He wiped his sword clean on Beaton's jupon, idly noting that Beaton's armor was old. Although the man had been accumulating wealth off the backs of his people for years, he had clearly not spent much on weaponry and armor to protect them. Beaton had evidently depended mostly on hiding behind Dubhlinn's high, strong walls. It explained the ease with which the battle was being won once they had gotten within those walls.
"Weel, now ye are the corpse ye have looked like for so long,” he muttered as he stood up and looked around.
The few remaining Beatons who were still fighting had either seen or already heard of their laird's death. A cry had gone up as soon as the man had fallen. Balfour doubted they would continue to fight, at least not for Beaton. Since so many of Dubhlinn's men at arms were hired swords, outlaws, and outcasts, there might be some who feared capture more than death. The battle, however, was as good as finished.
As he strode toward the keep, Balfour paused by one badly wounded Beaton man lying in the mud, bent down, and grabbed him by the front of his tattered jupon, lifting him off the ground slightly. “Where are the prisoners?” he demanded, wanting to make sure that matters had not changed since Douglas had fled Dubhlinn.
"Which ones?” the man asked, his voice weak and hoarse with pain, but still holding a thread of defiance.
"The lass Beaton meant to hang and the boy he tried to claim as the son he couldnae make for himself,” Balfour snapped, gently shaking the man.
"Jesu, cannae ye let a mon die in peace?"
"Nay, and, if ye die before ye tell me what I wish to ken, I will follow ye to the gates of hell to throttle the answer out of ye."
"In the dungeons, curse ye.” The man groaned when Balfour let him go and he fell back down on the ground.
"Who is with them?” Balfour felt a brief touch of guilt over his rough treatment of a wounded man, then looked more closely and decided that, although the man was badly wounded, it was probably not fatal.
"One guard."
Balfour stepped over the man and walked into the keep. He held his sword at the ready, but met no one who challenged him. In fact, he met no one at all, and realized that his surprise attack had been more successful than he had hoped, so complete that no one had had time to set up a defense within the thick, sheltering walls of the keep. Stepping into the great hall, Balfour saw the door Douglas had told him about, and all of his fears for Eric and Maldie rushed up to choke him. Without any thought for his own safety, he ran straight for it, flung it open, and hurled himself down the steep stairs.
As he slumped against the cool wall of the great hall, Balfour wiped the sweat from his face with his sleeve. He had fought his way to the hall and heedlessly rushed down to the dungeons only to find a frantic maid and a groaning guard. They told him that Eric and Maldie had knocked them out, locked them in, and fled. Balfour had left the two there, ignoring their colorful aspersions upon his, Eric's, and Maldie's characters as he raced back up the dark stairs. Once back in the great hall, however, he had come to a halt, unsure of where to go and what to do next. He had been so sure that he would find Eric and Maldie that he felt rooted to the spot with the weight of his disappointment.
He did not know where James was, or Douglas, or Nigel. Once the battle had begun he had paid little heed to anything except getting to the great hall, to the dungeons where everyone had said his brother and Maldie were being held. Cursing softly under his breath, he started out of the room, knowing to his disgust that he could well have passed within feet of them, may have even missed them by minutes. The only comfort he could find was that, if Beaton had planned their murder, they had escaped that. He just did not know when, where to, or if they had been successful. Trying to flee in the midst of a heated battle was not easy.
Suddenly, he saw the dead man sprawled beside the head table, and he tensed. Balfour realized that he had become so consumed with finding Eric and Maldie that he was not keeping a watch on the enemy. This man was dead, but he still should have at least noticed the body, been aware of the implications. For all that it looked deserted, the inside of the keep was obviously not completely safe. Balfour wondered who had killed the man and prayed it was neither his young brother nor Maldie. Neither of them was hardened enough to accept killing a man as necessary, as simply a part of battle and survival. And they should never have had to, he thought with a strong wave of self-disgust, for he should have been there to protect them.
"Balfour,” cried a deep familiar voice from the doorway.
