Mathe bounced the sword in his palm and frowned at the strange conflict of emotion. It was both the finest gift he’d ever received, and the most terrible thing to ever happen to him. The sword became an extension of his arm and of who he was, part of the legend, and to see it again in the light of day sent a shiver of fear through him.
As he sat in silence, Mathe again asked himself if he was making the right decision. There was nobody he could speak to though, no counsel he could be offered, so all he had was himself and his own thoughts. He wanted what was best for Lilidh and Fynn, and after so many years, they deserved more. And Mathe knew that this was the only way to get them something more. So in a sense, the decision had been made for him. The moment Blaine walked into his room, things were out of his control. He was like water; flowing, reacting, trying to do the right thing but knowing that he really didn’t have a choice at all.
Mathe stood and reached down into the box to pull out his leather kirtle. It was a heavy coat that trailed halfway down his thighs and was also a part of the myth he had built for himself. The sword and the kirtle, his two instruments of fear. He slid one arm in and worked the stiffness out, then pulled it on. It was reinforced with strips of cured leather on the inside, acting as a light armour, and the heavy shoulders returned to him some of the girth of the MacBrennan of old. As a young man he’d been blessed with a physique that was both tall and sturdy, and he recalled how tight the kirtle was around his arms and chest. Now, though, he breathed easily, and felt it slide up and down his arms as he moved.
He pulled the kirtle closed and buckled it, then tightened his belt and thrust his sword into its sheathe. The transformation was complete, and Mathe shivered at the feeling of a cold wind upon his naked face. After he’d shaved and cropped his hair, he’d frowned for a long time at the man who stared back in the mirror. It was a man he never wanted to see again.
Mathe looked down the valley towards Dun Lagaidh and breathed deeply to quench the nervous fear that gripped him. It had been many years since MacBrennan walked the streets of the town. How would it react?
He pulled the sword and kirtle off and dumped them into a heavy burlap bag with a sigh of relief, like a weight had been lifted from him. How could simple possessions conjure up such strong emotion? Mathe craned his neck up to look at the position of the sun. It was still mid-morning. He decided that if he was going to put all his cards down on one hand, he might as well do it right. He’d go back to the stables, change into the old clothes of MacBrennan, and have lunch at the Dog Ear. That would get enough people talking that maybe a decision could be made by the time he returned that night.
At least Lilidh was working today, he thought to himself. There was absolutely no chance she’d see him in those accursed clothes. And once he left the Dog Ear that night, he’d take the kirtle home and burn it.
Mathe squared his shoulders and began the walk down into town, practicing his old gait; head up, barrel chest tight, always looking people in the eye, never blinking or looking away when someone met his gaze. It was all slightly ridiculous. He was no longer the man he was, either in body or in spirit, and he just felt foolish. He tried to roll his shoulders forward to increase his bulk, but it made his arms hang oddly, and he gave up with a snort.
Once inside the town, he let himself into the rear door of the stables. There, alone, he once again donned the instruments of MacBrennan and practiced his walk again. The padded kirtle helped somewhat, but the heavy sword against his thigh kept throwing him off balance. Up and back he walked, over and over, until it felt more natural, and from the depths of his memory something stirred. The last vestige of MacBrennan, rising from the depths of his consciousness, imbuing his walk and his gaze and his cold, cruel smile.
It was almost enough to nod in satisfaction, mastering the persona once more, until Mathe reminded himself what it meant.
But it was just an act, he reminded himself. A game, and nothing more.
And it would be over soon.
20
Lilidh MacBrennan
Lilidh stared up at the castle, torn.
She was already late for work, and should have been up there hours ago, and yet she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. She’d lain awake all night, moving from one decision to another and then back again, unable to make up her mind.
Did she confront Mathe? Did she march to the West Gate and demand to know why he was lying to her?
Or did she go up to the castle and tell Margaret what she’d seen last night? The laird’s words came back to her. Dangerous plots being hatched by dangerous men. Exactly the kind of men that would frequent the Dog Ear, and welcome Mathe MacBrennan back with open arms.
