Cross of Vengeance by Cora Harrison Read Free Book Online Page A

was fast and efficient and in no danger so Mara did not interfere.
    Already clouds of smoke were drifting out through the other three windows and the bright flames and sparks had died down. Perhaps the fire had been caused by a stray spark from a bonfire, but there were no bonfires – it was too early in the year for leaf burning.
    ‘Take over,’ said Ardal abruptly to his young steward Danann who accompanied him everywhere. Mara thought for a moment that Ardal was tired – he had not looked well since he came back from the pilgrimage – but when he came straight towards her, she realized from the expression in his eyes that he wanted to speak and moved across the churchyard to a secluded spot where they could talk without being overheard.
    ‘What is it?’ she asked quietly. His lips were compressed and his eyes were full of anger. She began to feel alarmed. ‘There wasn’t anyone in there?’ she queried swiftly, suddenly appalled at the tragedy that might have occurred if the door had been locked accidentally. But who could it have been? The pilgrims would have been the last to leave and Sorley would have waited respectfully in the churchyard until they reappeared, and then would have locked the door before crossing over to the inn to enjoy one of Blad’s sumptuous dinners.
    ‘No, not that.’ But his expression did not lighten. ‘The fire was on the top floor. I couldn’t see much because of all of the smoke, and we daren’t open the door until it is completely out – the draught would start it up again – but I have a terrible fear.’ He stopped and passed his hand over his eyes, stroking down over the thin cheeks.
    ‘What?’ Mara stared at him, appalled. ‘What are you trying to tell me, Ardal?’
    ‘The relic,’ he said dully. ‘The sacred relic of the most holy cross of Jesus. I hardly dare say it, Brehon, but I fear that it may have been injured, probably destroyed.’
    Oh, is that all?
Mara bit the words back from the tip of her tongue. ‘As you say,’ she said evenly, ‘we can’t come to any conclusions before the fire is out.’ She eyed his white face with concern and was about to call one of her boys to get him a drink of water when he left her abruptly and went to talk to Father MacMahon, who had just staggered across, his face red with exertion, anxiety, or perhaps, she thought mischievously, just plain over-eating and over-drinking.
    She did not join them. Her mind was busy. A fire starting on a thatched roof would have been one thing – these did happen from time to time – but this fire had not started on the roof, but in the small chamber that contained the relic of the holy cross. The chances of a spark being blown in through one of those very small openings, no bigger than arrow loops in castle walls, was small – and, in any case, there was no fire nearer than the kitchen fires in the inn.
    So how did a fire start in the round tower? And on the top floor, too, not the bottom. Sorley would have seen that all was well before he admitted the six pilgrims – he would not have taken a chance that anyone could have dropped something that would sully the purity and the spotlessness of the shrine which he had watched over from a boy. All the Burren people would have been suspiciously supervised by him; he even checked that they cleaned their boots before climbing the ladder.
    But what, she thought, if he had not bothered to check after the pilgrims left? He would expect them to treat the shrine with the same reverence that he himself felt for the sacred relic. It was quite possible that he had decided that he would do that after the meal was over and the pilgrims had departed.
    And, of course, one pilgrim had stayed longer than the others. By the time Hans Kaufmann had descended, Sorley’s stomach was probably beginning to rumble.
    And then there was the case of the missing key.
    Mara’s eyes went to the top of the tower. By now only wisps of smoke were appearing from one of the