“Sounds like ye already know.”
“I want to hear it from yer traitorous mouth,” the man snarled.
For the briefest of moments, Mathe saw a flash of frustration pass over Rodric’s face, and wondered if maybe he had it wrong. Did the man know as much as he claimed? Perhaps he was down here bluffing; sprinkling in enough truth to make Mathe believe they knew everything, when in fact Rodric was fishing.
He gave a shrug. “I was down here having my way with yer mother, and figured it would be rude to leave without stopping by.”
Rodric sucked in his breath, and once more Mathe saw the vexation in his eyes. The man shook his head slowly and closed his hands into fists. “MacBrennan,” he said, “That mouth of yers is quite impressive. Even if it’s going to get ye into trouble.”
“I said the same thing to yer ma.”
The blows continued, but this time to the face, and Mathe saw black spots appear in his vision even as his ears pinged sharply with each hit. He tried desperately to hold on to consciousness, feeling the world tilt into the grey of nothingness. The only sounds were his own groans, and the heavy breathing of Rodric’s exertions.
And then the man stopped.
Mathe cracked one eye open to see Rodric had turned around and was looking toward the exit.
“The street is crawling with soldiers, Rodric,” a voice called out. “The laird must have sent out the whole barracks.”
Rodric swore. “Are they knocking on doors?”
“No' yet, but they might make an exception for us. Or knowing our luck, they’ll come in to have a drink. Ye need to get up here so things look normal.”
Rodric looked back at Mathe with a frown, before he swore again and left the room. “Dinnae get too comfortable, MacBrennan,” he called over his shoulder as he went. “I’ll be back. And Duncan will look after ye in the meantime.”
Mathe heard muffled voices, the sounds of arguing, and then a moment later Duncan descended. He was younger than Rodric and eyed Mathe uncertainly, stopping at one edge of the room and looking around. He grew increasingly nervous under Mathe’s unblinking gaze and walked idly, picking up goods from the shelf and putting them back, stepping into the room next door and back again.
Mathe decided it was now or never. If there were soldiers in the streets, he needed to get up there and out the door. He twisted his body again and wrapped his pinky around the chisel, drawing it out. He knew he only had one chance at this; if he failed, it would drop to the floor and alert Duncan. Slowly, slowly, he eased it out, getting his hand low so that it would slide out and fall into his palm. He held his breath, feeling his hands grow clammy.
The chisel slipped, and he twisted desperately, only just keeping it from falling. The chair scraped on the floor. Duncan appeared a moment later and looked over with a frown, but Mathe affected disinterest, looking back at the man without expression. Duncan turned away again and Mathe let his breath out. He had the chisel in one hand now and slowly twisted it around so the sharp end was pointing downwards. He wedged it into the crease where the back of the chair met the seat and levered it up, working the chisel up and down, until finally one of the vertical planks that made up the back of the chair creaked away from the seat. He slipped his hand down to free it and repeated the process on the other side until both hands were free.
Mathe gripped the chisel tight, and put his hands back behind him, as if he were still bound. “Duncan,” he called. “I have an itch that’s driving me mad.”
The man looked over at him and shook his head. “Put up with it.”
Mathe sighed, keeping his hands hidden. “For God’s sake, laddie, even Rodric had the heart to scratch my bloody nose. I think he broke it, so it’s only fair.”
Duncan came over uncertainly. “He did?”
“Aye,” Mathe said, tilting his head and scrunching his nose. “Just here.”
As Duncan reached down with his hand, Mathe suddenly swung the chisel around from behind his back. It connected with the other man’s temple with a sickening crunch, and he fell sideways to collapse on the floor. As soon as he fell, Mathe reached down and untied his legs, then pushed himself up. His body ached, and he paused at the surge of dizziness, before limping over to the stairs. He put his ear to the door and listened, but couldn’t hear anything. Did the door open up to the common room, or somewhere out the back that he’d never seen?
For a moment Mathe considered waiting for Rodric to return, then decided that he might not have time. And besides; what if Rodric called out first, and Duncan failed to answer? Better to move, to fall into action, than to wait. He took one deep breath, then wrenched the door open.