It seemed such a straightforward choice to make, when considering everything that Blaine McCaskill had done for her, and yet she still worried. What if she’d taken last night out of context? What if Mathe had a perfectly reasonable explanation for going there as he did? Of course, that meant he’d need an explanation for the lying and deceit, not to mention the supposed business commission and the man Fynn saw down by the river.
Still torn between her divided loyalties, frozen with indecision, Lilidh did the only thing she could; she forced herself into a walk. She didn’t have a destination in mind, but hoped that if she busied herself with movement, perhaps the right answer would become clearer. Last night things had seemed so simple, as she stumbled home in the rain, but now the water was so muddied she simply couldn’t see the right path forward. No matter which way she chose, Lilidh feared that someone would suffer.
The only thing she knew was that she was determined that it wouldn’t be herself or her son.
Through main streets and alleyways she walked, picking directions at random, finding herself in crowds of people or with no one in sight. Her feet took her through the main town square and into the daily market, where farmers from the outlying areas would bring in their goods and their cattle to sell to the townsfolk and merchants. It took place most mornings and transformed the square into a world of tents and bright colours and sharp voices bartering and negotiating.
Lilidh normally enjoyed the markets and the confluence of sights and smells, and yet today she barely noticed it. She walked through in a state of fugue, almost floating, just a mind without a body, chasing thoughts around and around.
“Ye,” a voice hissed.
Lilidh started and looked over to see a tent with the door open, and an old woman staring at her. She was wizened and wrinkled by time, and her face was coloured blue with woad; intricate patterns that wound under her eyes and on her cheeks. One frail arm lifted, and she pointed straight at Lilidh. The shock was enough to bring her out of her own thoughts, and she stared back at the woman with wide eyes.
“Today is the day,” the woman intoned, then gave a cackle. “Aye, today is the day.”
“For what?” Lilidh asked, the chill of premonition running through her.
“Two coppers and I’ll tell ye,” the woman answered. “Auld Betty sees the past returning to ye, before the day is done.”
Lilidh shook her head, suddenly annoyed at both the woman and her own reaction. She didn’t have two coppers, nor did she have time to waste with this charlatan. She turned and continued walking and heard the woman’s laugh follow her.
“Ye should have listened,” the voice said. “Auld Betty is never wrong. Fear the past, stranger.”
Lilidh stumbled on, putting the old woman’s strange words out of her mind, and left the markets behind her. She let her thoughts flow like water, and in time her vague considerations had crystallised into a decision.
She needed to speak to Margaret.
Whether she had misunderstood what happened last night, or taken it out of context, the fact remained that the chamberlain needed to know about it. Lilidh had made a promise to herself once to put Fynn’s wellbeing at the forefront of her actions, and she had no intention of stopping now. Yes, it could mean the end of her relationship with Mathe, and the thought was hea
rtbreaking. But he’d left her once before, and she’d survived.
Resolved, Lilidh looked around to get her bearings so that she could chart her course up to the castle.
And that’s when she saw Mathe.
He hadn’t noticed her. He was walking from left to right through an intersection ahead, and his head was held high, his gaze unwaveringly forward. Lilidh took everything in at a glance; the kirtle, the sword, the clean-shaven face and short hair. She shouldn’t have even recognised him, not from the distance that she was, and as changed as he suddenly looked.
And yet everything about the man was so familiar that she would have placed him anywhere, and from any distance. The street was busy, and people moved between them, and Lilidh watched as they stood back and out of his way. Whether they recognised him, or simply recognised the intent of such a walk, the result was the same; this was a man to be feared.
Lilidh felt like she’d been physically hit, such was her reaction. Like someone had balled their fist and rammed it into her gut. She couldn’t breathe and felt the world spinning around her. It was the manifestation of all of her fears; the things that kept her awake well into the night, walking past her in the broad light of day. With a sudden heave, she dropped to her knees and retched.
