Harcourt rode ahead of Sigimor, out of kicking reach, and said, “They may nay have the red hair, but the relationship is glaringly apparent.”
Gybbon waited with a swiftly dwindling patience as Sigimor studied the place. He was amazed by how calmly Niall and David waited, sitting quietly on their horses as the time slipped by. He suspected they had a much deeper faith in Sigimor than he did.
The gates were wide open and he wondered about that. Only two men stood near them watching, and he was certain they could see Sigimor and his small army. He wondered if the men of Wasterburn no longer cared much for the place they protected. Glancing at Harcourt, he could see his brother staring at those open gates nearly as hard as Sigimor was.
Sigimor finally nodded a little, then looked at Harcourt. “Ye and I and Gybbon are going to ride right in. If we are questioned we will say we have heard of what has happened and have come to speak for the accused.”
“And ye think they will just let us in?” asked Gybbon.
“Aye. We are two neighboring lairds and ye are the brother to one of us. Then there are her brothers, whom someone might recognize. I think those men willnae dare to stand firm before us and will let the laird deal with us.”
“What do we do when we get in there?” asked Harcourt.
“Just what I said, and Nanty will slip in to speak to the ones in the bailey that are our kin or simply have no stomach for what is happening. Slowly the rest of the men will slip in, either because none of these fools are watching or because they just let them do so. The rest of the men will follow directions from Nanty.”
“And when we are all within the bailey?” asked Ciaran MacFingal.
“I want that scaffold the old fool ne’er takes down surrounded. Put one of us behind each mon standing nearest to it. I want Camerons standing behind anyone who is our kin just in case a fight breaks out. I want someone up behind the men at the top so nary a one of them can act as they believe the laird wants before they can be stopped. I want as little blood spilled in this as possible.”
“Why so careful?” asked Gybbon.
“I told ye we are very intertwined. That old fool is pushing his people into standing against friend and family just to protect a son who probably should have been strangled at birth. I want those people who are only doing as they swore to—protect their laird—nay harmed by this idiocy. In truth, I only want one in there to be killed. Robert. He is a poison to what had become a very quiet, peaceful area.”
“If it works, it is a verra clever plan,” said Harcourt, then grinned and shook his head when Sigimor just nodded. “I dinnae want to fight these people either. Alliances such as we have here mean more choices for all our people. A wider selection when a mon wants a bride and for when they need work they like.”
“Aye. Customers for the goods one makes and the crops one grows. If we nurture this we may soon reach the time where we dinnae much need the rest of the world to survive verra nicely.”
“Which would suit ye fine,” said Gybbon. “Ye have ne’er had much use for the rest of the world.”
Sigimor shrugged. “It hasnae done much for me and mine. Nanty?” The young man rode up to Sigimor and then the two had an intense but very quiet talk.
Gybbon watched Nanty ride to the gates and then dismount. It looked as if he was having a pleasant conversation with the two men there. Then they shook hands and Nanty slipped inside the gates. Gybbon knew that if he walked into the bailey right now he could search for a very long time and never see the man. It was the younger man’s gift and Sigimor made good use of it.
Sigimor made good use of every connection he had, blood or marriage or even just friendship, because they had fought on the same side at one time. And that, he realized, was Sigimor’s real strength. He never let the connection fade away, kept it strong and friendly. Gybbon was not even certain of how many connections or alliances the man could claim.
He was diverted from his meager attempt to try and figure out the many connections Sigimor had when he saw several of the men dismount and walk to the keep. “What has happened?”
“Naught. We just saw Nanty signal for the men to start going in. My cousins now watch the gates.” Sigimor turned and ordered the two youngest to gather up and watch the horses.
“Are ye certain the others willnae notice them? Make some outcry?”
“Nay, but I do doubt it. Word has spread of a hanging and a lot of folk round here would walk to the keep just to watch. So, seeing a stranger willnae make them panic. They will be expecting some to come in. Ne’er have understood people thinking a hanging is something ye want to watch, but some do. If word got out that it could be a woman being hanged that would bring even more.”