"James, I dinnae think I have e'er been so glad to see you,” Balfour said as James walked up beside him and stared down at the dead man.
"Yours?"
"Nay. I was just hoping that it wasnae Maldie's or Eric's.” He frowned when James grimaced. “Have ye seen them? I went racing down to the dungeons only to discover that they had already let themselves out."
"Aye, they have and aye, this death came at their hands."
"They are unhurt?"
"They are. Calum tried to see that they didnae leave Dubhlinn, alive, but I ended that threat.” James suddenly grinned. “I came upon them by accident. Your wee lass was standing there trying to lift a sword that was bigger than she and keeping herself between Eric and Calum. For a wee lass she has a lot of courage."
"She tried to fight with Calum?"
"She was just trying to get herself and the lad to safety. Have ye seen Beaton or has that slinking coward managed to avoid the judgment he so richly deserves?"
"I just sent Beaton to the devil."
"So that is why the fighting has all but ended."
"Then I need not return to it. Good. Where are Eric and Maldie?"
Balfour was eager to see his brother and Maldie, eager to see with his own eyes that they were unharmed. Until he did, he knew he would not be completely at ease, would not be able to fully believe that he had won. If nothing else, it had all gone too well, been too successful, and he found such ease of victory a little hard to believe in.
"They should not have had to do this,” he muttered, nudging the dead man with his foot. “Maldie should ne'er have been forced to take up a sword."
"Lad, ye cannae be standing guard over everyone all the time,” James said. “Ye would die from lack of sleep."
Balfour smiled briefly. “I am not completely guiltless in all of this but, aye, ye are right. I cannae watch everyone all the time or ken every danger that may lurk about the next corner. Dinnae fret. I am nay donning a hair shirt, just feeling a wee pinch or two of guilt."
"Then let this victory soothe it."
"'Twill be better soothed if I can see my brother and Maldie."
"Follow me, laddie. I set them with the pages and the horses, safe upon the hillside. I put your fool of a brother Nigel there, too."
"He is alright?” Balfour asked as they stepped out into the bailey.
"Aye, just weary. He still doesnae have the strength needed to endure a full battle. Once his men no longer needed his direction, once it was clear that only God could snatch this victory from our hands, I took him out of the fighting."
"I suspect he wasnae too pleased."
James just smiled, and Balfour turned his attention to what was happening in the bailey and beyond. The battle was indeed over. His men were disarming the ones who had surrendered and the women and children were already appearing in the bailey. They meandered amongst the dead and wounded, looking for their men. The sharp sounds of grief were already welling up and Balfour inwardly grimaced. Beaton had left him no choice, but he did feel for the women and children who had lost fathers, sons, husbands, and lovers. There was a good chance that their lives would be better now that Beaton was dead, but he knew they would draw no comfort from that for a long while.
"There is naught ye can do for them,” James murmured as they started to walk up the hill, at the top of which was Maldie and Eric.
"Aye, I ken it. It ne'er fails to steal some of the glory of victory, however. I also wonder what will happen to them now. We c
annae take these lands. There are too many other claimants, and some in far more favor with the king than us."
"It cannae be any worse for them than what they have already suffered under Beaton."
"It may be one of Beaton's kinsmen."
"I should like to believe that all Beatons arenae as poisonous as that one."
Balfour just nodded, for his full attention was on the small group of people at the top of the hill. In but a moment he would see Maldie again. The last time he had seen her he had accused her of being a traitor, of being one of Beaton's curs. He still wondered if that was why she had come to Dubhlinn to kill Beaton. It was hard to guess why she had done it, or why she did anything. Balfour knew that he understood very little about Maldie, and knew even less. He was sure of one thing, however, and that was that she would not be welcoming him with open arms.
Somehow he had to get her back to Donncoill, he decided. He needed time to soothe the insults he had delivered, time to try and win back her favor. He could not let her go. She was too important to him, to his happiness. If he had to, he would tie her up and drag her back, holding her until she consented to hear him out.
