Much had changed within the McCullum clan these many months and there was a good chance that Alysander knew nothing of those changes. Knowing his brother as he did, however, those changes would mean nothing, would change nothing in how Alysander felt about himself or his family.
Connor’s love of his brother precluded him from doing nothing or remaining silent on the matter. No matter what Alysander believed, he was loved by Connor and their brother, Archibald. Neither Connor nor Archibald held any ill-will toward Alysander. Nay, ’twas in fact, quite the opposite. It had been their father who had behaved so hatefully toward Alysander, not them. But Alysander had been too overwrought with grief and guilt to see the truth.
What exactly had happened to Alysander, how he ended up in a filthy gaol, Connor could only begin to guess. No doubt copious amounts of alcohol had been involved. Alysander was no stranger to drink. Nay, ’twas more like Alysander and drink were the best of friends. The stories of Alysander’s drinking were almost legendary and after he left, the stories continued on for months. Eventually, however, they stopped hearing the rumors and they no longer heard about Alysander.
Until a week ago, Connor had begun to believe his brother had either drunk himself to death or had been killed in a drunken brawl as Hugh had been.
Then he received word from Finnis Malcolm.
The missive had been quite brief.
Alysander is being held in the gaol in Glenkirby, accused of murder. Please come at once.
Those two small sentences were enough to make Connor’s blood run cold.
What had his brother gotten himself into this time? There was only one way to find out and that was to go to Glenkirby. Connor could only pray that he would arrive in time to keep the hangman’s noose from being placed around Alysander’s neck.
Nineteen
’Twas no secret that Thomas McGregor despised Moirra Dundotter.
’Twas also no secret that at one time, long ago, he had loved her.
But she had destroyed him with one simple word; nay.
Nay she did not love him, nay she wouldn’t marry him and nay, she’d not sell her farm to him.
As children, they had been good friends. Up until the day she married her first husband, Kenneth MacPherson. Thomas hadn’t held that union against Moirra for he knew ’twas all his own fault for being too much of a coward to ask for her hand.
Then Kenneth had died from an ague and his hope for finally winning her hand burned bright.
Thomas had waited a full year, giving her time to mourn losing Kenneth, before asking for her hand. What had she done? She smiled that sweet smile of hers and told him ‘nay’. “I cannae marry a man that I do no’ love. I love ye as a friend, like a brother, Thomas, but I canna marry ye.”
Her refusal, hidden behind sweet words and sweeter smiles nearly did him in.
Then she married a second time, to some man whose only attribute was his broad shoulders. But Moirra seemed quite smitten with him. Thomas wished her all the best, hiding his heartbreak behind a facade of indifference. By that time, Thomas’ father had turned harder, his hands harsher, even though Thomas was full grown. Never a crueler man ever walked the earth than Phillip McGregor. It had been that way since Thomas was a boy and only grew worse as he grew older.
Thomas hid his pain and embarrassment from everyone, even into adulthood. His brothers and sister knew how cruel Phillip could be, but they didn’t know the half of it. Thomas learned early on how to take a beating without crying out or begging for mercy, for neither would do him a damned bit of good. “Why ye be walkin’ so oddly,” one of his brothers would ask. Thomas would lie and say he tripped and twisted his ankle or fell down and landed on a rock, or some other ridiculous lie, just to hide the truth. He didn’t lie to save his father’s reputation. Nay, he lied to hide his humiliation.
The last time his father beat him, Thomas was just shy of two and twenty. He’d been caught off guard by a hard punch to the gut that knocked the air clean from his lungs. Thomas had tried to defend himself, but his father was bigger and angrier and that bloody strop had caught him at the back of his head, leaving him dazed. He’d only managed to get one good punch in before Phillip slammed a big fist against his jaw that sent him to the ground. When the strop tore through his tunic, then his flesh, Thomas passed out. He woke sometime later with a bloodied lip and his back torn to shreds.
The beating was punishment for not being able to get Moirra to agree to sell her land.