“Sick bastards,” muttered Ciaran, and Gybbon wondered when the boy had ridden up close to him.
“Sad to say there are a lot of them in this world,” Sigimor said, then watched as Ciaran dismounted, sheathed his sword at his back, and donned a long, flowing cloak. “Ye be careful in there. I dinnae want to have to explain why ye are bleeding to your parents.”
“Aye, neither do I,” Ciaran said, and ambled toward the gates.
“Who are his parents?” asked Gybbon.
“Ewan MacFingal and Fiona MacEnroy, who is also affectionately kenned as Fiona of the eleven knives. She is very good with knives.”
“Ah, nay. It would be difficult to explain their son’s wounding to them and still be breathing afterward.”
“Aye, and ye probably wouldnae be able to find your horse to run away.”
Gybbon laughed and returned to watching the men they had brought with them make their way into the keep. Finally, it was time for them to ride up. The others had gotten in so easily he was rather surprised when they were halted.
“I thought ye said they were your cousins,” he muttered to Sigimor.
“They are, but I can see two of the brothers standing back by the door so they have to play the good guards now.” He frowned down at his cousins. “Has it begun?”
“She is just being brought in for judgment, but everyone kens what it will be.”
“All to protect a son who isnae worth the spit in my mouth.”
“Aye, I fear so, though I ken ye have the final part of this nonsense covered.”
“As weel as I can. Ah, the brothers have gone back in.”
“Then go ahead. Just try to nay kill the old fool. We all have the feeling that once that boil named Robert is properly lanced the old mon will go back to what he was. If ye kill the old mon it will just be worse, nay better.”
“Because Robert would be your laird then.”
“Aye, and doesnae that just terrify the whole lot of us. Good luck!”
“Scares me,” murmured Harcourt as they rode through the gates. “Be the end of our peaceful time.”
“Doubt the last shovel of dirt will be put in the old mon’s grave before Robert stirs up at least one of the clans round here. He has been trying for a while already by stealing things.”
Two young men came to take their horses, and Sigimor, Mora’s brothers, Gybbon, then Harcourt dismounted. Another man opened the doors for them and they walked in. Gybbon started to the door to the great hall. Then he glanced down the hall and stopped, Sigimor walking into the back of him.
“Mora?” He started to step forward, headed toward Mora, when Sigimor grabbed him by the arm and held him still.
There was a tall, stern man in the door to the great hall. He nodded at Sigimor and then looked at Gybbon and Harcourt. Gybbon thought he looked like a stiff-necked elder fellow but just smiled as Sigimor introduced him and Harcourt.
“The prisoner will be brought in in a moment if ye will come and take a seat.” The man spoke very politely and waved them inside. “The boy said ye came to speak for the accused?”
“Aye,” replied Sigimor. “Is there a special space for such ones to sit?”
“Nay, for none were expected. Simply find some place to sit. This shouldnae take much of your
time.” He walked toward the table at the far end of the hall and faced the door.
“Weel, that tells us the verdict is all planned nay matter what anyone says,” said Sigimor, and he walked forward to an empty bench.
“Then how can they call this a judgment? They are not making one; they have one. She is being brought in just to hear their opinion.”
“Aye, doesnae mean we cannae argue it.”
“I am nay sure anything would help her.”
“Nay, but that is why we are here, isnae it.”
Gybbon sat down next to Harcourt, who was staring at Robert. He looked at the brothers and sighed. Robert looked smug and satisfied and the other three looked miserable, especially Murdoch. He glanced at Mora’s brothers and saw that their hands were clenched tight into fists, revealing they were not as calm as they wanted people to believe. He heard the doors to the great hall open and looked back.
Mora was brought in by a man and a woman. Her hair was piled up on her head and he wondered why someone had bothered with that. He felt a little sick when he thought of one reason it might have been forced into that style, and it had to do with the placement of the noose. The gown she wore was stained but clean. He saw no bruises or cuts. She did look tired and sad. She was marched down to stand in front of the table where the laird sat.