Maldie watched Balfour climb the hill and felt weak with relief. He had finally won his fight against Beaton and lived to enjoy it. She heartily wished she could savor it with him, share in his pleasure. Instead, she was about to tell him things that would definitely steal some of that joy away. It seemed very unfair. No one had deserved death as much as Beaton did, and Balfour should be proud of the fact that he had rid the world of such a man. Maldie hated herself for what she was about to do and how it would taint all of that. She felt Eric touch her hand and looked at the boy.
Eric looked as despondent as she felt. She took his hand in hers. She was about to lose the man she loved. Eric was about to lose a lot more. Maldie knew she had to be strong for him.
"We have to tell him,” Eric whispered, not wishing Nigel to overhear the conversation. “I dinnae think it can wait."
"Probably not,” she agreed. “He just looks verra pleased, and he has just beaten the mon the Murrays have been plagued by for thirteen years."
"Aye, and this news willnae let him enjoy that for long. Nay, ‘twill steal it all away. In a way, it will show that this long, bloody feud was based on a lie, that many a Murray had died for nothing. Howbeit, that will be the way of it no matter when we tell him. And if we wait too long, it may be worse."
"I ken it. He will then wonder why we didnae tell him when ‘tis clear that we had to have gained all this knowledge during our stay at Dubhlinn.” She grimaced. “At least, the knowledge of who ye really are. I have held to my truth for a long time, even lied to hide it."
"Mayhap we dinnae need to tell him all of your secrets."
"As I told ye before, we must. Ye didnae learn about your birthright from the fairies. Once Balfour learns how ye ken who your father is, he will look to me. The mark we share not only proves we are bound by a blood kinship, it reveals my lies. And I am weary of telling them. Nay, it all has to be told. If we tell only a part, Balfour has the wit to figure out all the rest, and then we shall both be liars in his eyes."
Eric smiled fleetingly, his expression weighted with sadness. “In truth, I would prefer it if we both speak the full truth. After all, if I am to be cast aside because of my parentage, ‘twould be nice to have ye cast out with me. ‘Tis nay verra good of me to think such a thing, but I fear I do."
She briefly squeezed his hand in a gesture of understanding. “'Tis no great sin. No one likes to be alone. Trust me in that, for I have been alone for most of my life."
"No longer,” he said firmly.
Maldie felt deeply touched, for she knew he had just made a vow. No matter what happened when the full truth was known, she would not be alone. He knew exactly who she was, had learned most of her sad past, and was fully aware of the sin she had come to Dubhlinn to commit, but he remained faithful. In her heart she knew he would always be there for her, always be her family, yet it was going to take some getting used to. Such kindness, such steadfastness, was not something she was accustomed to.
"What are ye two whispering about?” asked Nigel.
"Just wondering what has happened to Beaton,” replied Eric, unable to meet Nigel's eyes.
"Since our brother marches toward us looking verra much alive, then I must assume that Beaton is dead,” Nigel drawled, smiling briefly at Eric. “Are ye sure ye werenae hurt?” he asked when Eric still did not look at him.
"Aye, Maldie and I are both weel."
"'Tis glad I am to hear it,” said Balfour as he finally reached them.
Balfour spared one brief glance for Maldie, then swept Eric up in his arms. Maldie could feel the wealth of confused emotion seizing Eric as he returned Balfour's hug. The boy loved his brothers, still felt a deep kinship with them, and knew that he was about to tell them a truth that could destroy all of that. This could well be the last time he enjoyed such open, easy affection from the men who had raised him, and Maldie shared his grief. She had to fight the urge to weep, not only for the pain Eric was in, but also for the pain the others would soon suffer.
She began to wonder what Balfour's furtive glances toward her meant. It was impossible to sense what feeling was behind those almost nervous looks her way. She did not even bother to try to reach out to him with her senses. She was bound too tightly to all Eric was feeling, and her own emotions were in such turmoil she felt almost nauseous. Even if she could sense what was going on in Balfour's mind and heart, she doubted she would have the clarity of mind to understand any of it. Considering all she was about to tell him, she was also sure she would not want to sense any of the feelings those truths would stir. It was safest to close herself off from the man.
