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that, Galen,” replied Lucian. “I think we can all say that. He seems a mon of many secrets, indeed.”
    “Aye, I ken we all can say that,” interjected Ruarc from the doorway.
    Lucian peered over the table stacked high with manuscripts and scrolls and motioned for Ruarc and Patrick to come inside. Galen tipped his head and scrambled to pull two three-legged stools towards the other side of the work bench for Ruarc and Patrick.
    “Patrick, this is Galen, Father MacArtrey’s cleric. I’m no’ sure if ye two have made each other’s acquaintance yet?” asked Lucian.
    “Aye, I have h-heard of ye, G-Galen,” replied Patrick, moving to grasp forearms with the robed cleric and nodding in respect. “Wh-who is Kurt?” he inquired.
    “Aye,” sighed Galen. “Kurt is Father’s MacArtrey’s given name. Ye may refer to him as Father MacArtrey, Father, priest, or Kurt, he minds none of them,” he chuckled.
    “Me wife, Atilde, calls him ‘that mon’ on most occasions,” interjected Ruarc, with a deep chuckle. “He manages to irritate her to no end. ‘Tis a talent I’m sure,” he nodded. “One he’s honed well.”
    Galen shot back, “And— it takes quite a bit to irritate Atilde, she’s a saint, she is.”
    Lucian passed two mugs of cider towards Ruarc and Patrick and sat down on the bench on his side of the table. “Patrick, are ye eager to discuss the ceremony?” asked Lucian, surprised to see him.
    “Nay, he wishes to discuss the matter of the curse,” Ruarc replied, shooting a concerned glance towards Galen.
    “Now?” asked Lucian, directing his gaze towards Patrick, and waving his arms above the overloaded work table.
    “Aye. I wish to b-be app-apprised of all th-that has b-been hi-hid, of everything that has-hasna b-been dis-disclosed to me. B-before the c-ce-ceromony,” he spat.
    “I can understand that Lucian. Can’t you?” Galen asked the elderly scribe.
    “Of course,” Lucian nodded. “Ruarc, what does he know?”
    “He knows there is a curse on the O’Malley clan that prevents a male heir from being born; and that the curse has evidently extended to all who reside in our territory.”
    Galen stood from the table and paced the chamber nervously, obviously discomfited. He gently rubbed the crucifix which hung about his neck and took a long deep breath before affixing himself at the window overlooking the bay, away from the others.
    “G-Galen, I m-mean no dis-disrespect to ye in di-discussing this m-matter. I hope you b-be-believe me,” said Patrick softening his voice.
    “Galen is familiar with what we discuss, Patrick. I’ve held back no information from him since the moment he arrived”, said Lucian. Galen nodded in the direction of the table and turned back towards the window. “Galen sent to Rome for help with the Burke Witch many years ago.”
    “Much to the ire of Kurt,” added Galen. “He felt it unnecessary and sent a message back telling them not to come.”
    “That’s when I began to suspect something was amiss with the priest,” said Ruarc. “We all did, really.”
    “Patrick,” interrupted Lucian. “What is it ye wish to know?”
    “I w-would l-like to review the c-curse w-with ye. H-how do you kk-en th-there is a curse to be-begin with?”
    “Good question,” piped Ruarc. “I told ye he was a sharp mon, Lucian.”
    Galen strode back towards the table and sat down. “Odetta Burke is no’ secretive regarding her intentions. She said from the verra beginning, since before Dallin O’Malley married Anya O’Connell instead, that she would curse their marriage and the O’Malley name. She made it quite clear both through missives and by word of mouth, that she placed a curse on the clan. Her ailing fathair paid her no mind; her brathair thought her addled and her mathair had long since passed. For a while, her clan simply ignored her. Until….”
    “Until w-what?” asked Patrick.
    Galen continued, “Until she had managed to raise a garrison of fighting