by Tia Isabella
“Dead. Verra dead. Torn tae pieces by a wild boar.”
Thomas nodded. He looked over to Patrick and Dugald who were filing in next to him. “This seems tae easy,” he muttered to his friends.
“Aye,” Dugald seconded, “after all this time, ‘tis tae much good luck tae at last find him, dead from a boar attack. Though if it is the mon, I will no’ question the wisdom of the heavens.”
Patrick folded his arms across his chest and glowered at the sack that contained the remains of the MacAllister. “Open the bag, lad, and let us see.”
Gilfred nodded to Philip, the soldier who had happened upon the body, indicating he should do as the Hamilton had bid him. “Philip did find the body, but I ha’ tae admit that I’ve the same reservations as ye, my lord.”
“Why?” Thomas asked.
Gilfred shrugged, pointing towards the remains at his feet. “His face was badly mauled. Ye canna tell fer a certainty ‘tis him. I fer one would feel better if we could at least make out his face.”
Thomas clapped Gilfred and Philip on the back. “Good work, both of ye. Sir Argyle is inside with my wife. Bid them both tae come tae me in posthaste fer I want their opinions. Argyle has dealt with the MacAllister as much as Dugald and I ha’. And Lady Maya, well…ye know her talents fer examining the dead.”
Gilfred and Philip nodded. They remounted their destriers and rode for the keep’s doors at top speed.
“Thomas!” Patrick chastised, shaking his head in disagreement. “I dinna think ‘tis a sight yer gentle lady wife will want tae see.”
Thomas and Dugald chuckled. The MacGregor clapped the Hamilton on the back and grinned. “First of all, there is nothing gentle aboot my wife, in case that scene with old Meg dinna warm ye tae that fact. Second, she had the task of examining the dead in her, uh, homeland, so death does no’ frighten the lass. And third, she will know whether or no’ ‘twas truly a boar that did this.”
Patrick shook his head, the vision of such a wee woman as the Lady Maya not getting sick at the sight of a man torn nigh to pieces overwhelming his sensibilities. Finally, he shrugged. “If ye say so, my friend. Her homeland must be a strange place indeed.”
Thomas nodded. If only he knew how strange, he thought to himself wryly.
Thomas turned to his commander-at-arms. “What think ye, Dugald?” The MacGregor lowered his sword to the dead man’s body, using the hilt to flip his face to the side for better inspection.
Dugald shook his head. “’Tis no’ easy tae say, Thomas. I should like tae believe ‘tis him, yet do I hold doubts.”
“Aye,” Patrick agreed. “I ha’ no’ known the MacAllister as long as either of ye, nor ha’ I been forced tae deal with his wicked ways, yet ha’ I heard much aboot him. Robert is many things, but I dinna think he would succumb tae death in this manner. He’s far tae accomplished a hunter fer this.” The Hamilton swept his hand toward the carcass at their feet, emphasizing his meaning.
Thomas bent down, regarding the body carefully. The length and width of it was definitely in keeping with the MacAllister’s size. Even the hair was the same fiery shade of red. Still…“Ye are right, both of ye,” he acknowledged. “Robert is a fine hunter, always has been. I am anxious tae get Argyle and Maya’s opinions.”
Sir Argyle and Lady Maya appeared together a few minutes later, riding double on her powerful black mare. Thomas arched his brow at his wife and soldier. “Ye tae arrived here the soonest. I take it ye were no’ in the castle proper?”
Maya smiled down to her husband as Argyle helped her to dismount. “No sweetcakes, Argyle was teaching me to ride this beauty you gave me for Christmas.” She petted the horse on the head then turned to her husband with a frown. “I still don’t know what to name him.”
“Ye can decide later, love. Fer now, I need ye tae look at this dead body and tell me how he died. And ye, Argyle, tell me if ye think ‘tis the MacAllister.”
Maya and Argyle nodded simultaneously as they walked toward the remains of the unidentified man. Patrick watched in awe and respect as Lady Maya crouched down beside the body and examined it. She showed no emotion, not even the slightest indication that she found the task set before her as repulsive as any other lady of his acquaintance would have found it to be.
