by Adams, Alisa
"It must be something dreadful," Cameron said dully.
William said nothing but ate his breakfast then went outside. He stood in the courtyard thinking for a long time, his eyes misting over with grief. Between Hector Laughlin and Craig McCallum, his life had been ruined. Now he had them both in his clutches. He had no proof yet that his father had done anything criminal, but his friend the Baron had, and William was determined to see justice done.
The Baron was drifting off to sleep again but woke up when Graham, Cameron and Gregor came in.
"You will see the ladies soon," Cameron said silkily, "but before that, I need to know something from you. If you tell me, you may stay here tonight. If not, you will lie in a single cell on the cold floor of a dungeon with only your fat to keep you warm."
The Baron sat up as best he could, hindered by his bulk. "You have no right," he said, but his voice was shaking.
"But I have rights," Gregor put in, "this is my father’s castle, and all the men here are under his command. You are at my mercy, Baron, and I assure you that after a few weeks in my dungeon on a diet of porridge and milk, you will not be half the man you are now. A Laird's castle is his kingdom, as you know, so your fate is in my father’s hands, and mine."
There was a long pause, during which they watched the blood drain from Hector Laughlin's face. He looked up at Graham with a terrible fear in his eyes. "What do you want from me?" he asked hoarsely.
"A name," William answered, "the name of the murderer who slipped the poison into Marianne's drink."
"But Marianne's death was an accident!" The Baron's voice almost was almost squeaking in panic. "She fell off her horse! There were wit—"
He was cut off by a great roar from William, who jumped onto the bed and was reaching out to put both of his strong hands around the Baron's throat.
Gregor and Graham both jumped forward to stop him, but it took all their combined strength, and that of the guard by the door, to pull him off the Baron’s huge bulk. William’s face was a mask of anger and hatred as he looked into the Baron's terrified, bulging eyes. He was being held back by Cameron and Gregor, but presently his breathing slowed and he gradually calmed down and shrugged their hands off.
"Enough, William," Gregor said at last. “We will not achieve anything this way.”
Hector drew in a dozen great gulps of air, but his eyes were still round with terror. Graham gave him a glass of water while Cameron talked quietly to William, soothing him as though he were a nervous horse.
"Are you well now, brother?" he asked gently.
William nodded and gave him a brief smile. "I just cannot look at him," he said in disgust. Then he smiled, "brother."
"I thought something like this might happen." Cameron put his arm around William's shoulder. "I knew it would be rough, so I begged Gregor not to let the ladies in. I was half-wishing you would finish the job!"
The two brothers laughed together for a moment, then became serious.
"You know to what we are referring, Baron," Cameron said sternly, "please do not insult our intelligence. It would be better, and save much time if you would cooperate."
The Baron looked at the four faces surrounding him. Each was a big, well-muscled man who could kill him without much effort. "You will not harm me?" They all shook their heads. The Baron gave a giant sigh of relief, then gave up the name.
"I thought so," William growled. His arms were tensed and his hands balled into fists. Cameron held his shoulders in a tight embrace as Gregor said: "thank you, that was all we needed. Not so hard, was it?"
Then abruptly his tone changed. "Guard on duty!" He called. When one of the men-at-arms came in, he ordered: "prisoner to the dungeons! Solitary confinement and no light! You will—"
He was interrupted by Hector Laughlin, "But you said—"
"Shut up!" Gregor barked. He turned to the guard again. "You will need at least three, probably more men, to get him downstairs. If he will not walk, then drag him. Give him two blankets and a slop bucket. Wait a moment." He turned back to the baron. "You were saying?"
"You are not a man of honor, Sir," he protested, "you gave me your word that you would not put me in the dungeon."
