Highland Chieftain

by Hannah Howell

  “She went there to bury the mon. How is it suspicious?”

  “Hiding the proof of her crimes. Did ye ken she cut the mon to pieces?”

  “Ye did have a good look at the lass, aye?” When the sheriff cautiously nodded, Callum continued. “And ye actually believe she could do all that to a grown mon? Could subdue him, get him in a chair, tie him up, and then slowly kill him?”

  Callum could see the man had doubts but he needed someone to take the blame for the killing. He wondered if someone wanted Matheson’s land. With Bethoc convicted of his murder it could all be taken away so easily. It could prove difficult to pull her out of this mess even if the sheriff could see the one accused was an ill fit.

  “Weel, we think she had the lads help her,” the sheriff finally said. “We are looking for them too.”

  “Are ye now? So ye believe they all turned on the mon?”

  “They were naught but cast-off bairns when he took them in. Ye ne’er can tell how such as them might act, now can ye?”

  Callum felt a sharp rise in his anger and fought it back down. “Who were these men who sent ye out to the house?”

  “Five rogues who have long been round the village. Leader is a big fellow with a scar on his face.”

  “I would like to see Miss Bethoc Matheson now.”

  “Nay, no one speaks to her until she is ready to tell me the truth.”

  Before Callum could speak, Robbie took him by the arm and forced him to start walking away. “What are ye doing? We have to get Bethoc out of here and away from that fool idiot of a sheriff.”

  “I ken it and we will.” Once outside by the horses, Robbie stopped and looked at Callum. “It is time for the laird of Whytemont to demand things. That is a mon who would bow before such things.”

  “That was what I was about to do.”

  “Ye dinnae look much like a laird right now.”

  “This is nay a time to be worrying o’er what I am wearing,” Callum snapped even though a quick glance revealed he was wearing some very ragged clothes.

  “Aye, it is. The sheriff is a fool, nay doubt about that, but he is one who recognizes, e’en fears authority. Men like that often do. But they need the show of it. And we are going to go back to get ye rigged out weel enough to put on a fine show. And while ye do that, I am going to go and try to get Sir Simon Innes.” Robbie helped Callum mount up.

  “Ye ken Sir Simon Innes?” Callum asked in surprise. He had heard of the man from Payton but did not know Robbie had actually met him. “The laird of Lochancorrie?”

  “Aye, played chess with him a few times. He was at Tormand’s and I stopped there for a wee visit once when returning from Payton’s. Good fellow.” Robbie mounted his horse and they started back to the cave.

  “Do ye think he would, or could, help us?”

  “’Tis a puzzle and he likes puzzles. It cannae hurt to try, aye?”

  Callum nodded. He then prayed that Robbie was right as the more he thought on the matter of Bethoc in jail, the more he felt that is was greater than the sheriff’s need to blame someone for a murder on his watch. Any fool could see with a look at Bethoc that she could not have killed a man, could never have done what was done to Kerr Matheson. She had neither the strength nor the stomach. Someone knew only Bethoc had a claim to the land and this charge of murder would put an end to it.

  When they reached the cave and Robbie rode off to try to get Sir Simon Innes to help, Callum washed and donned the clothes that fully revealed his place as laird of Whytemont. He looked at the boys who now stared at him as if he was a stranger and felt he had done well. Then he sat down on the pallet, thinking of how to tell them what was happening with their sister, a sister he knew was almost a mother to every one of them. When Margaret hurried over to sit with him, he sighed as she snuggled up next to him and decided to do the children the honor of telling them the full truth, no matter how hard it was.

  “Your sister went back to bury your father. Someone had told the sheriff there had been a murder at the house and he arrived as she was working to bury him. They took her up for his murder. They have put her in a cell and I mean to get her out.”

  “Bethoc?” Colin said. “They think Bethoc killed our father? That is . . . that is,” he stuttered, “bollocks. ’Tis nonsense.”

  “Weel, aye, ’tis,” Callum agreed. “I begin to think there is something else going on here.”

  “What? What could they possibly want with her? What does she have?”

