Lachlan's Heart: Book Two of The MacCulloughs

by Suzan Tisdale

  Chapter Twelve

  “Are ye mad?” Lachlan asked.

  Thrusting her hands onto her hips, she said, “Nay. But I am bloody furious.”

  “Be that as it may, lass, ye cannae truly expect to go lookin’ for a madman. If he would do that,” he inclined his head toward Forveleth, “what think ye he would do to ye?”

  “I am nae worried about that,” she told him bluntly.

  His eyes grew wide and his mouth fell open. “Ye are nae worried?”

  “Of course, nae. Because ye are goin’ to help me.”

  Murdoch joined them, eager to divulge what he’d learned from members of the crowd. Ignoring his laird’s astonished expression and Keevah’s determined one, he said, “I was just talkin’ to a few people in the crowd. They say this is the seventh woman killed in the past four months.”

  Keevah and Lachlan turned to him, raised brows and mouths agape.

  “Seventh?” Lachlan was beyond incredulous.

  “Aye,” Murdoch said. “All whores, from what I am learnin’.”

  “Do nae use that expression,” Lachlan warned him.

  Murdoch cocked his head slightly. “What are we supposed to call them?”

  “Women,” Keevah replied sternly. The fire in her eyes warned him not to argue.

  Although he didn’t quite understand what difference it made, he acquiesced out of respect. “Verra well, m’lady.”

  Just then a rather loud voice broke over the din of the crowd. “Be gone with ye,” the man shouted. “There be naught to see here.”

  Curious, Keevah walked back to the entrance of the alley.

  “I said be gone with ye,” he shouted again.

  ’Twas a man of average height and build, with a bit of a belly protruding from his open wool cloak. His brown trews looked a bit small for a man of his size. Dark of hair, blue eyes, and a full beard, he held an air of either confidence or arrogance. She wasn’t sure yet which of the two it was.

  “I said be gone,” he groused as he looked at Keevah.

  ’Twas arrogance.

  “Why are ye dispersin’ the crowd?” she asked. “Should ye nae question them?”

  From his expression, he found her revolting. “I am the sheriff,” he told her, pulling back his shoulders. “I said leave or ye will find yerself in gaol.”

  Keevah ignored him. “She was my friend,” she told him. “I would like to help in any way I can.”

  “Ye be a whore then?” He spit on the ground.

  Unbothered, for she’d been called far worse, she asked, “What does it matter? She was still my friend. Her name was Forveleth Boyle.”

  Lachlan placed a hand on the small of her back. “Mayhap we should do as the sheriff requested.”

  “He did nae make a request; he gave an order. And I refuse to abide it.”

  He rolled his eyes heavenward and prayed for enough patience to get him through what he was quite certain would be an ugly situation.

  “Fancy yerself a bit of time in my gaol, do ye?” the sheriff asked as he glowered at her.

  “Of course, nae. I want only to help.”

  He looked at Lachlan. “Ye best get yer whore under control, laddie, elst I will toss ye both into gaol and throw away the key.”

  He’d barely finished his sentence when Lachlan was upon him. He grabbed the sheriff by his tunic and lifted him off the ground. “Ye will apologize to my fiancé and I advise ye never to take that tone with her again.”

  “Who the bloody hell do ye think ye are?” the sheriff asked angrily.

  “Lachlan MacCullough.”

  Apparently, the name meant nothing to the sheriff. He continued to shout to be released and began calling out for his deputies. Only one came running to his aid.

  He took one look at the verra angry Lachlan MacCullough and stopped dead in his tracks. Withdrawing his sword, he pointed it at Lachlan’s throat. “Ye might want to put the good sheriff MacHenry down.”

  Murdoch came up from behind the deputy and put the tip of his sword against the man’s throat. “Be verra careful what ye do next, laddie. Give it a good measure of thought.”

  Keevah had had enough. “Of for heaven’s sake!” she exclaimed loudly. “Can we end this pissin’ contest and focus on the matter at hand? A young woman lies dead at yer feet and all the four of ye can think of is who will kill the other first.”

  “But he insulted ye,” Lachlan reminded her.