It was the door behind the counter. The windows were shuttered closed and the common room was empty. Mathe saw at once that he’d have no chance of making it into the street; Rodric stared at him with wide eyes, only a few paces away, and the door was on the other side of the room. Mathe tried anyway; he turned from the other man and limped desperately towards the exit, hearing Rodric curse behind him. As he ran, Mathe opened his mouth and let out an almighty shout; a roar, a scream, an inarticulate sound from the depths of his lungs, throwing it out as loudly as he could.
Then Rodric hit him from behind. Mathe fell forward and rolled onto his back, staring up at the man who stood over him. Rodric held a heavy broom in one hand and stared down at Mathe in terrible fury.
“Curse ye, MacBrennan,” he said. “Where’s Duncan?”
Mathe allowed his mouth to twist into a smile but didn’t answer. He knew he needed to buy time.
Rodric cursed again and looked down at his broom, before lifting his foot. Mathe thought the man meant to stomp on him and he braced for impact with a grimace, but Rodric’s foot came down on the end of the broom instead, splintering it. He then raised the shattered end and thrust down.
Mathe squirmed, knowing the makeshift spear was heading towards his gut, and twisted desperately. He pulled his legs up into a crouch, almost an instinctive reaction, and felt the point ram hard into his upper thigh. He cried out in pain as Rodric leant on it, forcing it all the way through his leg, hearing it scrape on the hardwood floor underneath him. The man twisted it savagely as he pushed, before jerking it roughly back out again.
Mathe nearly passed out from the pain. He was vaguely aware of blood pouring from the ragged wound, forcing its way out with each heartbeat, and of Rodric lifting the spear up, the point sitting directly over Mathe’s heart. One more blow, he knew, and Rodric Ross would end it.
The man’s body tensed and he let out a guttural growl, preparing for the thrust, and then Mathe heard a loud bang behind him. Rodric lifted his face.
His eyes grew wide.
And then an arrow suddenly appeared in his chest.
The man staggered backwards in surprise, dropping the broom, and then he collapsed. Mathe remained on his back but looked behind him to see the door was open. A familiar shape stood in the doorway, a bow in his hand.
“Ye alright, lad?” Fergus called.
“Aye,” Mathe replied, then looked back to his leg. He could feel the wetness of his own blood underneath him, and felt a strange sensation, like he was floating away. “I think.”
And then the blackness descended, and he thought no more.
Five Days Later
26
Lilidh MacBrennan
Lilidh squeezed the dishrag, watching the water catch in the basin. It was mostly clear, with only a hint of red. A definite improvement.
Mathe’s face was healing well. For the past two days, Lilidh had woken to a noticeable decrease in the swelling, and today for the first time she could see his left eye. His skin was still bruised, but not like it was when they’d brought him in, when the whole side of his face was a dark and angry purple.
Lilidh shivered at the memory. He’d been limp, like a corpse, with a rag tied around his thigh that was soaked through with blood. When they laid him out she almost hadn’t recognised her husband, and she’d looked on h
is face with growing horror. What had they done to him? Thankfully, the castle physician was both talented and determined, and he worked patiently on Mathe throughout the night. The following morning, though, Mathe had remained unconscious.
“It’s normal after an experience of great trauma,” the physician had explained. “The mind will shut down to protect itself, and to heal. Yer husband was subjected to a terrible ordeal.”
Lilidh had stayed with Mathe since then, with Margaret organising for someone else to cover her shifts. Fynn had been spending all his days with one of the serving girls, and having a boy in the castle seemed to be something of a novelty. He knew Mathe was hurt, but no more than that. She didn’t think it would be fair to let the boy see him in his current state; unconscious and damaged.
With a sigh, Lilidh continued to press the cold cloth against Mathe’s face, dabbing gently. He looked so peaceful, like he had simply lain down for a rest, his chest rising and falling softly, breath warm.
Lilidh willed him to wake up and return to her.