  Callum grimaced. “I have to wonder if someone wants the land. Seems they all ken none of ye are his own children, that he brought ye in from the streets.”

  “Or was given us by our mothers,” Colin said. “Me and Bean were naught but bairns. Either we were abandoned or orphaned. Only he kenned and he ne’er told us.”

  Giving Margaret a kiss, he set her down, and then stood up. “The men who broke my leg were the ones who told the sheriff to go to your house. Sheriff spoke of five men and the leader with a scar on his face. Sounds too much like the ones who attacked me to be a coincidence.”

  Bean frowned. “The matters are nay connected.”

  “I ken it but I am thinking the rogues took on a new job. They were nay sure they had killed me and they had lost the boy. So they needed to stay near until they were certain and got the boy back. Suspicion they got a chance to do some other work while they did that. They would have been fools to say nay.”

  Colin nodded. “Aye, true enough. What is your plan?”

  “Weel, as ye can see, I have donned my best so I am obviously the laird I claim to be.”

  “Ye are a laird?”

  “Aye.” He waved a hand as if to brush aside further questions. “It might help to bestir the sheriff to reconsider. If not, I am taking the smaller boys with me so that he has further visual proof of the ridiculousness of his charges against Bethoc. Robbie has ridden to fetch a mon who can help if need be, a mon who was called the King’s Hound once because he was so skilled at solving such crimes. I have others I can call on if it proves necessary. I but ask that ye all be patient.”

  When all the boys nodded, Callum turned to Simon. “I would like ye to stay with the lads left behind.” He stared hard at the man, who nodded, letting Callum know he understood he was to make certain the older boys remained hidden. “And Uven, if ye could drive the wee cart that the lads told us is at the house, it would help. I ken it is a sorry vehicle for ye, but it will hold the lads. We can collect it from the house as we go.”

  Uven nodded. “We will get started now. Come along, lads.” He scooped up Margaret. “And ye, my bonnie wee lass.”

  Callum started to say they should not take Margaret and then shook his head, smiling faintly. “Aye, her too.”

  They hurried out of the cave and Callum followed only to have Colin grab his hand and ask, “Have they hurt her?”

  “I dinnae ken.”

  “But ye think they have.”

  “I fear they may have, or will, but I truly dinnae ken, am trying verra hard to nay think on it. But, aye, ’tis a possibility. They want her to confess.”

  “She willnae. She did naught.”

  He ruffled the boy’s hair. “That I am sure of and it does make me fear for her. I do swear, if they have done her any true, hard injury, I will see that they pay for it.”

  Chapter Ten

  Bethoc groaned, opened her eyes, and then scrambled to the far corner of the cell where she was wretchedly ill. Still shaking, she moved away from the mess she left and slumped against the wall, fighting to breathe deeply and slowly until the waves of sickness passed. She had been tossed in with the gray lump of rags she had noticed while being dragged off by the sheriff.

  The fear that had not left her since the sheriff had arrived at her house took a sharp leap upward. Had they thrown her in with a man? Bethoc could not believe the sheriff would put men and women together. Then she narrowed her eyes as she stared at the lump and began to relax. Something about the size and shape o
f the heap of rags told her it was a woman or a child. There was also a scrap of graying lace among the scraps of clothing. She prayed she was not imagining the faint movement that indicated breathing.

  As she worked up the strength, and courage, to poke at the rags and satisfy her curiosity, she thought of Callum. A small voice in her head insisted he would find her and save her. Another voice, that of her common sense she suspected, said there was nothing he could do except work up a good defense, do his best to prove she was innocent. He was going to find that difficult to do when the sheriff was so certain she was guilty.

  For a few moments she thought on how there might be a way to defend herself that she had not used yet. Saying she had not done it and pointing out how she simply could not have done it was not working for her. Then she sighed. Bethoc doubted the sheriff would care whatever proof or logic she presented him with. He wanted a killer and had decided she would do. The question was why he was so unable to be reasoned with.