  “I have been called far worse,” she told him. “Now, please, put the man down and let us get on with findin’ out who killed Forveleth.”

  The sound of the name changed the deputy's countenance entirely. His skin turned ashen before he knelt down next to the body. Slowly, he pulled back the linen. For a moment, Keevah believed he might faint. “Forveleth.” He shook his head and closed his eyes.

  “Ye knew her?” Keevah asked.

  “Aye. She was a friend.”

  “Bah!” the sheriff interjected. “She was naught but a whore just like all the others. Now arrest this man and throw him in gaol!”

  As the deputy stood, Keevah felt a flicker of recognition. Had she seen the man before?

  “Ye may want to reconsider that, Sheriff. If he is the Lachlan MacCullough I believe him to be, he is one of the king’s favored cousins.”

  ’Twas a lie, of course. But only four of the five people present knew it. And just why he’d told it, only he knew.

  Lachlan, going along with the deception, cocked his head and smiled at the sheriff. “Aye, ’tis true. Now, apologize to my fiancé.”

  Stunned, with bulging eyes, the sheriff stammered before he was finally able to get the words out. “I am sorry, m’lady.”

  Satisfied, Lachlan set the man back on his feet. Smoothing out the man’s cape, he patted his chest. “Now, that was nae so hard, was it?”

  Believing ’twas a rhetorical question, Sheriff MacHenry decided not to respond. Clearing his throat, he turned his attention to his deputy. “Ewan, ye stay with the who-” he corrected himself with a glance toward Lachlan. “Stay with the body. I will send Coll and Mungo to ye.”

  He said nothing else before scurrying away like a fat rat who had just escaped death.

  “He is the most worthless man I have ever met,” Ewan said to no one in particular. “And an even more worthless sheriff.”

  Lachlan thanked the man, then introduced Keevah and Murdoch. “We thank ye kindly for yer help,” he said.

  “I be Ewan Holmes,” he replied, inclining his head respectfully to Keevah. “Ye and I have met before,” he told her. “Years ago. We were but children then. I was friends with yer brothers.”

  Relieved it wasn’t from her time at the Pickled Tickle, her shoulders relaxed. “Och! Ewan!”

  “Brothers?” Lachlan asked her. How many more secrets will I uncover?

  Turning to him she said, “Aye. I had three younger brothers. Unfortunately, the ague took them seven years ago.”

  He was genuinely hurt for her. He knew what it was like to lose a sibling. Claire, his young sister, died when she was just seven years old, to the same affliction. “I be terribly sorry, lass.”

  She offered him a warm smile before turning back to Ewan. “Ye knew Forveleth?”

  Nodding, he turned his attention back to the deceased. Kneeling down, he pulled the sheet back and looked. Rage filled his gut. “Just like the others,” he whispered.

  “Others?” Keevah asked as she too knelt down.

  “Aye. Seven. All found in back alleys and lookin’ very much like this,” he replied without thinking. “Throats cut, skirts pulled up, their-” He immediately stopped himself. “I be so sorry, Keevah. I should nae be talkin’ to ye about this.” He got to his feet as Lachlan helped Keevah to hers.

  “Why nae?” she asked.

  “Well, because ye’re a woman.”

  Truly, she wasn’t insulted. Still, it did grate. “Be that as it may, I want to help.”

  “But,” he tried choosing his words carefully, “bu
t ye’re a woman.”

  “Ye will find she is a most stubborn woman at that,” Lachlan said. “But she is also the strongest woman I ken.”

  She thanked him kindly for his compliment.

  “I did nae say I liked it,” Lachlan said drolly.

  Ignoring him, she turned back to Ewan. “Is there a madman on the loose?” she asked.

  “The sheriff refuses to think so. He tells anyone who asks that the deaths are unrelated.”

  “But ye think otherwise?” Murdoch asked.

  “Aye, I do. Ye cannae tell me that seven different men killed seven different women the same way, and disposed of their bodies in the exact same manner.”

  “Disposed?” Keevah asked curiously.

  “Aye,” he said as he knelt down again. “See? With her throat cut like this, there should be more blood here. But there is none.” He shook his head once again, made the sign of the cross, and pulled the linen over her.