The old man died a month later and ’twas all Thomas could do not to dance on the man’s grave.
There were many times he had been tempted to either run away or kill his father. The only reason he had done neither of those things was because of the promise he had made to his mother on her deathbed.
The land on which he farmed had belonged to his mother’s family, land his father had gained by marrying her. Dalina McGregor had begged Thomas never to leave, never to let it fall into anyone else’s hands. At the time, she had been too ill to realize what she was asking and Thomas had been too consumed with grief at her impending death to argue. So he made the promise, never to leave and never, no matter how tempted he was, to kill Phillip, even though they both knew he would probably deserve it.
Too much had happened to him over the years to start anew. Thomas’ heart held too much anger, resentment and humiliation to change into the man he had at one time desired to be. He blamed Moirra for all of it.
Had she married him the first time he had asked, his life would be so very different. There was a chance back then, for him to change, to grow. He would have worshipped the very ground she walked upon, would have treated her like a queen.
But she didn’t love him.
And she wouldn’t sell her farm to him no matter how many times he asked or how great an offer he made for it.
Then she handfasted with Delmar Wilgart.
Delmar. Wilgart.
If that wasn’t a slap in the face, nothing was. Delmar Wilgart was a lying cheat and quite deft at manipulating women, something those unsuspecting women didn’t catch on to until it was too late. Thomas imagined it was Delmar’s smile and soft spoken voice that did the trick.
When he’d learned that Moirra was handfasting with Delmar Wilgart, he got drunk and stayed that way for a week. Delmar Wilgart, lying, cheating son of a whore, was a better choice than him? It made no bloody sense at all. Thomas tried to warn Moirra, but she wouldn’t listen. He supposed she thought he was simply jealous and only wanted her land. But that wasn’t true. He wanted her.
Now Delmar was dead and Moirra had been accused of killing him.
Though there was no real evidence against her, Thomas had managed to convince Almer that his brother was dead by the hands of Moirra Dundotter, though it had required very little effort. Almer had a very malleable mind and it also helped that Almer didn’t like Moirra. But then, there were few women that Almer did like. Thomas supposed that was due to the fact that so many women disliked him.
Finally, he was able to exact a bit of vengeance against Moirra. Being accused of murder and tossed into the gaol was no less than what he thought she deserved for all the heartache and suffering she had caused him. There was a very miniscule part of him, just a tiny piece of his heart, which did feel some measure of sadness toward Moirra. But he pushed those thoughts and feelings down, down deep, and smothered the life out of them with his vehemence.
Moirra Dundotter got no less than she deserved.
Just when he thought he would finally see her suffering as he believed she deserved, Alysander McCullum stepped forward to confess and take her place.
Any man who would willingly sacrifice his own life for a woman, especially the likes of Moirra, deserved to be hanged.
But when rumors spread that Alysander was cousin to the king, Thomas had serious doubts the man would actually hang.
If God wouldn’t see fit to take their lives, the least Thomas could do was to make their lives as miserable as possible.<
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* * *
Alysander felt his grasp on reality and any remnants of sanity begin to slip away the longer he was stuck inside the cold, dank gaol. Worry for Moirra and their daughters was overwhelming and wreaking havoc on his mind and heart. Finnis hadn’t been to see him in more than a week and neither had anyone else. Or if they had, Almer was refusing them entry.
With no news on how his wife was doing and being locked away as he was, he was left with plenty of time to conjure up all sorts of horrific images; Moirra dying and the children left all alone with no one to care for them. Another fire breaking out and no one there to help them. Their lives after he was hanged; what would the future hold for them? ’Twas enough to make his heart seize whenever he thought of all the possibilities.
’Twas late in the day when he heard the heavy wooden door that separated the gaol from the public rooms open. Assuming ’twas Almer, George or Harry coming in to taunt him again, he remained prone on the cot, lying on his back with his head resting on his folded arms. The three men loved to bring in their meals of venison or ham and eat it in front of Alysander, all the while licking their lips, wiping their greasy hands on their even greasier clothing. Oftentimes, they would drop bits of food on the floor and kick it his way. Alysander spent many an hour thinking about what he’d do if he were ever out of this Godforsaken place, reckoning he’d start by slamming three greasy, tooth-missing, smug faces against the thick, heavy steel bars until they bled to death.
