“Ye fathered Lady Robena’s bairn?” Blair asked.
“Aye. That auld sod hasnae raised his rod in at least a score. Shriveled up like a pea. He kenned all along that someone else was fucking his wife. He thought to pass the bastard off as his own. Prayed she carried a lad. Stupid bitch didna do either of us any good.”
“Why?” Hardi snapped.
Osgar turned his head with deliberate slowness, his eyes raking over Hardi before he grinned. Everyone waited on tenterhooks, but Osgar did nothing but sneer. Blair shifted, and Osgar followed her. His expression morphed into a leer as he ogled her. He grabbed his crotch, squeezing and shaking his cock and bollocks. He stroked his hand over his wool covered cock. “And I’d planned to fuck ye once I killed yer husband. I bet I can make ye scream louder than he can. Ever taken it in the arse, princess?”
Hardi lunged toward Osgar, but Blair was faster. She still held both of her dirks and sent one sailing. It embedded in the wood between Osgar’s spread legs. She stepped forward with more menace than any man in the chamber had witnessed.
“I didna miss. It’s yer one warning before,” she said as she raised her other dirk. “I cut off yer meat and potatoes and serve them as yer supper. Do ye ken what I will do after that? Since ye reminded me how expensive parchment is, I shall do ma drawing on yer chest. A pretty picture of a dead man with his head severed, his entrails hanging across his ribs, and his cock sticking out of his mouth. Threaten ma husband and ma people again, and I will make sure ye are awake for every bluidy minute that I torture ye.”
Blair didn’t take her eyes off Osgar as her hand whipped forward and yanked her blade free. She stabbed it through the cloth beside where Osgar’s hand now protected, rather than fondled, his man parts. Blair leaned all the way forward and whispered. “The only fucking ye’ll do is with ma blade up yer arse.”
Blair stepped back to where she’d stood near a wall. The men didn’t know where to look. They shifted their gazes between Osgar and Blair, shocked that the usually genteel lady spewed such vulgar venom. She didn’t flinch or shrink under their scrutiny.
“She’s the Earl of Sutherland’s daughter. I dinna ken why ye keep assuming she’s a mouse,” Hardi chortled, but there was no mirth in its sound. He grabbed a fistful of Osgar’s hair and jerked his head back as he drove his fist into Osgar’s left eye. “Why?”
Osgar remained silent, refusing to speak. Hardi shifted to keep Paul in the corner of his eye while his focus was on Osgar. Another punch did nothing to loosen Osgar’s tongue. Seeing the futility of repeatedly hitting the man, Hardi ordered a man to bring a set of blacksmith’s tongs and hammer. When the tools arrived, Hardi looked at Paul. There was a resolve in Hardi’s eyes that made everyone but Blair want to take a step back. Hardwin Cameron, the battle-hewn warrior who survived what no one else had, stood before them. The drive to remain alive that made him merciless on the battlefield was on display. Every person in the chamber knew Osgar was not long for this world.
Fifty
“Take his boots off,” Hardi instructed Paul. “Stockings too.”
Hardi watched Paul from his peripheral vision, making it appear as if he looked at Blair. He could tell that she was doing the same thing. They watched to see if he moved unnaturally slowly or quickly. They watched for any hesitation or eagerness. Neither witnessed anything to hint that the plan involved Paul. Hardi released Osgar’s hair and went to stand by the man’s feet.
“Hold his ankles,” Hardi told Paul. Then he looked at Osgar. “I will break yer foot if ye dinna speak. If that isnae enough, I will cut off each toe until there are none left, or ye speak. Yer choice.” Hardi turned his head toward Osgar’s feet, raising the hammer. “And if none of that works, I’ll give ye to ma wife.”
Hardi brought the hammer down on the top of Osgar’s right foot. The sound of Osgar’s scream and the shattering of bones filled the solar as the men watched in horror. Some were aghast that Osgar hadn’t confessed, and others were stunned at Blair and Hardi’s ruthlessness. Sweat broke out across Osgar’s forehead, and his eyes watered, but he said nothing. Hardi waited, giving him a chance to catch his breath and let his mind work through the pain. When nothing was forthcoming, he slammed the hammer into Osgar’s right foot again, breaking more bones.
“Ye will never walk again at this rate,” Hardi warned. “A warrior who canna walk is naught.”