  “I did nae notice that,” Keevah told him.

  “Have ye any one ye suspect?” Murdoch asked.

  Ewan smiled wanly. “I have an entire city filled with suspects.”

  “But ye have no clear idea who it is?” Murdoch asked.

  Lachlan was growing weary of the conversation. Even Murdoch was being pulled into the mystery. “I am sure Ewan will solve it soon enough,” he said. “But as for us, we really should be leavin’.”

  Keevah looked as though he’d just slapped her. “I told ye I would nae leave until we saw Kiernan properly buried.”

  “It could be spring before the ground is thawed enough,” Lachlan told her.

  “Then I shall wait.”

  He took in a deep breath. “What if we take her with us?” he suggested. “We could bury her on our lands as soon as spring thaws.”

  “And leave her body to rot in the meantime?” she shook her head. “Nay, I will nae do that to her.”

  “We have caves where we keep the dead,” he politely informed her. “’Tis nae like I want to keep her in the kitchens.”

  ’Twas Murdoch who interjected. “Laird, methinks this might be a conversation best held in private.” He gave a nod toward the back door of the Tickled Pickle. Euphemie and Charles were watching closely. Lord only knew who else was paying attention.

  “Brigid needs ye,” Lachlan said.

  She couldn’t begin to explain to him why she felt the burning need to stay. Keevah wanted to help, in any way she could, to find the madman who had killed her friend.

  Any conversations involving Brigid and their future were better done in private. She calmed herself before stepping away and disappearing into the Tickled Pickle.

  “What can we do to help?” Murdoch asked.

  “What do ye mean, what can ‘we’ do to help?” Lachlan asked. “We have to get back to the keep.”

  “I would like to stay and help,” Murdoch told him. “I mean, someone is killin’ women, Lachlan. The sheriff has no interest in stoppin’ the man responsible. Ewan needs our help.”

  Keevah’s curiosity had rubbed off on the man. “Might I remind ye that ye have duties back home?” Lachlan asked as he crossed his arms over his chest.

  “But this is far more interestin’,” he replied with a wry smile.

  “Might I remind ye that yer mum awaits yer return?”

  Unmoved, he replied, “’Tis only a few days, Lachlan. I promise I will return to ye in a week. No more than two.”

  Fully prepared to argue it further, Lachlan was interrupted by the sound of Keevah’s voice. He turned to see her coming down the alley. She’d put on her cloak and over one arm carried Lachlan and Murdoch’s.

  “I thought ye were tendin’ to Brigid?” Lachlan said.

  “Brigid in is Euphemie’s good care,” she informed him curtly. “I want to help Ewan.”

  They’d both gone undeniably mad.

  “Truth be told, Laird MacCullough, I could use the help,” Ewan said with a most hopeful tone.

  Deciding that arguing with either Keevah or Murdoch would get him nowhere, he angrily took the cloak from her outstretched hand. “I will give ye three days, and no more,” he told the three of them. “And I mean no more.”

  While they waited for the gravediggers to arrive, Ewan continued filling in what he knew about the previous murders. At first, Lachlan was impatient and found it all as interesting as watching a slug crawl across the garden. But by the time Ewan was finished, Lachlan found himself just as intrigued as the others.

  Soon, two men approached and gave a greeting to Ewan. “Where is Coll?” Ewan asked.

  “Sleepin’ off a drunk, I reckon,” the very large man answered.

  Ewan turned back to the others. “Trevor be the short one, Mongo the larger.”

  Each man was dressed in black trews and tunics, with dark woolen capes draped over their shoulders.

  That was where the similarities ended. Where Trevor was a thin as a willow branch, with a full head of curly blond hair and a long beard to match, Mungo … well … Mungo had to have been the largest man Lachlan had ever seen. At least six foot six, he was as broad as a barn. But not an ounce of fat anywhere. Sunlight glinted off his bald head. A dark red beard fell to his waist, braided in places with little bits of silver jewelry threaded within it.

  If he’d come across the man on a field of battle, Lachlan would have retreated.

  They carefully placed Forveleth on a wooden stretcher and carried her away.

  “Where are they takin’ her?” Keevah asked with a good deal of worry.