“’Tis no’ the MacAllister,” Argyle announced, barely hesitating.
“How can ye be sure?” Thomas asked skeptically.
“Aye,” Dugald prodded, “I’m as leery aboot his supposed death as all of ye, yet does this mon ha’ the look of Robert.”
Argyle blushed, clearing his throat. “Ye ferget that when I was a young and overzealous squire, I managed tae get myself captured by his da’.” Argyle shrugged. “Robert liked tae come down tae the dungeon and torment me with all manner of ugly descriptions aboot what was tae become of me. I saw the mon up close many times. This is no’ him.”
Thomas sighed. He placed his hands on his hips and regarded Argyle. “I dinna ferget. ‘Tis why I called fer ye tae come in the first.”
Dugald shook his head and groaned. “Then what does this mean? ‘Tis odd indeed tae find a dead MacAllister in yon woods and tae much a coincidence when the mon has almost the exact look of Robert.”
“Mayhap the MacAllister is hoping ye will think him dead,” Patrick offered.
Thomas gazed over to his friend and frowned. “A trap. He wants me tae lower my defenses, mayhap.”
“Aye,” Patrick agreed.
Maya stood up and turned around to face her husband. “It was probably the tusk of a wild animal that killed this man, but I doubt it was the animal itself that did the actual damage.”
Patrick shook his head, her words making no sense to him. “I dinna ken, milady.”
“Explain, wife,” Thomas insisted.
Maya took a reflective breath as she knelt back down beside the body. “I’ve seen the remains of many men and women killed by wild animals and these cuts definitely have the same look to them. However,” she announced as she tilted her head to meet the questioning stares of the men, “my best guess is that a human did this.”
Patrick’s eyes widened to the shape of saucers. He was growing more interested with this tale by the moment. “I still dinna ken.”
Maya sighed, wanting to get back to her riding lesson and far away from the death stench of the decaying body—she was nauseous enough during the beginning stages of a pregnancy. Still, she knew her husband wouldn’t release her until she’d explained herself fully. “A man probably used the tusk of a boar he’d killed to maul this man with. He most likely wanted people to believe that this poor soul was murdered by an animal instead of by a man.” She shrugged. “Perhaps the man feared hanging for murder. Who knows.”
“Or mayhap,” Argyle glowered, “he was just a daft mon who takes pleasure in other people’s pain. Aye, that ‘twould be the MacAllister alright.”
Thomas grunted his agreement. “Why do ye think it could no’ ha’ been the boar itself that did this, love?”
“Look at the slash marks,” Maya insisted with a sweep of her hand toward the victim’s body. She pressed on as the men knelt down to get a closer look. “This man is tall. In order for the boar to bring him down to the ground for a kill it would have to strike him in the middle. In doing so, it would rear its head up and the wounds would slash upwards. These wounds slash downwards, some of them even sideways.”
“Mayhap the mon was asleep whilst he was attacked,” Patrick suggested, though more to play the devil’s advocate than because he himself believed it.
Maya shrugged. “Anything is possible, but that is unlikely. Animals don’t tend to kill sleeping men. They strike when they feel threatened. How threatening is a snoring MacAllister?”
Argyle harrumphed. “No’ verra.” He straightened his back indignantly, hoping to salvage what he felt to be a blow to his manhood in everyone’s eyes. “I was no’ even scared whilst in yon dungeon and Robert was attacking me in wakefulness.” He snorted. “’Tis unlikely that woma
n could scare a wild pig whilst slumbering.”
Thomas rolled his eyes. “Let it go, lad. ‘Twas many seasons ago. We all know ye ha’ become quite the warrior in the mean time.”
Argyle blushed, casting his gaze to the ground. “Aye, milord,” he mumbled.
“Now then,” Maya said as she stood up and brushed the leaves and dirt from her gown, “if you have finished with me and Sir Argyle, we were in the middle of a riding lesson when you interrupted us.” She stood up on tiptoe and grazed her lips against her husband’s. “I’ll see you at the noon meal.”
Thomas swatted her playfully on the backside and grinned. “Go on, love. Learn what ye can from Argyle this morn and we will ride together tonight after the evening repast.”