"Are ye alright, Eric?” Balfour asked as he set his young brother down and studied him.
"I am fine. I am but a wee bit bruised,” Eric answered, pulling away from Balfour and standing next to Maldie, who slowly rose to her feet and took him by the hand.
Balfour frowned at the pair standing before him and began to feel a little uneasy. Eric looked almost tormented, as if he steeled himself for something distasteful. Maldie looked sad. He wondered how much she had told the boy about what had passed between them. Eric had a keen sense of justice and might well be very angry about the accusations his brother had flung at the young woman.
"I saw the man ye had to kill,” he said, suddenly anxious to talk about something, anything, other than what Maldie and Eric appeared prepared to say. “I am sorry ye had to endure that. I should have been there to protect you."
"Ye cannae be everywhere, Balfour,” Eric said kindly. “And, ‘twas no glorious battle that felled that mon. In truth, he backed into the sword I held."
"The first time one spills another's blood is always hard."
"I ken it, but dinnae fret o'er me. I also ken that he was going to kill Maldie and a skill with words was not enough to change his mind about that. ‘Twas her or him and I am truly glad that it was him."
"So am I,” Balfour said quietly, looking at Maldie and feeling very uneasy when she could not, or would not meet his gaze. “Why was the mon so eager to kill you?” he asked Maldie.
"He blamed the defeat he faced upon me,” she replied. “He decided that the only way ye could have gotten within the walls of Dubhlinn was if I had been helping you, spying for you."
Balfour winced. “Ye have suffered greatly from wild accusations, havenae ye."
Maldie shrugged. “I try too hard to be a stranger. One must expect such things when one does that. Ye won the fight with Beaton?"
"Aye, the bastard is dead."
"Then justice has been served,” she murmured.
He grimaced and dragged his hand through his sweat-soaked hair. “I begin to think that I am the only one who kens that we have won this battle."
"I ken it,” said Nigel, even as he stood and moved next to Balfour, but his gaze was fixed upon Maldie and Eric and he frowned. �
��Methinks what ails these two has naught to do with this battle."
"There are some things we must tell you,” Eric said, standing straight and finally meeting the gazes of both men directly.
"They can wait, laddie,” said James. “We will be riding back to Donncoill soon. There we can have us a fine feast, and ye may talk all ye want."
"After I tell ye what I must, ye may not wish to share bread with me."
"Now, Eric, if ye still fret o'er Malcolm's death, I told ye that ye were not at fault,” Nigel said, trying to reassure the boy and frowning when it did not lighten Eric's solemn face at all. “He fears he revealed that he kenned who Malcolm was with a look, but I said that wasnae enough, that ‘twas Malcolm's attempts to rescue the lad that got him killed."
"Nigel is right,” Balfour said, but he knew concern over any possible complicity in Malcolm's death was not what troubled the boy.
"'Tis nay Malcolm or his death that troubles me,” Eric snapped, his brief flare of temper causing Balfour, Nigel, and James to stare at him in surprise. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.
"Ye begin to worry me, laddie,” Balfour said, trying to smile and knowing he failed miserably. “Come, what can ye have to tell us that could be so verra bad."
"I am not a Murray,” Eric announced in a clear, hard voice. “We have all been wrong for thirteen long years. Ye see, your father may have bedded Beaton's wife, but he didnae beget me. I am a Beaton."
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Chapter Twenty
Maldie did not think she had ever seen men look as stunned as Nigel, Balfour, and James did. They obviously wanted to cry out a denial, but some small part of them held them silent. She wondered if they hesitated because they thought there was some truth to what Eric had just announced, or if they feared that the boy had been driven to madness during his captivity. It soon became clear that they would prefer to believe the boy had lost his senses.
Highland Destiny [Murray Brothers Book 1] Page 24