  “To the Black Friars,” Ewan replied. “No one else will let prostitutes be buried in their cemeteries.” He sounded thoroughly disgusted. “Dunnae worry over it, Keevah. They will take good care of her.”

  They watched in silence as the men carried their precious bundle down the street and turn the corner.

  “It is awfully cold out here,” Ewan said. “I have a room just down the road a bit. We can talk more there.”

  As they were all eager to be out of the cold, they followed closely behind Ewan.

  “Are ye certain Brigid is well?” Lachlan asked. He was sincerely concerned for the child’s welfare.

  “Aye, she is. I promised to be back for the noonin’ meal,” she told him.

  They walked the rest of the way in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. In the middle of the next block, Ewan led them down an alley and turned left. They took a set of wooden stairs to the second floor. He opened the door and took them down a dark hallway. Out of habit, Lachlan’s immediately put his hand on the hilt of the dirk in his belt and placed the other on the small of Keevah’s back.

  They paused halfway down and waited for Ewan to unlock the door. Lachlan glanced both ways before following Murdoch and Keevah inside.

  ’Twas by no means a spacious or opulently appointed space. Low ceilings overhead made it feel even smaller. A bed was tucked in one corner, with a small table beside it. Along the opposite wall was a long table filled with all manner of documents, books, and parchments.

  What truly interested Lachlan was the wall to his left. A large map of Inverness had been carefully painted onto it. Each of the streets carefully labeled in blue paint. Important buildings and points of interest had also been just as attentively applied.

  Murdoch whistled as he studied the map. “Who did this?”

  “I did,” Ewan replied as he hung his cloak on the peg by the door. Immediately, he went to the long table and began scouring through the scrolls and other documents. Finding the one he was searching for, he began reading aloud.

  “The first victim was found in the late morning hours on the twelfth day of September. Alisia MacGee. Aged seven and thirty. Blond hair, blue eyes, quite comely for her age. Husband is one Alexander MacGee.” Going to the map, he pointed to a little red dot and tapped the area with his index finger. “She was found here, in an alleyway on Kenneth Street.”

  Turning back to his document. “The next victim was Georgette MacAulay, aged one and thi
rty. Married to William MacAulay, one son, aged thirteen. She was found in the late morning hours on the second of October on Greig street.” He pointed to another red dot.

  “Eighteen of October, again, late morning hours, the body of Mary Williams was found near Castle street. Aged two and forty, married to Connor Williams, one child, a daughter, aged nine and ten. On the first of November, Celeste McCreery was found in an alley a block from Mary Williams.” The longer he spoke, the more intense he became, pacing back and forth, reading from his scroll, pointing to the map.

  “The twenty-first of November, Deirdre Boyden, widowed, one child, a boy, aged seven. Third of December, Mary Andrews, aged seven and twenty, unmarried, one child, aged eleven, a girl. And today, the eighth of December, Forveleth.”

  He stared at the map as if it held the secrets he needed to find the answers he sought. “Each woman was found in the early morning hours, in alleys around the city. Each had their throats cut, dresses torn, skirts yanked up. There was very little blood at any of the scenes. And no witnesses.”

  Keevah stepped up to look at the map more closely. A shiver traced up and down her sign. “I knew all but two of the women,” she whispered. There but for the grace of God go I. “They were all prostitutes,” she said.

  “Former prostitutes,” Ewan said. “They were either married now or widowed. One, Mary Andrews, had opened a little seamstress shop about eight months ago.”

  Keevah listened intently as she tried to make sense of it all.

  “I feel as though he is tryin’ to send a message,” Ewan said. “But what that message is, I dunnae ken.”

  “He hates prostitutes,” Lachlan said, breaking his silence.

  “If that were the case, why is he killin’ former prostitutes?” Murdoch asked. “Why nae those who are still whor- in that line of work?”

  “There is more, something I have nae shared with the Sheriff or anyone else,” Ewan said as he returned to his table. “At each of the sights, a small wooden crucifix was left behind.”

  He opened a small wooden box and retrieved one of the crucifixes. ’Twas crude craftsmanship at best. He handed it to Lachlan for his perusal.