  The pile of rags shifted and Bethoc froze. Slowly it rose up and leaned against the wall. One small, delicate hand lifted to brush away the dirt and fabric covering the face. Bethoc found herself staring at a young woman who, despite her bruises, was stunning in her beauty, from her wide blue eyes to her full-lipped mouth. A bath, some decent clothes, and her wounds healed and the woman could make kings bow before her.

  “Ah, William has tried drowning ye, has he? First time?”

  “Aye.” Bethoc frowned. “He will try again?”

  “Four times they dragged me down to that cursed barrel. Then they got brutal.”

  In an attempt not to think about what “got brutal” might mean, Bethoc asked, “Who are ye? I am Bethoc Matheson.”

  “Laurel MacKray. The sheriff thinks I killed my husband. Thought of it often enough but I couldnae do it. He was a nasty bastard but I am nay a killer. Who wants that sin on one’s soul? Didnae do it when he did get killed. But the sheriff willnae listen.”

  “Nay. He willnae heed me, either. He thinks I killed Kerr Matheson, a mon many ken as my father.”

  “Hates women he does, ye ken. The fairer the lass the more he hates her. If she speaks up, the hate for her grows. The only ones he hates more than women is the magistrate but he cannae beat or rape that mon, can he.”

  Bethoc gasped. “The sheriff raped ye?”

  “Him, William, and those two fools who trot after him everywhere.” Seeing the horror on Bethoc’s face, Laurel shrugged. “They dinnae ken who they are dealing with. My husband could do me more hurt even when he was sober.” She looked curiously at Bethoc who was still pale with shock. “That these things shock ye so badly tells me ye have lived a sheltered life. Aye?”

  “Weel, aye, I rarely was allowed to leave the house, though that has changed a bit of late.”

  “Ah, ye met a mon.” She gave a laugh that made Bethoc shiver. “Watch him. The bastards are verra good at hiding the monster within. My husband was wondrous handsome, all right, and his monster appeared a fortnight after our marriage. Fool in love, I was. Told myself he had just lost his temper, he would control it better in the future. He didnae. And, since someone killed him, I assume he showed some other lass his monster.”

  “Nay, Callum isnae like that.”

  “They all are.”

  “Nay, he takes in the bairns, and occasionally their mothers who have been mistreated. Margaret adores him and she avoids men usually as our father was one to beat us, badly, from time to time. He didnae hit her but she saw him hitting the rest of us too often.”

  “Margaret?” Laurel asked.

  “My sister. She is but two years and some. Nearing three. My mother died bearing her and made me swear to never leave her.” Bethoc frowned. “This will be the first time I have been away. The lads will be there but I have ne’er left her and she may nay be able to understand. She must be scared.”

  Laurel reached out and patted Bethoc’s hand. Bethoc was astounded that after all she had endured, the woman could still be kind, still sympathize with someone in any way. It was at that moment she decided that Callum would be asked to do what needed doing to set Laurel free and see it done.

  “There is something verra wrong with all of this.”

  “What do ye mean?” asked Laurel.

  “The mon doesnae care about anything ye say. He has decided ye are guilty before he e’en hears what ye have to say. It makes no sense.”

  “Ah, nay, it doesnae, but I dinnae think the why makes a lot of difference to us. Whatever moves the sheriff he decided we were guilty and that is all that matters.”

  Her thoughts quickly turned to Margaret and the boys. Not only must it be difficult for Callum and his friends to deal with so many children, but the children had to be concerned for her. She prayed someone would take the time to comfort any of the children who needed it. Margaret would be badly in need of it to still her fears.

  * * *

  Callum walked into the sheriff’s room with Margaret by his side and five little boys marching behind him, Uven guarding their backs. He noted the sheriff’s eyes widened a little but then his face took on that almost petulant look of self-righteousness the man favored. Callum’s free hand clenched on his walking stick. It took a lot of control to deal successfully with such fools, and Callum’s temper was on a very frayed rope.

  “What game do ye play, sir? What are these brats doing in my house?” the sheriff demanded.

  “Try to speak more civilly, sir, ye are scaring the children.” Callum patted Margaret’s back as he picked her up. “Ye asked me to bring in the brothers and I have.”