"I did, did I not?" Gregor mused, "but you see, Hector - may I call you Hector? I only give my unbreakable word to men of honor. You are not one of those. You traded for your bride as if she was a beast of burden. I know this because she told me so." He pretended to turn away but suddenly swung back again. "Oh, I forgot to mention, I have changed your bride's name to mine. She is now Mistress Iona Carmichael, and in the fullness of time, she will be Lady Carmichael. It is one rank down the ladder of the aristocracy, but she does not mind; in fact, she prefers it. Good day, Baron. We will speak again."
Hector Laughlin let out a whooshing breath then skewered Gregor with a venomous stare. He spat at him once, but Gregor side-stepped neatly. As soon as they were gone William sat down on the bed and broke into a storm of weeping. Cameron put both his arms around him and hugged him tightly, tears stinging his own eyes. It seemed to William that his entire life had been ruined by the one person who should have protected and nurtured him. The name Baron Hector Laughlin had given them was Craig's.
39
William
"I thought you wanted the ladies to hear him," said Cameron, puzzled as he looked at his brother.
"Would you have let them hear what happened in there?" William answered. “I might have killed him if you two had not stopped me. Your wife would hate us all, and so would my sister - God - that sounds so good. My sister." He laughed softly.
Cameron smiled at him. "'Brother' sounds good to me too. I never knew that I had one," he said, "at first, I was furious that Mother had kept you from us, but now I see that in a strange way it was good for all of us. You were spared Father's malice growing up, anyway."
"That creature may have sired me," William said bitterly, "but he is not my father. I have no father."
"But the estate will pass to the eldest son and that is you," Cameron replied.
"You seem very comfortable with the idea," William said, amazed. "You thought you had all this land and property in your possession and now that is all gone. Are you not angry?"
Cameron thought for a moment. "It is a huge responsibility and a great burden to bear. I am not sure that I want it."
"But I know nothing about farming and management other than bending down and planting crops." Williams disfigured face was troubled, then he said: "why do we not share the responsibility? Both of us? I have had a good education - I can do accounts. You can manage the land and work with the tenants. I would like Iona to join us as well, but she will be busy with Gregor and hopefully many babies. What do you think?"
"I think it is a fine idea," Cameron smiled, then frowned. "But are you not a monk? Surely monks cannot be lairds?"
"Did I say I wanted to be a laird?" William asked, avoiding Cameron's eyes, “and have I ever said I was a monk?”
"Why do you always answer a question with another question?" Cameron frowned. "It is really most irritating."
"The Baron will have much time to think tonight," said William, “and we will have many questions to ask him tomorrow. You will get your answer then."
"Do you swear?"
"No, I promise," William replied, and smiled at his brother, “you will have to be content with that.”
Craig, meanwhile, had been moved to a cell of his own in the dungeon, one that was not much better than the Baron's. Granted, it had a little more light, but it was still the size of a large cupboard. He had a mattress, a slop bucket and enough food to eat and water with which to wash, but it was a far cry from his luxurious apartments at his own castle. He had fantasies of strangling his son William to death but knew he would never get the chance, and anyway, those hands of his were strong enough to tear him limb from limb.
William, lying in his bed in his own room, was thinking about something quite different, something more pleasant and yet sadder.
He was thinking about the woman he had loved and lost, the one and only love of his life because there would never be another. If only she were here he might be a husband, even a father now, but he supposed he would have to be content with nieces and nephews. God had marked him out as different, and he had to bear his blemish like the Mark of Cain.
Just then, he heard a soft knocking at the door.
"Come in!" he called.
"It's only me," Donalda replied. She had brought him a glass of warm spiced wine and he took it gratefully, then sipped it and sighed with satisfaction. "You are just the person I wanted to see, and this is just the drink I wanted to drink."
"Why did you want to see me?" she asked, sipping her wine.
He shrugged and smiled. "Just some company and quiet conversation before bedtime," he said comfortably.
"Come here," Donalda sat on the bed and William shifted his position so that he could put his head on her lap.
"How was your day?" he asked.