Osgar glared at Hardi as his body trembled and sweat dripped from his face. He continued his silence. Hardi inhaled deeply and sighed. He picked up the tongs, opening and closing them several times. He clamped the edge of the table and squeezed as hard as he could. The sound of splintering wood and Osgar’s heavy breathing filled the room. When Hardi removed the tongs, a deep impression was etched in the wood. He held up the tongs as if to evaluate them before nodding as if he agreed with their strength. He fit the tongs around Osgar’s smallest toe and eased into adding pressure. Osgar’s knees jerked, but Paul held his ankles like a vice.
“Is there anyone who kens the plot?” Hardi asked Osgar. “It could save ye yer toes.”
Osgar looked directly ahead of him, his eyes blank but resting on Paul. Hardi picked up the hammer once more and hovered it over where Paul’s hands manacled Osgar’s ankles. Paul flinched as he looked up at Hardi.
“Ye were to be his second, werenae ye?” Hardi guessed. Paul released Osgar’s ankles and glared at Hardi, but he denied nothing. “A pity, because I intended to name ye as ma second. Now all I will name ye is dead.” Hardi drew his dirk and thrust it into Paul’s side before pressing downward, slicing him from the inside. He hadn’t aimed for any major organs, so there was a chance Paul could heal if the wound was attended. If he didn’t confess, Paul’s death would be slow as he bled out. “Ye ken ye can survive this, so what say ye?”
“What is there to say?” Paul hissed as he pressed his hands against his words. “Ye’ll kill me nay matter what, so why should I speak?”
Hardi’s mouth turned down with a brief twitch before he explained, “Ye can tell me the truth, and face a merciful death with some honor as a warrior brother I’ve fought many battles alongside. Or I will let Blair decide. Ye’ve seen her hand down her sentences before. She is just in her decisions. But ye have also seen her mercy has limits.” Hardi grinned. “If I were ye, I’d stake ma fate with me rather than her. I’m gentler.”
Paul turned to look at Blair. Whatever he found in her visage made him nod. “I was to be Osgar’s second. Ye figured that out. But nay one has ever figured out Drostan had a son. A legitimate son. Drostan handfasted with Faolán’s wife before their fathers forced her to marry Faolán. She bore Drostan a son after she married Faolán, and they threatened to kill her and the bairn if she didna say the bairn was stillborn. It was the same day as ma aunt’s two-day-old son died. They passed Osgar off to ma aunt and uncle with a promise that Drostan would provide for Osgar if they gave him a home.”
Paul looked at Osgar as the man seethed. Pure hatred radiated from Osgar as he glared at the man everyone had believed was his cousin. Paul returned Osgar’s stare, but it was pity that came from Paul’s expression.
“Once Osgar was old enough to understand Drostan was his actual father, and they didn’t fear him sharing the secret, Drostan visited their croft nightly. He taught Osgar to read and write. We were best friends growing up, even though I’m older by a few years. Drostan saw the benefit of having two men who could read and write eventually join the clan council alongside him. Faolán refused to consider educating his sons.” Paul grimaced. “He shared the laird’s father’s view on it.”
“Fucking bastard. Ye’ll die regardless of whether the pretender does it or our friends,” Osgar hissed before spitting at Paul. The wad of saliva fell far short and landed on Osgar’s plaid. Paul shook his head and continued.
“Osgar met Lady Robena when he accompanied Laird Farlane to Inverlochy nae long after Lady Robena arrived as Artair’s bride. They werenae in love with each other. They were in love wi
th coupling with each other. The bairn she just delivered wasna the first one Osgar got her with, but it was the first one who would be born at what seemed like the perfect time.”
Paul swept his gaze around the room as he paused to let people absorb the implication of his words. As stunned expressions morphed into disgust and anger, Paul turned his attention to Osgar.
“When Angus died, Osgar saw an opportunity, so he didna insist that Lady Robena rid herself of her pregnancy as he had in the past.” Paul continued. “The idea that he could make his way to the lairdship took root. Nay one could have imagined David, Peter, and Seamus would fall in the same battle, but Osgar swore it was a sign that his plan was to work. He shared his idea with Drostan, and they agreed Osgar would go forward. At the same time Faolán wanted to sabotage Hardwin, aiming to become laird. Drostan and Faolán were always together except for when they went to their women. Or at least when Faolán went to his women and Drostan went to see Osgar. Drostan kept Osgar a secret until the day he died.”
