A Night of Fire (A Christmas story pt 5)

The story so far! Part one Part two Part three Part four

Cinaed shuffled, hoping he did not look as guilty as he suspected he did.

“We are not up to anything, Uncle,” Graunt said, his tone a touch too virtuous.

“Indeed.” Alpin frowned. “When I was here in the summer, you two barely gave Domnall a passing glance. Now, since I have told you I am looking to see which one of you impresses me, you are suddenly most affectionate. If that is a pretence, I shall not be happy.”

Cinaed almost laughed from his relief. “It is no pretence, Father. Truly I revere Domnall.”

Alpin roared with laughter at that. “Revere him? I love the boy dearly, but I do not revere him.”

“But he is wise,” Graunt exclaimed.

Alpin grinned. “Are you two mocking him?”

Cinaed gave a mischievous smile. “Yes, but truly we like him. We have done for ages before you came back.”

It had not really been ages, but Cinaed was finding it hard to remember a time he had disliked his younger brother and he could tell Graunt felt the same way.

Alpin folded his arms again. “Hmm. I hope so.” His tone turned serious. “The lad looks up to you two. It would be cruel if this was a pretence.”

“It is not, Father. I swear it. He is my brother.”

“Good. The lad is in need of guidance and could learn much from you two.” He turned away, but not so quickly that Cinaed heard him mutter, “And God knows I cannot trust your mother with that.”

Cinaed frowned. It had not escaped his attention that Unuis had been much kinder to Domnall since Alpin’s return. No wonder his father was suspicious of a deception.

As they placed their sticks by the fire to dry, they noticed Alpin sat beside Domnall, telling him an old tale. It was one Cinaed had heard many times, but he was tempted to join them, thinking how fine it would be for them all to sit together. Unuis too was watching, as Alpin put his arm around Domnall, her expression anxious. But Graunt tugged on his sleeve.

“The monks are all at prayer at the moment and Uncle Alpin is distracted with Domnall,” Graunt whispered. “There is no better time.”

…

The sound of chanting drifted from the church as they entered the abbey, but as Graunt had said, no one was to be seen. Near the fire, the monks had laid out the ingredients for their Yuletide feast, including a vast pot of melted animal fat.

“How much do we need?” Graunt asked.

“I don’t know. We’ll take plenty.” He paused. “What are we going to put it in?”

Graunt looked around. There was a large bowl on the table. “We’ll have to borrow this. I’ll sneak it back later.”

Graunt was carefully ladling the fat into the bowl when they heard footsteps approaching the door. They looked at each other in horror.

“How can the prayers be over already?” Graunt whispered.

“I’ll distract them. Just get the fat back to our dwelling.”

To be continued…