“He didnae uncover anything last night, so we met again early this morning,” Fergus continued. “We agreed that tonight would be the last attempt. He told me he needed to force their hand, somehow, but if that didnae work, then it would all become too risky. Mathe was worried that ye'd find out, and making amends with his family was still the most important thing to him.”
Force their hand. Lilidh repeated the words, over and over in her mind. What would force the hand of men like this? Perhaps a sign was needed. Perhaps a symbol of the return of the most loyal subject of the old laird. Not Mathe, the man he became, but MacBrennan; the man they remembered. With his sword and his coat, for everyone to see.
“That’s why he was wearing his auld things,” she said, and even despite the hurt, Lilidh couldn’t ignore the surge of relief she felt as events were made clear. MacBrennan hadn’t returned as she feared. He hadn’t reneged on his promise and returned to his old ways, cruel as they were.
He had only lied to her.
He’d only gone behind her back and abused her trust, purposefully kept her ignorant. Whispering promises into her ear even while he plotted. Did it matter that his plotting was for a greater good, and that he was working with the laird?
“Why wasnae he honest with me?” she asked herself softly. “He could have trusted me with what he was doing.”
Blaine shook his head sadly. “Only Mathe can answer that, but for what it’s worth, I owe ye an apology, Lilidh MacBrennan. I pulled yer husband into this web.”
“Mathe made his own decisions,” Lilidh replied. “There’s nay blame on ye, Laird McCaskill, at least no' from me. He could have chosen differently.”
“Perhaps,” the laird said. “One more night though, and one last attempt, and then it will be over. We’ll see if the return of the phantom MacBrennan is enough to loosen their tongues.”
23
Mathe MacBrennan
Mathe opened one eye, but the darkness remained.
The left side of his face felt swollen and heavy. His tongue explored the holes where his teeth should have been; one gap on the bottom, from Rodric’s fist, and two at the side from the blow that must have knocked him out. He vaguely recalled the baton falling upon him and then nothing more. Or… he frowned. Had he woken? A sudden memory of thrashing around in the darkness, something over his head, constricting his movement. Of screaming the name of Rodric Ross, and then darkness once more.
Mathe tried to open his left eye, but it was sealed shut, and the attempt brought a dull throbbing pain to his head. Instead, he looked around with his good eye.
It was dark all around him, but enough light leaked in from somewhere to see he was in a large room. There were shelves down one side, laden with goods, and barrels stacked in one corner. It appeared to be a storeroom or cellar. He sat in a chair in the centre of the room, and a tentative attempt at movement told him he was securely tied to it, with thick ropes binding him around the arms and legs, fastening him to the chair. Each hand was individually tied to one of the vertical lengths of wood that made up the back of the chair. He tested the strength of his bonds, but they didn’t so much as budge.
Mathe continued to look around, to observe clinically, trying to keep the fear at bay, but it loomed behind him. Mathe MacBrennan was captive once more. And while being lashed to a chair wasn’t as bad as being in an English prison cell, he felt the familiar old panic rising. It took him back to his first few months after being captured, when he was moved from Scotia down to Carlisle, then to York, and finally to the Fleet in London itself. Each time he was thrown back into the darkness, he would feel the same panic and despair. To feel it now, back in his own town, sent a jolt of anger through him that kept the fear at bay.
Using that anger, Mathe strained against his binds once more. He relaxed and then tensed, trying to shock the wood of the chair into splintering, all without making a sound. He could have tilted sideways, he knew, or attempted to bounce, but both things would have made a noise. So far he had heard nothing from around him, and he had no desire to announce that he’d woken. He forced himself to relax and instead looked down. He was still wearing his leather kirtle, but the sword was gone. He remembered throwing it off and watching it slide across the floor, distracted by his own thoughts, as Rodric and his men prepared to kick the door in.
He’d been careless. Somehow, Rodric Ross had discovered that Mathe was playing both sides. He cursed himself, running back through the last few days, looking for clues he may have dropped, but failing to see anything. Perhaps he was seen meeting with Fergus, down by the Dundonnell?