“That doesnae make any sense,” one of the guards who dragged Osgar into the solar muttered.
“But it does,” Paul corrected. “Faolán never acknowledged his illegitimate children, and everyone kenned that they are bastards. Nay one kenned that Osgar was Drostan’s son, but auld Father Graham recorded his birth in the church records that name Drostan and Anne as his parents. The priest recorded their handfast the year prior, and the dates prove Osgar’s legitimacy. Six sennights after Drostan’s birth, there is an entry for his baptism with his full name, but they list ma aunt and uncle as his parents. With proof of his legitimacy, there was only one person standing in his way to inherit. Ye, Laird Cameron.”
“He would kill Laird Cameron,” Blair stepped forward, not taking her eyes off Osgar. “Then he would wait out Faolán and Drostan’s lives—or mayhap kill Faolán and only wait for Drostan to pass away—then he would be laird. With none of Faolán’s children able to claim the lairdship, it would be his. Faolán and Drostan didna conceive the plan, but they benefited from it, so they went along with Osgar. Same reason Paul did. Position and power.”
Blair turned her head to Paul as she thought for a moment. She glanced down to where her knife still pinned Osgar’s plaid to the table. She nodded as she figured out the last of the plot.
“Ye wanted Robena to bear ye a son, so yer bloodline would inherit Inverlochy. Ye would have removed the MacDonalds and reclaimed the keep for the Camerons.” Blair stepped closer as she squinted, another idea coming to her. “Why did ye ally with the Mackintoshes if ye want the lairdship and all the land for yerself? The Mackintoshes were the original owners of this territory. It wasna that far back that the Camerons claimed it for themselves, arguing the Mackintoshes abandoned it. That’s what yer feud is aboot. What did ye promise them in return for their aid without seizing the land?”
“Who do ye think supposedly stole the whisky and grain?” Osgar finally spoke. “Robena and I have been paying the Mackintoshes off for months with goods stolen from Tor and Inverlochy. As Lady Blair so brilliantly pointed out, there isnae enough coin left. If I stole that, ye would have realized ma plot too soon.”
“Whisky, grain, and arrows? That’s enough to satisfy the Mackintoshes? Ye’ve been played for a fool,” Hardi stated.
“How do ye ken aboot the arrows?” Osgar demanded.
“Ye arenae the only one who can intercept missives. We just dinna kill the messenger. Did ye kill Bran?”
“Nay,” Osgar shook his head. “That was Robena’s responsibility.”
“Is Robena bedding the Mackintosh laird too? Short of giving her to him, there is naught in yer arrangement that will appease him for long,” Hardi said. “He would have overrun ye within the year, and ye would have let him through the gate.”
“She was supposed to bear me a son. She failed. I dinna care who beds her now. Useless sow.”
“Ye’re a bampot if ye think anyone but God decides whether a bairn will be a lad or a lass,” Blair snapped. “Nay woman controls that. Mayhap it’s yer seed that failed. Mayhap ye didna give her strong enough seed to make a son.”
“Bitch,” Osgar hissed, then screamed as Hardi landed the hammer’s head on the top of Osgar’s left foot.
“I’m fed up of hearing the way ye speak aboot ma wife. I’ll leave yer death up to her, but I’ll make ye suffer in the meantime,” Hardi snarled. He looked around at the guards in the chamber. There were only the four who dragged Osgar into his solar. It wasn’t enough if Paul tried to rebel. He went to the door and bellowed for more men. He heard booted feet racing toward him. When six more men squeezed into the solar, Hardi ordered Osgar and Paul to be locked in the dungeon, their cells on opposite ends, and their mouths gagged. He wouldn’t risk them conspiring anymore.
Fifty-One
Blair wiped sweat from her forehead as she watched the last of the villagers who lived away from Tor leave the keep. The past two days had been exhausting as she and the clan worked to restore normalcy to their homes. She wasn’t sure how she felt about the events that left everyone in shock.
It stunned the clan to learn about Osgar, Paul, Faolán, and Drostan’s betrayal. None had imagined such corruption within the clan. Hardi and Blair met with Niall, Mungan, and Malcolm several times. Word had spread of Blair’s threats to Osgar, and after witnessing her resolve to protect the clan, no one underestimated Blair’s willingness to punish those who threatened her people and her husband. The council agreed unanimously that no cluster of familial relationships were allowed on the council. Blair and Hardi agreed to exempt the three men from the recent rule, but going forth, the selection of members would change. All the Camerons were related through shared ancestry, but they selected only men who shared relations two or more generations back.