Laird Blaine had stayed away since Mathe was brought in, and Lilidh wondered what she would say when she saw him again. Sitting beside her husband had given her time to think on the situation they’d all found themselves in, and she considered all the promises made and broken. What had Mathe demanded as payment, to make him risk everything the way that he had?
A knock interrupted her thoughts, and Lilidh looked up to see Torrey standing at the door. She looked hesitant.
“Come in,” Lilidh said.
The girl entered and took a seat. “How are ye faring?” she asked.
“As well as I can,” Lilidh said. “Margaret is looking after me.”
“Aye. She says that yer husband risked his life for the laird.”
Lilidh nodded. “He did.”
“He’s a brave man.”
Lilidh didn’t respond, but felt her eyes sting with tears. Torrey stood rather awkwardly and laid one hand on her shoulder.
“Be strong,” she said. “Nessa is recovering and sends her wishes.”
Lilidh gave her a grateful smile and the girl left. Turning back to Mathe, she dried his face and pulled the chair closer so that she could lie on his chest, closing her eyes and listening to his heartbeat, letting it lull her into sleep.
When Lilidh woke again, she knew she wasn’t alone.
She couldn’t say why, but the room felt different. She lifted her head and looked around. Standing at one edge of the room, looking down at her husband with a frown, was the Lady Kenzie McCaskill.
Lilidh felt a chill. She’d never spoken to the lady before and had only seen her a handful of times; she was normally busy with her bairn, and the running of the McCaskill clan. Kenzie was young; much younger than her, and yet Lilidh felt suddenly fearful of the other woman. She held so much power in her hands, and had little love for Mathe MacBrennan.
“The physician tells me he is recovering,” Kenzie said finally.
Lilidh nodded. “Aye, although he remains asleep, as ye can see.”
“I can.” Kenzie looked down at Lilidh for the first time, and her mouth tightened. “Did ye know, Lilidh, I spent many years believing that yer husband murdered my father?” she asked.
“Nay,” Lilidh answered, “although I cannae blame ye.”
“No' because of any proof, ye ken. Only because MacBrennan was the auld Laird McCaskill’s lieutenant, and would often do his dirty work. And there was naught dirtier than what happened to my father.”
Lilidh simply nodded, unsure if the Lady McCaskill even wanted her to respond. She had a sudden sense that Kenzie didn’t speak of such things often, and certainly not to a woman who might as well have been a stranger to her.
“My uncle was killed in the fighting,” Kenzie continued. “My father’s brother. They were close, and we held a funeral for him in the forest hall. It was a silly thing to do, in hindsight; the hall was deep in the woods and didnae have the protection offered by Castle McPhee. But my uncle was a woodsman, and it was his wish. Midway through the funeral, the McCaskills surrounded the hall and set it alight. They’d come in secret, passing across the Dundonnell miles upstream, and set a trap.”
“What happened?” she whispered.
Kenzie gave a bitter smile. “The McPhees fought their way out. I wasnae there, but my brother was, and he was taken away to safety. He wasnae the target, though. My father was captured and dragged away before the bulk of our soldiers from the castle could rally. They took him back to Dun Lagaidh, and we never saw him again. It was a turning point; both in the war, and in the nature of it.”
She fell silent and looked back down at Mathe again with hard eyes. Lilidh felt like drawing her arm across her husband, but pushed the protective urge away. “Mathe came home the next day and was in some distress,” she said instead. “He told me that the Laird McPhee - yer father - was in the dungeon.”
Kenzie nodded. “Last week Blaine told me that MacBrennan denies killing my father.”
“He wasnae involved,” Lilidh said. “I know my husband was a feared man and did terrible things. But I also remember how upset he was at yer father’s capture. I remember, because it had agitated him like naught I’d seen before. He didnae agree with it and thought the laird had acted without honour. It… It was the only time I ever remember him being critical of the laird.”
“I have nay reason to doubt ye; as I said, I have nay proof. It’s simply hard to let go of so many years of hatred.” Kenzie’s eyes returned to her.
“I ken,” Lilidh said.
“Did ye know I once told Blaine that ye and I were alike?”