Donalda sighed happily. "It was wonderful," she replied, smiling. "I have not seen Elisha so happy in years—she seemed twenty years younger. I know she is not going to be with us for too much longer, William, so I want her time on this earth to be as contented as I can make it. Anyway, we sewed, played chess, went out for a ride—it was glorious. And I got to know all the latest gossip!" She laughed. "You would be amazed at how much scandal there is in this little place!"
"Somehow, Mother," he said and laughed. "I doubt it. There is quite a bit at a monastery too."
Donalda looked shocked, then laughed. "I want to make up for the time I was kept from you." She stroked his hair gently. "When he took you away from me I felt as if my heart was being ripped out."
William sighed. "I have carried the weight of this anger around with me for the last three years, Mother. It is past time to be rid of it!"
"But what is causing it, son?" She asked. Her face and voice were troubled as she looked at the child she loved so much but to whom she had been able to give so little.
"I will tell you all tomorrow, Mother," he looked at the roaring wood fire and felt the soft pillow of his mother's lap under his head. "I have dreamed of times like this," he murmured, "all my family around me, no monks. Lovely men, all of them, but I have always missed the society of women, Mother."
"I am so sorry," she whispered. The love she felt was mixed with sadness, guilt and pity. What a useless mother she had been!
"Not your fault." He kissed her, and they sat for a while contentedly looking into the fire. Presently, he fell asleep, and she slid out from under him, gently settled his head on the pillows, and drew the blankets over him. Then, with one last tender look, she blew him a kiss, doused the candles, and tiptoed out.
Auguste and Alexa arrived next morning with three-year-old Shona in battle mode. She rode in on Auguste's horse sporting a new, longer wooden sword 'because she had grown so much.'
Alexa was delighted to see William again and curtsied as gracefully as she could within the limits of her growing bulk. Shona was much more graceful, but she was not yet equipped with the gift of tact.
"What's that purple thing on your face?" She asked William. He squatted down to let him touch it with her finger. Alexa was blushing furiously, but William laughed.
"They are so honest!" He said fondly. "This is my birthmark. I had it when I was born." He explained.
"Have I got one?" She asked.
"No, only some people get them," he replied.
"Why?" Shona persisted.
"I do not know," William shrugged, "it is one of those things that God likes to stay secret."
Shona sighed. "God has a lot of secrets," she sighed, "do you want to see my sword?"
"Indeed, I do!" William smiled broadly and Shona led him away. He looked back at Alexa and winked. "I will bring her back. I hope I am still in one piece!"
"God help him," Alexa said to Auguste, shaking her head, "he is doomed. He'll never get rid of her now."
Auguste laughed. "She is just like her mother," he kissed her hair and hugged her shoulders.
Cameron and Andie looked at the two as they played, and William pretended to fall down dead as Shona pretended to stab him in the stomach.
"That girl should have been a boy," Andie observed dryly. "I am not sure girls should be brought up that way."
"Shona is not our child," Cameron reminded her, then laughed. "Auguste told me that when he met Alexa she was just the same, and the only reason she has calmed down is because she is with child. She can out-shoot, out-ride and out-think any man. Her swordsmanship and ability with a slingshot are excellent too, so I'm told. She was betrothed to Graham, courted by Gregor, then she was visited by a handsome spice merchant called Auguste Chevalier. He was the only man who could tame her. The rest is history."
"Astonishing!" Andie exclaimed. "She must be quite a woman. I am jealous of her achievements."
Cameron took her in his arms. "I don't care if she is a goddess," he said, laughing softly. "You are the only woman I will ever want."
Columba looked at the happy throng in the courtyard, enjoying a warm glow of contentment. He was glad the children were here - they lent an element of fun to the whole gathering, and William, in particular, was enjoying them. He wondered about William. He was such an enigma. Columba had no idea whether he had taken his vows or not, and neither had anyone else. When asked, he would say: 'what do you think?' Or 'I will tell you soon.' He was hiding something, and he had a story to tell, but Columba had no idea what it was.