Chapter Eighteen
Mora looked to the table at the back of the hall. Her uncle looked much better than he had when she had last seen him, but he looked angry. That did not bode well for her.
Then she glanced toward her cousins. Robert was sneering in that way he seemed to favor, and the other three brothers looked miserable, especially Murdoch. Since her uncle was busy fumbling with a bunch of papers, she decided to have a look at the surprisingly large crowd that had come to see this.
She did not realize a hanging was such a crowd pleaser, she thought angrily. Then she tried to push the anger away, except it would not leave. This was so unfair and her uncle knew it.
Suddenly Robert tensed and looked behind them. It was enough to have his brothers looking, too, and there were almost smiles on their faces. Robert looked as if he wished he could take up his sword and go after whatever, or whomever, he saw.
Curious as to what they were all looking at, she looked over her shoulder. A faint smile curved her lips when she saw Gybbon, Sigimor, and Harcourt all sitting there with their arms crossed. The looks they were sending her uncle and his sons would certainly make her rethink whatever she was about to do. Unfortunately, all they could do was glare, as they would have been disarmed before entering the hall.
Then she noticed two men at Harcourt’s side in the same pose. It took her a moment to recognize them as, in the nearly three years they had been gone, there had been changes. She took a step toward them and Manus again tightened his grip.
“My brothers,” she whispered, and Hilda was suddenly at her side.
“Lass, ye have to face the laird.”
Then her brothers looked at her and smiled. It was not a dream. Somehow her brothers had arrived home, safe, just when she needed them. The roaring in her ears grew loud and, with a soft sigh, she gave in to the blackness sweeping over her mind.
Gybbon and Mora’s two brothers leapt to their feet, but they had to wrestle with a few of Ogilvy’s guards to get out of their seats. Gybbon was surprised when every one of the brothers save Robert also stood up, but it was Murdoch who acted. He moved fast, sliding on his knees over the floor until he could catch Mora. Sigimor moved the guards blocking them out of the way simply by picking up one and tossing him into the others.
By the time they reached Mora’s side, Murdoch had roused her and she stared wide-eyed at her brothers. “Ye have come home.”
“Aye, Mora. Ye have gotten yourself in a tangle, havenae ye?” said Niall as he chaffed her hand between his.
“Oh, aye, I have indeed. But I did get some friends that may help,” she said as he helped her sit up.
“We have met. Perhaps later we can have a chat about who that fellow Gybbon is.” He nodded when she blushed.
Mora suddenly had to get away from Niall as she was in no state to be answering any questions about Gybbon. That was a conversation she needed to have with all her wits clear and working at their sharpest. Finally getting on her feet, she hugged David as best as she could with her wrists tied together.
“Has Andrew seen ye?” she asked David.
“Aye, Harcourt brought him to Sigimor’s manor. We have been rather busy trying to get ye free of this trap. We ken he is protected and that is enough for now.”
“Is your little family moment done now?” Robert drawled. “Can we get back to the judgment?”
Mora gripped Niall’s arm when she felt his body tense and looked at Robert. “Aye. Let us get to this.” She went back to standing in front of the table where the laird sat. “M’laird.”
“Ye are here to answer for charges of murder and theft,” he said.
“I see. And who brought such charges against me?”
“Robert Ogilvy.”
“Of course, and ye believe him to be an honest source?”
He glared at her. “He is my son.”
“Aye, and I am but your niece.”
She just stood as he went through all the things Robert was trying to blame on her. Her brothers protested and several times Gybbon pointed out she could not have done that because she was with him or at Sigimor’s, but it still left enough to hang her with. Mora felt her heart sink as her uncle declared her guilty and read her punishment out. Even when one knew they were innocent, she discovered it was hard to be charged, convicted, and even sentenced to hang.