Blair decided arguing for women to join the council was ill timed. She would fight that battle another day. Hardi supported her suggestion when they discussed it in private, and she knew he would agree when she eventually presented the idea to the council. Until then, she continued to share equal responsibility and authority with Hardi. That shared position meant that Blair weighed in on the punishments for Osgar and Paul. It was Blair who recommended that Paul and Dunn both spend the rest of their days in the dungeon, and she put forth the idea that Osgar receive a more merciful death than her initial suggestion. Hardi decided that Osgar would be hanged before the clan, both so they could see justice done and to serve as a reminder that he and Blair would tolerate no disloyalty.
Hardi wrapped his arm around Blair’s shoulder as they turned toward the keep. They hadn’t reached the steps before a call came from the battlements. “Sutherlands approach!”
Blair hoisted her skirts to nearly her knees as she darted toward the gate. Hardi ran at her side. She passed through the gate as she recognized her father, mother, brother, and sister with her husband, ride at the front of what appeared to be an endless line of warriors. Blair wondered if her father ordered every man in their clan to muster and follow him. Her mother, Lady Amelia Sutherland, Countess of Sutherland, dismounted from her still-moving horse and swept her daughter into an embrace, the force of which would have knocked them over had Hardi not caught them. In a breath, Hamish engulfed the women in a hug that would have suffocated weaker women. Maude and Lachlan forced their way into the family cluster while Hardi and Kieran stood back and watched. Neither Hamish nor Lachlan appeared embarrassed by the unabashed tears that streamed down their faces.
When the five Sutherlands broke apart, Hamish set his sights on Hardi. Blair hung from her father’s arm as she tried to keep Hamish from plowing his fist into Hardi’s face. “He didna steal me, Da! He did naught wrong! Da!”
Hamish looked at the woman whose feet were off the ground, and he recalled how she and Maude used to hang from him the same way as he marched around pretending to be a giant stealing the princesses. He pulled Blair back against him as he continued to glare at Hardi. When Blair couldn’t breathe, she pushed back against her
father’s broad chest.
“Everyone to our solar. Now,” Blair ordered.
“Still just as bossy,” Lachlan muttered. Blair waited for Lachlan to walk even with her before she pinched him on the back of his arm.
“I am.” Blair followed Hardi and her parents into the solar she shared with Hardi. Servants had scrubbed away the blood on the floor, and there was no evidence left of Osgar’s torture. While her family settled into chairs around the table, they watched as Hardi pulled back Blair’s chair behind their desk and took the one next to her. “Maude, what are ye doing here?”
“It’s always nice to see ye too, sister,” Maude grinned. “The weans are with a maid right now. Mama was nearly strangling ye, so ye didna see me hand the bairn to Kieran.” Her enormous mountain of a husband turned in his chair to show a sleeping baby in a sling across his back.
“There isnae any way Maude would leave without the weans, and she would have murdered me if I didna bring her with yer family,” Kieran explained. Blair walked around the desk to peer at her youngest niece. The baby blew bubbles in her sleep, and Blair’s heart melted. She brushed her finger along the baby’s fingers until they opened and grasped hers. She cooed at the infant before returning to her seat.
“Och, it figures. Ye get soft and gooey around the bairn, but ye abuse me,” Lachlan bemoaned with a grin. Blair held up her thumb and forefinger to make a pinching motion toward her brother. She looked at her parents and noticed they both seemed to have aged. She realized that Maude’s injuries a few years earlier, and then her disappearance, had taken a toll on the Sutherlands.
“It’s a lengthy story, and we can give ye more details with time,” Blair began. “Lachlan kens we found Hardi just as he arrived at court. Ye also ken he didna benefit from the schooling we did. While I was teaching Hardi to read and do sums, we discovered his clan sent him with far too little to pay the taxes. We met with the king more than once, and we sent ye missives to keep ye abreast of the situation, but only a few days ago we learned only one of ma missives made it to ye.”
A Saint at the Highland Court: A Friends to Lovers Highlander Romance (The Highland Ladies Book 6) Page 32