Mathe’s thoughts were interrupted by the creaking of a door as it opened slowly. Heavy footsteps on stone rang through the cellar as someone descended, the glow of torchlight warming the space. Mathe tried to calm his breathing, knowing that reaching a state of panic wouldn’t serve him. Not here. Men like Rodric Ross fed off the fear of others, and acting in such a way would only embolden him. Instead, Mathe knew he had to remain calm. To rile up Ross, not the other way around. To wait for the man to make a mistake and be ready to take advantage of it.
After a moment the flame appeared and Mathe turned his head from its brightness, letting it fall on the eye that wouldn’t open.
“No' so pretty anymore,” Rodric said, and Mathe could hear the sneer in his voice.
“Dinnae think anyone called me pretty before,” Mathe replied. His voice was hoarse and came out as a rasp.
Rodric didn’t answer, but stepped forward and held the torch up. He peered at Mathe, looking this way and that. Mathe met his gaze with his one good eye. The man tested his bonds before giving a satisfied grunt.
“How tall are ye?” Mathe asked the man.
Rodric smiled down at him. “No' as tall as ye, MacBrennan, but I do alright. Why?”
He shrugged. “I’ve been woodworking lately.”
“I know.”
“I want to make sure I get the size right for yer coffin.”
Rodric threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, MacBrennan. Once upon a time, that would have had me pissing in my breeches. Ye know, before ye tried to double-cross me to the laird.”
Mathe let his face fall into a mask of confusion. “Double cross?”
Rodric put his head down, as if in exasperation, then suddenly drove his fist into Mathe’s chest. It was a mighty blow, and Mathe gasped as his body exploded in pain. The momentum sent the chair back onto two legs and he balanced precariously, on the verge of tipping, before falling forward once more.
“Let’s no' play that game, MacBrennan,” Rodric said. “I dinnae have the time or the patience. Why did ye do it?”
“Tell me what I did,” Mathe rasped, “and I’ll tell ye why.”
Rodric’s mouth thinned. “We know, Mathe MacBrennan. We know everything. So why did ye do it?”
Mathe muttered something under his breath, and Rodric spat on the floor in disgust.
“What?” the man asked, cupping his ear, moving his head closer.
Mathe pulled back as if he feared the other man, and when Rodric moved closer again, he suddenly whipped his head forward. His forehead glanced off Rodric’s cheek, and the man cursed and stumbled backward. Mathe hadn’t expected to hurt the man, just to throw him off balance, and it certainly seemed to have worked. Rodric bounded forward and struck Mathe with slow, heavy blows; on the neck, the shoulders, the chest. Mathe closed his eye and weathered the onslaught and prayed that he could remain conscious long enough to leverage any opportunity for escape, if Rodric’s attack presented such a chance.
One particularly violent blow hit Mathe lower, in the kidneys, and he cried out. Rodric’s fist had driven something into his side, and he feared the man had stabbed him. But when he opened his eye, Rodric’s fists were clenched but empty. He stood over Mathe, breathing heavily, and there was murder in his eyes.
The door to the cellar creaked open, and a voice called out. “Ross?”
Rodric looked at Mathe for one last moment,
then spat on the ground again, and turned on his heel. Mathe heard the footsteps recede, and then all was silent once more.
He put his head back and groaned. His entire body felt like it was aflame, at once numb and tingling with pain. He tried to curl as much as his bonds would allow, and once again he felt a strange hardness in his side. Mathe frowned and twisted and felt something move against his body. After a moment he realised it was something in the side pocket of his kirtle.
And not just anything.
It was his iron chisel.
A sudden recollection of the stables; he’d walked in, disgusted with himself, with only one desire; to work the wood and forget what he’d just done. He’d picked up his chisel, and then Rabby had stepped from the shadows. He must have dropped it into his pocket before he drew the sword and then forgotten about it.
The chisel was Mathe’s only chance; with it, he knew he could pry the chair apart and slip his bonds.