As Jonathan and her uncle stepped out from behind the table and proceeded to walk her outside, Mora noticed that her brothers, Sigimor, Gybbon, and Harcourt were gone. That five such sizeable men had slipped out so silently surprised her. She hoped they were not planning something too dangerous to free her. She did not want to be the reason that the tight circle of alliances that made the area so peaceful had been destroyed.
Once outside, she blinked at the sunlight. She had not realized how she had missed it, but was annoyed that she had been in the dark long enough to react badly to its return. She looked at the scaffold and resisted the strong urge to fight the hold the two men had on her arms.
Then she noticed all the men circling the scaffold and wondered why they were two deep. She was no threat. One of the men standing behind a man leaned around the man and winked at her quickly before ducking back behind the man. The man he was behind was shaking in a way that told her he was badly smothering a laugh. Mora was sure that had been one of the MacFingals that hung around Sigimor. Looking around at each of the ones with a man behind them, she realized that a lot of them had red hair, and from what she saw, a lot of them were actually having a pleasant conversation with their guard.
Her uncle tugged her up the steps and Robert skipped by them, nearly nudging them off the steps. Robert went and stood by the hangman, who looked extremely displeased with his presence. The moment she was placed by the noose, and the hangman began to slip it on, her uncle let her go and faced the crowd to repeat her sentence and what she was being punished for. While her uncle’s back was turned, the men on the platform disappeared rather abruptly and were replaced with others. Even the hangman, she realized, when the strong smell of leeks had disappeared to be replaced by a scent she knew all too well.
Then her uncle turned to tell the hangman to do it, and she saw in his eyes such sorrow she actually felt bad for him. Glancing at Robert, she saw only glee, but right behind him stood Harcourt, sword in hand. She tensed, but instead of the noose being tightened it was taken off her neck and put around Robert’s, who stood there openmouthed with shock but unable to move because he had a sword at his back.
“What is happening!” demanded her uncle.
“We are about to hang the guilty man,” said Sigimor as he got up on the platform with the others. “Is that nay why we are here?
”
“But, we had her . . .”
“Nay, ye didnae, and ye ken it. This lass has ne’er killed anyone and ne’er stolen a thing. So, what are ye doing here? Protecting Robert yet again? Do ye really believe he is worth an innocent lassie’s life, the lives of your own brother and his wife, the life of your nephews for he tried to end them too and made certain their family could not get in touch with them? Or your own life? This lass didnae poison ye. She wasnae around here often enough to do so, and ye ken it weel.”
Mora saw the tears fill her uncle’s eyes and moved to try and comfort him, but Gybbon tightened his hold on her, preventing her. “Uncle, I ne’er did these things.”
“I ken it,” he whispered in a broken voice, “but he is my son. Was my son. I am so sorry, lass.”
Robert tried to scream that he was innocent, but Harcourt clapped his hand over his mouth. Then Duncan stepped forward to tell of the murder of Rona and David. A woman from the kitchens talked of how often Robert was in the kitchens while the laird was ill and always insisted upon seeing his meals. Sigimor told of the burning of Maggie’s home while Andrew was there. Her brothers told of Robert’s attempts to have them killed in France and his effort to make certain they could neither get nor send any news to their family. It was as if everyone had suddenly been freed of the bonds that had held them silent. Then Gybbon told the man to think of all the other things that had happened and revealed he had had a good talk with many of the people at Wasterburn.
By the time they were done, the bailey was silent except for her uncle’s weeping. He mumbled something to Jonathan and then staggered back down the steps. Mora noticed it was Manus who moved to help the man continue on until he disappeared into the keep.
Gybbon pulled a badly trembling Mora away from the gibbet and untied her hands, handing the rope to Harcourt, who had Sigimor tie Robert’s hands. When Harcourt removed his hand from Robert’s mouth the man called out to his brothers, who, almost as one, turned their backs on him and walked away. Mora pressed her face into Gybbon’s chest and refused to watch Robert die, despite how his wrongs had harmed her family, and the fact that he had tried to get her to suffer the same fate by taking the blame for all he had done.
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