“McCullum!” George called out as he approached the cell. “Ye’ve a visitor.”
Believing ’twas Finnis come to finally see him, Alysander jumped to his feet excitedly and went to the bars. His excitement was short-lived when he saw Thomas McGregor approaching. His stomach fell away at the sight of the man, for Alysander was certain he was here to deliver bad news.
“Ye look like shite, McCullum,” Thomas said with just a hint of smugness in his voice. “Or be it Pillory John? What are they callin’ ye these days?”
Moirra had named him Pillory John the day they first met, for Alysander had refused to tell her his real name. That was months ago yet it seemed a lifetime had passed since she had rescued him from the town pillory. She had paid his bail in exchange for a handfasting because she needed a strong back to work on her farm. It hadn’t taken long for Alysander to fall so deeply in love with her that now, he was willing to risk his own life in order to save hers.
“No matter what they call ye, ye still look like shite,” Thomas said with a smile that bordered on a sneer.
Nonplussed, for he knew Thomas spoke the truth, Alysander raised a curious brow but remained mute. Ye try livin’ in a gaol fer a few days, he thought to himself. He doubted Thomas McGregor would last more than a day or two behind bars.
“I would ask how ye fare, but from the looks and smell of ye, ’tis no’ necessary,” Thomas said.
Move just a few inches closer, McGregor, Alysander thought. Just close enough fer me to get me hands around yer throat. “What do ye want, McGregor?” Alysander asked in a cool voice.
Thomas chuckled slightly as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Even behind bars fer these weeks, ye still manage to believe yer better than the rest of us.” He shook his head as if he couldn’t believe it possible.
Alysander refused to allow Thomas McGregor to goad him into losing his temper. “Why be ye here?” he asked again.
’Twas then that a smile, quite sinister looking, formed on Thomas McGregor’s lips. “Do ye ken where yer wife be?”
Alarm kicked at Alysander’s gut. That God awful smile playing out on Thomas’ face sickened him.
Thomas nodded as if Alysander’s silence explained everything. “I did no’ think ye did,” he said. “Would ye like to ken where yer wife be?”
Alysander swallowed back the bile that was beginning to rise.
“At this verra moment, yer wife be in me home. In me bed.”
Fury erupted. Alysander lunged at the bars, slamming against them with outstretched arms, just itching to wrap his hands around Thomas’ throat.
Thomas simply smiled, feeling quite safe on his side of the cell. “Did ye truly think her better than that?” he asked. “I’ve known Moirra me whole life, McCullum. ’Tis naught fer her to go from one man to the other when it suits her.”
Alysander continued to stretch his arms out, his fingers just inches away from Thomas. Fury, rage and fear blended together, clouding his good judgment. “Stay away from me wife!” he shouted.
“Do no’ worry it, McCullum. I’ve no’ bedded her. Yet.”
Alysander wrapped his fingers around the bars and yanked hard, wanting nothing more than to tear those bars down and get to Thomas. “I swear, McGregor, if ye lay a hand on her, I’ll kill ye.”
Thomas cocked his head to one side. “Do ye no’ see, McCullum? Ye’ve served yer purpose with Moirra. She does no’ want ye anymore. She’ll be callin’ an end to yer handfastin’ and I will marry her.”
Bile rose along with great fury, so much so that Alysander felt his head begin to spin.
“And if ye manage to no’ be hanged, ye can slither off to wherever it be ye came from,” Thomas said before offering Alysander a slight bow and an ugly smile before quitting the room.
* * *
Thomas had to be lying, that was all there was to it. Fear, dread and uncertainty blended with anger and guilt assaulted Alysander’s mind and heart. Moirra was better than that, better than how Thomas described her. Never would she sink so low as to go to Thomas McGregor.