Provided he could get it out of his pocket, of course.
24
Lilidh MacBrennan
The four of them sat in silence; Lilidh in the bed, Margaret by her side, and the laird and steward in their seats. She wondered how long Blaine would stay with her, and just at that moment the door to the room crashed open. A soldier appeared.
“Blaine,” he said, before shaking his head. “I mean, Laird McCaskill.”
“What is it, David,” Blaine asked, standing quickly.
The man seemed about to speak, but then he gave Lilidh a look and hesitated.
“Tell me,” the laird ordered. “She knows everything.”
“It’s MacBrennan.”
Lilidh’s heart lurched at the naming of her husband. “What about him?” she asked urgently.
“He’s been taken.”
At the man’s words, Lilidh felt a tremor of fear. “Taken?” she repeated. “What do ye mean, taken?”
“I was watching the house… yer house, I should say. I was watching yer house like I was supposed to, and I saw MacBrennan rush in with the owner of the West Gate.”
“Rabby Gordon,” Blaine said.
“Aye, well, Rabby left no' long after, but Mathe stayed behind. I was just about to come up here and give this morning’s report - which was to tell ye about Mrs MacBrennan here packing her things earlier that morning and leaving in a hurry - when a group of men went into the house.”
Lilidh frowned at David’s words. “Ye were having my house watched?”
Blaine gave her an apologetic nod. “Only watched, naught more. I needed to hedge my bets, in case Mathe couldnae be trusted. I had yer house and the front of the West Gate kept under watch, and only from the outside. Sounds like we should have had the rear stable doors watched, too.” He turned back to his soldier. “What did these men look like?”
“They all wore masks, so I didnae get to see their faces. But they went in, and a few minutes later they all left again, and one of them had a bag over his shoulder that was mighty large. Almost the size of a person, in fact, if they were bound tightly.”
Blaine’s eyes widened. “David, was he alive?”
“Oh, aye. I couldnae tell at first, and I almost had half a mind to let them go, so I could check the house first, but as they left, the bag started to struggle. Maybe MacBrennan woke up or freed himself, but he started to fight back. I heard him shout something that might have been a name, but it was muffled and I couldnae catch it. Then someone hit him with a wooden bat and put him right back to sleep.”
“Nay,” Lilidh whispered. What if the blow had killed him?
“I followed them as far as the entrance to the auld quarter,” David continued, “but they were mighty nervous and I couldnae get any closer. There were a lot of people on the street down there. More than I remember seeing ever before, and they didnae look too pleased to see me. I figured ye needed to hear about this, rather than go in there on my own.”
“Ye did good, David,” Blaine said. “I have a feeling it wouldnae have gone well for ye, if ye went in alone. It seems something is coming to a head, and quickly at that.”
“What does it all mean?” the soldier asked.
“It means ye need to get in there and rescue him!” Lilidh demanded.
Blaine and Fergus exchanged a look. The old man frowned, not looking happy at all. “If we go in there now,” he said, “it’ll kick up a hornet’s nest and push them all back into hiding. We dinnae know where they took him, do we? We dinnae have the manpower to search every house.”
“Ye cannae just leave him,” Lilidh said, almost unable to believe what she was hearing. She turned to Blaine. “Mathe was in this mess to help ye. He wouldnae have been taken at all, if he wasnae putting his nose into affairs that didnae concern him.”
Blaine looked at her in silence. He was torn, she could see. But he was also the laird, and when had a laird of the McCaskills ever done anything other than what he wanted? The old laird had taken her husband and twisted him into the man he became, and she knew he wouldn’t have felt one measure of regret or sympathy. MacBrennan was a tool, nothing more, and it seemed that Blaine would view Mathe the same way.
“Ye're right,” the laird said.
“Blaine,” Fergus started, but the other man lifted his hand.
“Mrs MacBrennan has the truth of it. We approached Mathe, no' the other way around, and gave him incentive to do what he did. We need to accept at least some responsibility, and I’ll be damned if a man who was working on my behalf will be left behind.”