“Oh?”
“Aye. The auld Laird McCaskill had done terrible things to both of us. I hated the McCaskills when I was a young girl, and that hatred shaped my life for many years. It took a long time to overcome it, with the help of Blaine. I suspect a similar hatred drove ye.”
Lilidh nodded slowly. It did. She’d hated her husband for the man he became, and the things that he had done. And she’d hated the old laird for the way he took her husband when he was young and full of life and hope, and twisted him into MacBrennan.
“I’m so tired of hating,” Lilidh whispered.
“Aye. It keeps ye warm, but it also burns away yer soul. I think I prefer forgiveness, these days.”
“Towards everyone?”
Kenzie’s eyes hardened again. “To those who demonstrate a reason for it. Some people are beyond forgiveness.”
Lilidh hesitated. “Like Mathe?”
“Forgetting the sins of the past, Mathe returned with noble goals,” Kenzie said, shaking her head. “Love and redemption cannae be understated. And he risked his life to uncover a great danger to my husband, so I cannae overlook that. Is it enough to forgive him?”
“I hope so,” Lilidh said softly.
Kenzie looked down at her shrewdly. “Are ye hoping that I can forgive him, or that ye can?”
Lilidh smiled sadly. “I dinnae know. I love him, but he lied to me.”
“Do we judge men on their intentions, or their actions?”
“I dinnae know his intentions, yet,” Lilidh said. “Only his actions.”
Lady Kenzie McCaskill walked over to the bed and laid her hand down on Mathe’s chest. It rose and fell with his breath, and she looked down with a slight frown. Then she looked away, her eyes falling back to Lilidh.
“I hope yer husband wakes soon, so ye can learn if his intentions are worthy of forgiveness or no',” she said. “I will keep him in my thoughts.”
Lilidh nodded, overcome, and turned back to Mathe so Kenzie wouldn’t see her tears. She wondered how difficult it must have been for the Lady McCaskill to come into this room and see him again after so many years, and the secret hatred she’d held in her heart for all of that time. Her footsteps receded down the hall and Lilidh drew a shuddering breath, wondering at the power of forgiveness, as she lay her head back down on Mathe’s chest.
She wasn’t quite awake, nor was
she exactly sleeping, and Lilidh slowly became aware of a fingertip stroking her hair. It felt soothing, and she concentrated on the feeling; the way the finger trailed through the strands and lightly scratched her scalp, gently massaging. She snuggled closer and let the sensation pull her further towards sleep until she was struck by a single rational thought and opened one eye.
Mathe was looking down at her with a weak smile on his face.
Lilidh sat up quickly. “Mathe,” was all she said, and then she sank back down onto his chest once more. He continued to stroke her hair even as Lilidh felt herself sob, and the fear of the last few days found its way out. She found herself clutching him. Her arms wrapped protectively around him and she held onto his sides tightly, as if he was made of smoke and would blow away from her at any moment. He made soothing sounds and stroked her hair, and they lay together for long moments.
“How long?” he asked finally, his voice cracked and thick.
“Five days,” she whispered.
She felt him nod slowly. “Five days…” he said. “Ye're still here.”
Lilidh raised her head and pulled herself into a sitting position. She looked down at him, lying broken, and felt such a complicated mixture of emotions that she didn’t know how to take his words. Was he grateful? Disbelieving?
“I’m still here,” she said.
Mathe nodded. “I dinnae deserve to wake up to my wife after the things I’ve done.”
“I didnae say I’d be here tomorrow,” Lilidh said, half in jest, but Mathe nodded with such seriousness that she regretted the words.
“Aye. And I wouldnae blame ye one whit,” he said. “I came home to make amends with ye, and I apologised, and I swore I’d changed. And yet here I am, still making the same auld mistakes. Apologising again, swearing to ye a second time that I can change.” Mathe shook his head, his face grim. “It feels hollow. I’ve done the wrong thing, Lilidh, and ye deserve better.”
A Price to Be Paid: A Scottish Highlander Romance (Legacy of the Laird Book 2) Page 22