Maya nodded. She grabbed Argyle by the hand and pulled him forcefully behind her toward her new horse. She really wanted this riding lesson. The experience on the horse when she’d fled from Thomas so long ago was a bumpy, frightening one. “Let’s go. If we hurry and I get the hang of this soon, we will still have time for a round or two of poker.”
Argyle brightened considerably at that notion as he leapt up behind his mistress onto the mare. “And I will take ye tae yon cleaners, milady.”
Maya gave a very unladylike snort. “Dream on.”
* * * * *
“Well, what do ye think?”
Dugald put the question to the two lairds as he leaned back into the chair and sipped wine from his goblet. Thomas looked around the great hall distractedly while he contemplated his forthcoming answer. It was nigh unto the evening hour, yet his wife had still not emerged from the parlor with her “poker buddies”. He wondered with a touch of amusement if she would force him to drag her from it to eat as he so often found himself doing.
Patrick motioned to his squire to refill his goblet as he settled into his chair by the hearth. He winked at a group of serving wenches who, giggling as they walked through the great hall, were swooning for the Hamilton’s notice.
Patrick’s eyes devoured the wench in the middle, knowing he would take the buxom blonde to his bedchamber this eve. He’d already had the wench on the left the night prior. Mayhap he would ask the middle lass to assist him in bathing afore the evening meal.
Patrick turned back to the group, forgetting the wench as quickly as he’d lusted over her. “I fer one think ‘tis all a ploy.” He glanced over to Thomas, effectively gaining his attention. “Judging from what ye ha’ told me of his desire tae steal yer wife from under yer nose—even going so far as tae try and ambush ye—I ha’ no doubt but that this was all in an effort tae make ye think him dead.”
Thomas sighed, honing his scattered focus onto the conversation at hand. “Aye, I dinna disagree. ‘Tis just a matter now of what I will do with this information now that I ken his game.”
Dugald shrugged, the solution obvious to him. “We ambush the bastard.”
“Nay,” Thomas countered. “We dinna know where he is hiding himself, though ‘tis obvious he is staying aboot the woods.”
Patrick rubbed the back of his neck as he considered the possibilities allotted to them. “I am always willin’ tae partake of a good fight, yet do I agree with Thomas. I’m thinking the best move would be tae let the devil’s spawn think ye believe him dead and ha’ therefore lowered yer wife’s guard. Then when he moves in tae take her, ye kill him.”
Thomas growled, rising to his feet. “I ha’ thought of that, Patrick, believe me I ha’. But how do I go aboot making him believe Maya’s guard is down without actually letting it down?”
Patrick scratched his chin and grinned. “I canna say.”
Dugald rolled his eyes and laughed. “Verra helpful, Hamilton.”
Patrick stood up and swatted Thomas affectionately on the back. “I will be here fer another sennight, old friend. We will figure this all out afore I ride fer home.”
Chapter 40
Maya stood next to her husband and stared at the graves below her feet. Thomas had seen to it that his mother Elizabeth’s remains had been laid to rest in consecrated ground. No longer was she relegated to the gardens, to a place where the unworthy were bade by the church to spend their eternity below ground. She was in a holy burial site now, spending forever after next to her husband Angus.
Elizabeth’s headstone was grandness itself, a monument befitting a queen. Maya squeezed her husband’s hand and smiled up at him. “It’s beautiful. The mason did a fine job.”
“Aye. And now mum is where she should ha’ been all along—resting in peace beside her husband.”
Maya studied the profile of the man standing next to her in love and pride. After almost a year and a half spent by his side, this handsome, proud warrior could still make her heart flutter like a love struck schoolgirl. She wondered in amusement if it would always be that way. Something told her it would be. This warlord, attributes and faults alike, was her heart.
“What are ye thinkin’ aboot?”
“Hmm?” Maya shrugged herself out of her open perusal of her husband and blinked. She realized how idiotic she must have looked staring up at him with a fantastical expression on her face. “Truthfully?”
“Aye.”
“I was thinking how lucky I am to have found you, how grateful I am to whatever power it was that saw fit to send me to you.”