Fergus blew out his breath, “Fine, lad. I know that tone, and I know better than to argue. So what’s the plan?”
“Put the soldiers in plain clothes. Groups of two, always with one group in sight of another. Flood the auld quarter and pray that Mathe can get their attention somehow. Put the whole damn barracks down there if ye have to.”
“But he’s being held prisoner,” Lilidh said. “How will he get anyone’s attention?”
“Lilidh, I’m sorry, but Fergus was right; we just dinnae have the numbers to search every house, and certainly no' without letting everyone know exactly what we’re up to. If we use all of our men, though, we have enough people to cover every street and intersection, and to remain vigilant. This is the best I can do, and I wish it was more.”
Lilidh looked down and frowned. “Ye said he called out something, when he was being taken away?”
“Aye,” David said. “I’m pretty sure it was a name, but that willnae help us now, will it?”
“Unless there was somebody close enough to hear it,” Lilidh said, thinking fast. “The auld man next door sits outside on his porch all day. He never moves, so it’s easy to miss him. He might have heard something.”
David nodded slowly. “I remember seeing him a few days ago, and ye’re right; I started to forget that he was even there.”
“It’s our best lead,” Blaine said. “Fergus, why dinnae ye hurry down there and speak to the neighbour. If he heard anything, learn what it was. David, get back to the barracks and have everyone change into plain clothes with concealed weapons. We can try and narrow down his location from the auld man, but in the meantime let’s get every available body on the ground.”
The soldier nodded and dashed off again, and Blaine and Fergus quickly followed. Lilidh shivered, and Margaret put her arms around her.
“It will be alright,” she said softly.
Lilidh nodded, even though she felt very far from alright. In fact, she felt utterly drained. Her day had been such a wild combination of highs and lows that she felt exhausted down to her very bones. “Can I see my son?” she asked in a small voice.
25
Mathe MacBrennan
In the quiet and the darkness, Mathe strained against his bonds.
He stretched his hand to the side, straining with his pinky, and felt the tip of his finger reach the opening of his kirtle pocket but no further. He twisted as much as he could and felt the ropes burn against his skin. Finally, the pinky slipped inside the po
cket. He curled it around the opening and drew it back, lifting himself from the chair ever so slightly, feeling the jacket twist underneath him, the pocket sliding around his body towards his back.
It was a slow process, made slower by the heavy and stiff leather of the kirtle. Halfway through his labouring, Rodric returned, and Mathe grew still.
“Sorry about that,” the man said. “Now, where was I?” And with that he struck Mathe again and again, raining blows with savage ferocity. Mathe had his pinky firmly in the jacket pocket now, and after each hit, he allowed himself to bounce up in his chair, continuing to slide the kirtle underneath him, moving the pocket opening closer to his bound hand. After what seemed an eternity, his pinky felt the cold steel of the chisel.
“Stop,” Mathe gasped. “Stop. I’ll tell ye.”
Rodric paused. “Maybe I dinnae care to know? Maybe I just want to keep hitting until ye’re naught but a corpse?”
“Dinnae waste yer time,” Mathe said. “My wife hits harder than ye. We’ll be here all night.”
Rodric smiled and shook his head in something approaching admiration. “Still tough, I see,” he said. “Fine. Tell me.”
“The laird threatened to kill me if I didnae help.”
“Mathe, Mathe, Mathe, we both know that’s no' true. Ye walked yerself up to the castle, didnae ye? And nobody held a sword to yer throat when ye met the steward down by the Dundonnell. Ye dinnae look like a threatened man. Ye look like an accomplice.”
Mathe felt himself grow cold. Did they know everything? Did they have a man on the inside, close to the laird? But if so, why all the subterfuge? He suddenly felt powerless, like the man opposite held all the cards, and the fear returned.
“So,” Rodric continued, “tell me why. Why did ye suddenly start coming to the Dog Ear?”
A Price to Be Paid: A Scottish Highlander Romance (Legacy of the Laird Book 2) Page 21