“Are ye alright?” someone asked, placing their hand on her back.
“Fine,” Lilidh gasped, wiping her mouth. “I’m fine.”
By the time she got to her feet, balancing on shaking legs, Mathe was gone. She backed away slowly, feeling the first stirrings of panic, and then turned towards home. She needed to see Margaret, all right, but she would be damned if she was leaving Fynn alone, with MacBrennan walking the streets once more.
She kept to the busy avenues and hurried back in the opposite direction to where Mathe was heading, fighting the rising hysteria she felt. He was back, he was back, he was back. It was everything she feared and worse, and she needed to get up to the castle. She almost ran back towards the western edge of town and didn’t even realise where she was when a man stepped out in front of her.
Lilidh screamed and fell backwards, scrambling along the cobbled street, until she recognised him. It was Rabby. She looked around and saw that she was next to the West Gate, almost home, and he looked down at her with a wooden broom in his hand and a bewildered face.
“Mrs MacBrennan,” he said uncertainly. “Is everything alright?”
“He’s back,” she cried.
The man looked confused. “Who’s back?”
“MacBrennan. He’s back, he’s back.” Lilidh shook her head again, a small part of her realising she must have looked like a crazy woman to the innkeeper, a larger part not caring one whit. MacBrennan was back, and nothing else mattered. She leapt to her feet and broke out into a run, leaving him staring with wide eyes.
“What do ye mean, he’s back?” he called after her, but she didn’t stop. There wasn’t time to talk, but only time for action. She jumped across the wooden planks and burst into the house.
“Mama?” Fynn asked, rising to his feet. “Why are ye home?”
“Quickly, Fynn,” she hissed, picking up a bag and throwing clothes into it. “We need to get up to the castle, right now. Help me gather yer things.”
It was lucky, she supposed, that they had little; in a short amount of time, she had their possessions packed away neatly into three bags; two large ones for her, and a small one for Fynn.
“I dinnae ken,” he said.
“Ye dinnae need to,” Lilidh answered. “I’ll explain to ye on the way, I promise. I just need ye to be brave and carry yer bag.”
“Of course, mama.”
Lilidh nodded. “Good. Now let’s go.”
The road up to the castle had never felt longer.
Lilidh stumbled, weighed down by the bags thrown over each shoulder that contained her clothes and as many possessions as she could squeeze into them. Fynn walked beside her with his own bag of toys and clothes and grumbled as they walked.
“Why are we doing this, mama?” he asked again. “Can ye tell me now?”
Lilidh didn’t even know how to begin to explain to the boy what was happening to them, but knew that he deserved some sort of answer. “We are going to stay at the castle for a few nights,” she explained. “They’ll give us a bed to sleep in.”
“What’s wrong with our bed?”
“It’s no' safe right now,” she explained, pushing away the fear that she felt of getting turned back at the castle gates. What if there wasn’t a bed available, or Blaine refused to take her in? Nay, she told herself grimly. There had to be a bed. After everything that she’d been through, and her decision to confess to Margaret what she’d seen and heard, they had to take her in. Lilidh felt the panic from earlier return and concentrated on her breathing. They would take her in. They would.
By the time they finally reached the top, Lilidh was working herself into a fever pitch. Thoughts hit her from all directions; doubts and fears. What was Mathe going to do tonight, with his sword? Would he kill again and become MacBrennan in truth? Had it all been a lie? She was vaguely aware of Fynn looking over the side of the parapet with interest, but she pulled him along beside her. The guard recognised her but frowned at Fynn and the bags she carried, a question in his eyes.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“I need to speak to Margaret,” Lilidh gasped. “Right away.”
“Is everything alright?”
“Nay, it’s no', and that’s why I need to speak to Margaret.”
He nodded uncertainly, glancing at Fynn again. “Why dinnae ye wait in the kitchens? I’ll have her sent for.”