Thomas squeezed her hand and smiled. “’Tis I who am the lucky one, love.”
“Don’t ever forget it,” she teased.
“Would ye ever let me?”
“Not a chance, sweetcakes.”
The couple held hands and resumed their quiet contemplation of the gravesite. Maya had noticed a sense of peace, a serenity even, that had permeated Thomas’s very fiber since accepting his mother’s innocence.
Thomas realized, somewhat begrudgingly, that he would never know exactly what had happened that dreadful night of Elizabeth’s death so many years ago, but he also came to terms with the fact that, whatever had happened, his mother was innocent of everything his father had been deceived into believing she was guilty of.
It didn’t matter to Thomas that he had no indisputable facts to back up his confidence in his mother’s morality. He believed. It was enough for him. And that would have to be enough to satisfy the church.
The MacGregor had spoken.
* * * * *
Robert MacAllister finished digging the hole into the ground and stood up. He reached into his peasant tunic and pulled out the flaming red hair he’d cut off of his head. ‘Twas passing strange, the feeling of sporting almost no hair a’tall. Still, his head no longer itched from the tiny critters that had dwelled in it for so many years. They were all cloistered inside of the bundle of hair he no longer called his own.
Robert threw the pile of hair into the hole and smiled. ‘Twould be nigh to impossible to recognize him without his trademark red hair. ‘Twas smart, cutting it, just to be cautious.
The MacGregors were going to have another feast within the sennight. He had heard village gossip that Lady MacGregor’s foreign homeland had a custom of celebrating the passing of the old year into the new one.
The MacGregor villeins were already talking incessantly about the upcoming event, all of them elated that they were to be invited to dine just as they had been at Christmas. ‘Twas good this custom, for the days proceeding the celebration would mean an endless string of activity between the village and the keep for the next few days.
Too bad he hadn’t been prepared to see his plans through at Christmas, but the MacGregor hadn’t thought him dead at the time. If the village gossips could be relied upon, then Thomas MacGregor most certainly believed him to be departed from this world now.
Within the sennight, the desire that had plagued his every thought and deed for well over a year would finally come to pass. At last he’d know the pleasure of pumping his rod into the bitch’s heat, the pleasure of watching her beg for mercy as he took her life. Robert groaned. He was getting hard just thinking about it.
Robert’s fa
ther had called him daft, a madman. He had told him countless times that he thanked God every day that ‘twould be his compassionate eldest son who succeeded him as laird and not his bloodthirsty second born son Robert. How bothered the old man would be to know that his heir lie beside him in a shallow grave and that he, Robert MacAllister, was The MacAllister.
After all, ‘twas his father that knew his secret. ‘Twas his father who out of fear for what would become of his son, kept his mouth shut and let Angus MacGregor live out his years thinking his dead wife a faithless whore.
Soon, within the sennight, Robert could go back to his keep where he belonged. He would return a hero, a conqueror, a man witty enough to have outmaneuvered the most feared laird in Scotland. He moaned, squeezing his eyes tightly shut.
He’d better put his mind to lesser victories lest he spill his seed before the time was right.
Chapter 41
“Do ye ever miss it, lass?”
“The future?”
“Aye.”
Maya shrugged in the saddle atop her mare as she trotted alongside her husband’s powerful and much larger war-horse. They were riding together, just the two of them, as they’d done each night since Christmas. Maya was enjoying the brisk rides while she could, for she knew that her overly protective husband would forbid her to ride in another couple of months when the baby grew bigger.
“Well do ye?”
“No, I don’t.” She grinned sideways up to him. “There are certain conveniences in the future that I miss, but I wouldn’t trade them for all that I have here.”
Thomas nodded. “I ha’ been thinking much aboot it as of late.”
“Why?”
“I dinna ken. I guess I never thought much on it afore because I refused tae. I always associated my feelings aboot yon future with a fear of losing ye tae it.” He shrugged. “Mayhap because I now feel secure in knowing that ye willna leave me, I allow myself tae ponder o’er what Harold and Argyle had the chance tae experience.” He sighed wistfully. “Their tales are heady ones, tae be sure.”