden, not meant for common use. Do you see anyone else about?”
“Not a soul,” Phillip said, coming down to his haunches beside Rohan. Susannah hovered over him.
He lifted the latch ring. At first nothing happened. He gripped it more firmly and tugged hard. There was a faint groaning sound.
Phillip added his strength, and together the two men pulled straight up on the latch ring. Slowly, the entire stone lifted upward. “Ah,” Susannah said. “The rotted stairs there were in the clue. Would you look at them? Oh dear, we didn’t bring candles and it’s pitch-black down there.”
They rose and dusted off their hands. “It’s better that we come back when it’s dark,” Rohan said. “I don’t want to chance someone walking in on us. Also, we have no idea what awaits us at the bottom of those steps.”
“A wall that screams,” Susannah said and shuddered. “My imagination won’t let go of that one.”
“That’s a mystery that I can’t wait to solve,” Phillip said, rubbing his hands together. They returned to the Jacobite Inn in the third Little House on Cathedral Street. Although their dinner was tasty, none of them was particularly interested in food. Finally it was late enough.
The men dressed in dark clothes. Susannah fidgeted with her gown, a pale silver that seemed to her to be as bright as a beacon. “No, it’s fine,” Rohan told her, pulled her against him, and kissed her mouth. “You are so sweet,” he whispered against her lips. He was pleased to feel the telltale tremor go through her. Phillip just grinned at them.
“You truly shock me. I am an unmarried man. I am all alone in the world, innocent of the ways of married people. This enthusiasm of yours is daunting.” He sighed deeply. “I wonder if I will ever find a lady who will wish to indulge me the way you do Rohan, Susannah.”
“I will speak to her when you find her, Phillip. I will explain things to her. I will tell her how to keep her husband blissfully happy and content.”
“Thank you.” He gave her a flourishing bow. “Now, let’s fetch the ladder from the stables.”