40
Incrimination
The Baron had slept badly, but that had been intentional on Gregor's part. There was more than one way to gather information. They would never hurt him physically, although Baron's shuddered at the thought of how close William had come to strangling him. But the Baron's cell was dark; he could see chinks of light from under the door, but no more, and he hated the dark. It was cramped, like Craig's, and he struggled to sit up. He had not slept at all with only a blanket between him and the cold granite floor, and his breakfast of porridge and milk barely took the edge off his hunger.
When the summons came for him to attend the meeting he could not stand up without assistance and was hauled to his feet by two burly guards. "This way, Baron," one of them said, his voice thick with malicious relish. "I widnae like tae be in your shoes this mornin'! There's hauf a dozen Lairds oot there an' they're a' bayin' fer yer blood!"
Hector felt miserable, cold, and helpless. Every time he thought that a certain day was the worst in his life the next became even worse than that. He climbed the stairs slowly, trying to stop frequently. The guards hauled him up, however, giving him no chance to rest. When he arrived at the top he was so out of breath he could not take one more step, so the guards waited for a moment before dragging their reluctant charge along to the Great Hall.
The guard had not been jesting when he said: 'hauf a dozen Lairds.' Waiting for him at the top of the long table were the Carmichaels, father and son, the Hamiltons, the McCallums, older and younger brothers, and the Drummonds. Alexa and Auguste Chevalier had joined them, as well as Lorraine, Iona, Andie, Donalda and her old companion Elisha. Columba McCafferty was there too, presumably to start the meeting with a blessing.
Hector's mouth dropped open as he saw the assembly. They had placed a chair for him at the head of the table, a particularly big and stout oak one, although Gregor, whose chair it was, was worried about its ability to cope with the baron's weight.
Lastly, Craig was brought in. He was not shackled or bound in any way, but the two men-at-arms on either side of him looked as though they would not stand for any nonsense. They pushed him down in his chair and he sat there, his eyes blazing, glaring at Columba defiantly as he handed a bible first to the Baron, then to him. He slapped his hand down on it as he swore to tell the truth, then Columba said a blessing. He was going to write down the salient points of the hearing, but in truth, he could have done it without writing. Columba never fo
rgot anything.
"Is this a court?" Craig asked, scowling.
"No, we are just trying to find out the truth," Cameron answered, "but since this mostly concerns William, maybe he should speak to you."
"That creature!" Craig spat, "I will not answer to him. He is no son of mine."
William sighed. "No matter how much you want me to be dead, m'laird, I am still very much alive." He smiled at his father. "On one point we agree. I am not your son, and you are certainly not my father! Shall I show you the true fathers in this room?" He pointed to Auguste, Iain, Neil and Graham. "Those are men who love their children and are proud of them, who would give the clothes off their backs to see them succeed. Does that sound like you, M'laird? I think we can all agree it does not."
There was a murmur of agreement around the table. While it was still going on William said suddenly: "who loosened the horse's shoe?"
Both Craig and Hector looked at him, stunned, for a moment.
"What are you talking about, you idiot?" Craig asked scathingly. William came around the table and caught his father by his hair, then dragged his head back painfully. William looked at the Baron.
"Oh, don't worry, Hector," he sneered, "I am not going to ask you. If you got down to the horse's foot you would never get back up again!"
This time there was a ripple of laughter as the Baron turned almost the same color as William's birthmark.
"So, it must have been you," William addressed Craig again, "since you two were the only two men there that day."
Craig practically preened himself. "It was not, actually," he replied primly. "I do not know who loosened the shoe. What does it matter anyway, if the horse has a competent rider? Milady was drunk! I saw her!"
William's fists were now both clutching his father's hair and Craig was beginning to moan with pain. William would have pulled two handfuls of it out had not Columba come forward and gently loosened them, then took them away. He cupped his hands around William's face and looked into his eyes. "Maybe this is too much for you," he whispered.