Alysander thought back to the times he and Moirra had discussed Thomas McGregor. While she had admitted that they had been friends as children she had also admitted to turning down his many proposals. “Thomas was a sweet boy but somethin’ happened and he grew into a cold, hard man. Though he has proposed many a time, I was no’ quite desperate enough to say ‘aye’ to him.”
Was she desperate enough now?
That was his deepest fear now. Moirra carried his babe. He was in the gaol. She had four daughters to think of.
The more he thought on it, the more fearful and angry he became. Doubt pummeled his heart, fear tore at his soul.
Nay! he told himself. Moirra would never do such a thing. No matter if he hanged or not, she would not end up in the arms of Thomas McGregor.
Would she?
* * *
Thomas had taken great delight in tormenting Alysander McCullum and he would feel no guilt over it. He had one person left to see, one life left to destroy before he felt any measure of satisfaction or relief; Moirra.
He had returned to his home as quickly as he could. Home was by no means a palatial estate. Nay, ’twas a simple cottage with stone floors on the lower level. Above stairs were two small rooms, one of which belonged to Thomas. At one time it had been his parents’ bedchamber, now ’twas his. The other room was where he and his three brothers had slept when they were growing up. Deirdre had a tiny spot below stairs, just off the kitchen and near the hearth. By outward appearances, it was a comfortable and cozy home. Mayhap it could have been at one time, were it not for Phillip McGregor.
Thankfully, Deirdre had left to check on William’s wife, Joanna, who was due to give birth to their second child very soon. The brats Moirra called her daughters were also nowhere to be seen. A tingle of excitement rushed up and down his spine when he realized he would be allowed time alone with Moirra.
Quietly, he tapped against the door to his bedchamber before stepping inside.
Moirra was sitting up in the bed, her back and head propped up with pillows. Dark circles had formed under her pretty green eyes. Her blonde hair — hair he used to imagine cascading around her naked body as he swived her mercilessly — was braided into one thick, long braid, that tumbled across one breast, where it disappeared under a blanket. Betwixt her fingers, which rested in her lap, was a handkerchief, no doubt to dry away her tears.
If he hadn’t hated her so much at the moment, he might feel sorry for her.
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When she looked up to see him standing in the doorway, her eyes flickered with surprise and leeriness. He supposed that was better than the way she typically looked at him; with indifference.
“How fare ye this day, Moirra?” he asked, feigning true concern.
Moirra shrugged her shoulders. “I have been better, Thomas.”
Lying through his teeth he said, “I be sorry fer ye, Moirra. First the babe and now, Alysander.”
Her brow knitted together in confusion. “What of Alysander?”
“Has no one told ye yet?” he asked. Her gullibility made it so easy to lead her to believe he cared for her at all.
“Told me what, Thomas?” she asked.
He could see her growing more apprehensive and fearful with each moment that passed. He sighed as if it took great pains to muster the courage to tell her what he was about to tell her. “Alysander has learned that ye lost yer babe. He has decided to go back to his clan.”
Wide eyed, stunned into stupefaction, tears welled in her already tearful, bloodshot eyes. “Nay,” she whispered, unable to believe what he’d just told her. “That can no’ be.”
“I spoke with William just this morn, Moirra.” ’Twas another lie for no one had heard from William since he’d left for Stirling. Alysander was the king’s cousin and Thomas thoroughly believed he would be released just as soon as William returned. Hopefully, by that time, he would have convinced Moirra that Alysander no longer wanted her. “Robert II has ordered Alysander set free. Once he learned that ye lost yer babe, he left.” He let his words sink into her malleable mind before going any further. “I do no’ ken why, Moirra. Mayhap the loss was too much for him to bear. Mayhap he spent too much time in the gaol and needs to return home fer a time. I be certain once he clears his mind he will come fer ye.”
Moirra's Heart Series: The Complete Collection ( Moirra's Heart Series: The Complete Collection (The Moirra's Heart Series Book 3)) Page 20