“Please hurry,” she begged, tears in her eyes, once again feeling the panic of things slipping outside of her control. Her breathing became difficult, and the world swam all around her, but she pushed it away and stumbled into the castle and towards the kitchens. She knew the way by heart and could do it with her eyes closed, which was just as well, as she could barely see through the tears and the black spots that danced before her eyes.
As the corridor opened up into the kitchen, Lilidh stumbled and fell to her knees. The blackness was closing in, and her chest felt tight as she laboured to breathe. It was as if she couldn’t get enough air into her body, and she reached her hands to her neck in desperation. She was vaguely aware of Fynn calling to her, fear in his voice, and the floor tilting to one side.
Someone running towards her with their hands out.
No sound apart from the rush of blood in her ears, loud and hot.
The shape approaching looked vaguely familiar. Was it Torrey? She couldn’t tell, couldn’t seem to focus, couldn’t seem to breathe. The girl leant in front of her and her face came into focus. It was Torrey, and she was shouting, her face desperate, but Lilidh couldn’t hear anything. She tried to speak but had no air, and her vision faded to nothing.
21
Mathe MacBrennan
Mathe hurried back to the West Gate, taking side streets and alleyways where he could.
In hindsight, perhaps walking down to the Dog Ear in his full MacBrennan regalia had been a little brazen. He’d certainly attracted attention, some of it good, but most of it bad, and had to admit he’d underestimated the effect his sword and his kirtle would have. The Dog Ear was largely empty, so he ate a meal of thick barley stew, washed it down with a quick ale, then slipped away. Plenty of people had eyed him off, but nobody approached, which suited Mathe just fine. He wasn’t there to socialise, after all; just to be seen in his old outfit, and to get people’s tongues wagging. He wouldn’t know until that evening if it was worth it or not.
As soon as he’d left, Mathe was overcome with a sudden desire to become anonymous once more. Not MacBrennan, but just Mathe the woodworker. He put his head down and stuffed his hands in his pockets and wound back to the western edge of town as quickly and discretely as possible. The West Gate loomed closer, and he felt a surge of relief.
He had no intention of walking through
the front door dressed as he was, so he slipped into the stables through the alleyway. Inside was dark and cool and he pulled the door closed and breathed deeply, thankful to be hidden once more. Now he just needed to get his outfit off, and he could try to forget what he’d just done.
For a few hours, at least.
Mathe walked to the end stall and picked up the first tool that came to hand; a small iron chisel. It was time to work.
“It’s true, then,” a voice spoke from the darkness.
Mathe’s body reacted faster than his thoughts; one hand dropped the chisel into his pocket and the other wrapped around the hilt of Mèirleach na Beatha. In an instant his sword was out, naked in his hand, before he even remembered unsheathing it. Even in the dim light, it seemed to glow. He spied a movement in the shadows and then a man stepped out, his face appearing from the gloom.
It was Rabby.
Mathe breathed out heavily and thrust his sword back into its scabbard. “What are ye doing, skulking around in the dark?” he asked.
Rabby shrugged. “Wanted to see for myself.”
“See what?”
The innkeeper gestured down at Mathe’s clothing. “This.”
Mathe felt suddenly self-conscious under that gaze. “It’s no' what it looks like,” he muttered.
“Oh? Because it looks to me like ye haven’t been entirely honest with people. I gave ye a chance, Mathe MacBrennan, and I wasnae the only one. Is this how ye’re going to repay us?”
“I told ye it’s no' what it looks like,” Mathe said. “And I’d appreciate if ye kept this to yerself.”
“Then tell me what it is.”
Mathe looked down. He hadn’t intended on telling anybody the truth, but he knew his wife wasn’t a stranger to the West Gate or to Rabby. The thought of Lilidh learning of his deeds filled him with something akin to panic; even as his mind traced the edges of the thought, he felt his chest tighten almost painfully. He decided to be honest with the innkeeper, rather than risk Rabby mentioning what he’d seen to anyone.
A Price to Be Paid: A Scottish Highlander Romance (Legacy of the Laird Book 2) Page 19