  “Those bairns are nay them! What about the big lads? I ken weel that Kerr had some.”

  “The boys were with me all day,” he lied without hesitation or shame. “As ye can see”—he patted his broken leg—“I have a lot of need of assistance. And ye obviously havenae seen the lads for they are nay so verra big.”

  “Then where were those bratlings if nay helping to kill Kerr Matheson?”

  “These lads were working in the fields as they do every day when nay aiding me. If they had happened to see or hear anything, which I doubt, the men killing Kerr would have gutted and killed them as weel.” Callum nearly smiled when he noticed the sheriff getting a look of panic in his eyes, obviously seeing too many holes in whatever plan he had devised. “I cannae stress enough that none who were in the area could have killed Kerr Matheson. Bethoc and these lads certainly wouldnae have tortured him. There are five men riding about with a growing list of crimes attributed to them, yet ye dinnae e’en ask for their description.”

  “Who the hell are ye?”

  “Sir Callum Murray MacMillan, laird of Whytemont.”

  “I can give ye a verra good description of the five men, sir,” said Magnus as he stepped up to the desk. “The leader was as tall as Sir Callum, had long brown hair and a brutish scar down his face that killed one eye but left the other a sort of muddy brown. The second man was taller, bone thin, had a hooked nose. He was missing two fingers on his right hand, last two of them. The third was shorter and square, so thick with muscles he might have had trouble moving about. He was fair with blond hair to his shoulders and little blue, blue eyes. Fourth fellow wasnae much of anything, ye ken?”

  “Nay, I dinnae. What does that mean?” asked the sheriff, shocked by the boy’s precise description yet fascinated.

  “Ordinary people and all,” replied Magnus. “He was nay too tall or too short, nay too thin or too fat, either. Hair was nay too short or too long save to say he had brown hair. Plain brown hair. And ordinary gray eyes. The last mon had a beard, it was black and streaked with silver but his head was bald. He also had a boil on his neck though it could break at any time and disappear so may nay matter. There, now ye can go look for them and let our Bethoc out.”

  Callum could tell the man had recognized the ones Magnus described. The way the man’s eyes had briefly widened with certain descriptions gave him away. And that was why Bethoc was in jail, charge
d with murder, and, if this man could do it, would be convicted. The sheriff knew who Magnus spoke of and knew they had killed Kerr Matheson but planned to blame Bethoc for it. He either needed to impress his master or enrich him. It was hard to believe that flashing the fact that he was a MacMillan, a clan this area knew well, and laird of Whytemont could break that need. It should have worked and the very fact that it had not made him suspicious.

  “If I catch such men and if they prove to be the killers, then we will let her go,” said the sheriff, still looking a bit dazed by Magnus but sounding firm.

  With a shake of his head, Callum said, “Ye are making a verra big mistake, Master . . . ?” He looked at the man and waited for him to give up his name.

  “MacDavid. Patrick MacDavid.”

  “Thank ye. I will remember it.” He finally saw the man pale a little. “Now I would like to see Miss Matheson.” When the man started to protest, Callum asked very quietly, “Is there some reason ye dinnae wish me to see her? To assure her that I am working to set her free?”

  “Of course there isnae,” snapped the man as he stood up and snatched some keys from a hook on the wall. “Ye will see that she is just fine. We dinnae mistreat our prisoners.”

  Callum fell into step behind the man, wincing as he heard the children walking behind him but he did not have the heart to tell them to wait for him. Uven moved up beside him to keep a close eye on the two men who flanked the sheriff. The two men said nothing but continually looked back at them as they went down the stairs. Margaret slipped her small hand into his and held on tight as they went down the well-worn steps. He tried hard not to think of how many had made their last walk on these steps but now he wondered how many had done so and been completely innocent.

  “Bethoc?” she asked, staring up at him.

  “Aye, we are going to see Bethoc now.”

  The moment the sheriff stopped before a cell Margaret ran up to the door and grabbed the bars. She struggled to open the door but Bethoc hurried over to her. “Nay, Margaret. ’Tis locked,” she said.