Then it had gone missing. After searching everywhere, he had gone to the kitchens to get something to eat before searching some more and there had sat Robert, grinning and eating what Murdoch had known was his rabbit. Just in case he had proven to be too stupid to know it, Robert chuckled and loudly demanded the weeping kitchen maid cut him some more of Bruce.
Murdoch had just stared at him until Robert had offered him some. That was when he had vomited all over the table and on Robert. He had then run as fast as he could to his father’s side. The man had asked no questions but kept him close to protect him, and had done so until last year when he had considered Murdoch old enough and big enough to adequately defend himself.
His father had begun to change shortly after that day. The pleasant, even funny man he had known had faded away into an angry man. Then Murdoch’s mother had drowned and the only witness had been Robert. Everyone had been puzzled because his mother had been terrified of water and never went near the burn. His father must have seen something, or Robert had said something, but Murdoch was certain that was when the laird had realized that his heir was mad and would always have to be watched closely. His father had done nothing then either, except to grow even angrier. Murdoch had always wondered if the anger was because his son was wrong or because he had to keep hiding crimes to protect him. Murdoch also had to wonder how many of the dead at Wasterburn in the last ten years had actually been caused by Robert.
Walking outside to find Lachlan and Duncan, he kept an eye on how the other men acted around Robert. There were no cheerful greetings when the man walked up, most of the men keeping their eyes downcast. Any woman near him slipped away as fast as she could without actually running. Then Murdoch saw the gallows Robert was carefully inspecting, despite the fact that it had stood in the bailey for years, and his heart sank. He could not let this happen.
When Jonathan, the man who had taken Old William’s place, called them inside for the judgment, Murdoch hurried to follow Lachlan and Duncan and prayed he could find the backbone to speak up in Mora’s defense. He glanced at Robert, who had chosen a seat in the front, and his heart sank. The man was smirking, and Murdoch knew he would do all he could to make the judgment move quickly and give him what he wanted.
* * *
Mora wished there was a window in the cell she could look out, but then realized there never would be such a thing. It could allow a prisoner a way to escape. There were certainly many men taller and much stronger than she was who would make their way out of the window.
She had managed to sleep for a while after breaking her fast, but nothing could help her sleep now. Although she did not have the sun to look out at, she was certain the time for the laird to make his judgment was swiftly approaching. The hope she had held, that someone would put a stop to this, was long dead. No one knew she was innocent of what she had been blamed for.
The one she had a difficult time understanding was her uncle. While it was true that he was still sickly, even fragile, after the poisoning, his unrelenting belief in his son was absurd. There was just so much evidence against Robert. How could the laird ignore it? Lachlan, Murdoch, and Duncan may not have accused Robert of anything immediately provable, but they had certainly tried many ways to fight his father’s blind belief in his heir.
“I am sorry, Maman,” she whispered. “I did try to give Andrew a good life, but I havenae had him long. Still, I believe he will have protection. Gybbon Murray kens the danger Andrew is in and he has a lot of allies. Good, strong allies like Laird Cameron.”
“Who are ye talking to, lass?”
Mora was startled and held a hand over her rapidly pounding heart as she looked at Hilda. “Oh, ye startled me. I was just talking to my mother.”
Hilda’s eyes widened and she looked around. “Ye can see her?”
“Och, nay! I just thought I would speak my thoughts to her aloud.”
“Ah, hoping she will hear ye in heaven. That would be helpful. Manus will be here before long, once the laird’s done eating and decides he needs to do some judging. Already made his sons come in and they are waiting. I remember your mither. Rona? Aye?”
“Aye, she came here a few times.”
Hilda nodded. “She did, but I was speaking of when she was young. Sent here to learn how to run a keep and mayhap marry the heir. The old laird wanted a match.”
“He wanted my mother to marry the laird? But she wed David.”
Hilda leaned up against the bars and crossed her arms. “It was the plan, but she liked David. Any fool could see it, and the old laird was no fool. Our laird wanted her, too, because she was a bonnie lass, so the old laird told his eldest son to mark her as his, show her what she would be missing if she chose David. The old laird was a mon who felt women had but one purpose, to serve a mon however he felt she should. Taught his sons that, too. David didnae learn the lesson; he was a gentle soul. Our laird followed his da’s teachings.”
“So, the laird did as his da said and raped my mother.” Mora felt like weeping for her mother. “But then how did she wed David if the laird had claimed her?”
“Because David caught him. Sadly, after and nay before he did it, and nearly killed his own brother.”
“My da did?”
“Difficult for me to believe, too, but aye, David beat him badly, then he took your mither away and wed her. His da decided David had finally shown that he was a mon and gifted him with the manor house and lands. I suspect he was going to do it anyway as he only had the two sons, weel, two sons by his lawful wife. Took your da nearly a year before he moved back and settled in the manor. He ne’er set foot in this place again, except for a time or two when your mither wanted him to, though I dinnae ken why she would want to.”
“She felt it was important and I think she believed Da needed to try to mend the break between him and his brother. She gave that up though.”
“Nay surprised. The laird is nay a forgiving mon or one who apologizes for doing wrong. David never much liked his brother, hated him after what he did. And the laird ne’er made any effort to change. I think she had a small hope that the laird would change and could prove to be some help to her lads. Ye still have no word on their fate?”
“Nay. Nothing.” She smiled faintly at the worried Hilda.
“What are ye doing down here, Hilda?” demanded Manus as he hurried down the steps.
“Just keeping the lass company.”
“Weel, they are waiting upstairs for her.” He walked up to the cell and began to unlock the door.
“Sorry, lass,” Hilda said as Mora stepped out. “I have thought on little else save how to stop this and have nary one good idea. The one I did try hasnae brought any results, though I thought for certain it would. The old fool kens this is wrong, but he willnae allow that cursed son of his to take any blame. Ne’er has.”
“Thank ye for trying, Hilda.”
“Weel she can just stop trying,” Manus snapped. “He is our laird, woman!”
“God help us,” Hilda muttered, and she looked close to tears as Manus tied Mora’s hands in front of her.
Manus sighed and nodded. “Ye dinnae have to come, Hilda.”
“Oh, aye, I do, though the old fool might try to shoo me away.”
Manus led her up the stairs, something Mora found it difficult to do with her hands tied. Hilda followed close behind. Mora knew without looking that the woman was there to catch her if she stumbled or even tried to hurl herself down the stairs. She doubted she would be fortunate to just break her neck if she tried it. These last few months she had found very little luck.
“Hold on, Manus,” said Hilda as they began down the corridor that led to the great hall.
“What now, woman?”
“I need to fix her hair.”
“What? Why now?”
“Because, ye old fool, they will cut it if it is hanging free like this, and she doesnae need that humiliation.”
“Go on then, but be quick about it.”
�
��Why would they cut off my hair?” Mora asked.
“Dinnae ken,” mumbled Hilda as she began to twist up and pin up Mora’s hair. “Something to do with getting the noose on right,” she mumbled.
The woman choked out the words so Mora asked no more questions. She stared at the doors at the far end of the hall. Lachlan, Duncan, and Murdoch walked in and went straight into the great hall. Murdoch cast an anguished look her way and she sighed. He could not stop this on his own and she knew it would trouble him for a long time.
It troubled her that the three brothers could not unite against the one making their lives a misery. She had given up trying to understand why her uncle was so determined to ignore the monster that was his son. He did not overtly dote over the young man yet did so much to cover over all the signs that the son was rotten to the core. How could he not see that he was condemning his other sons to misery, perhaps even death, by doing nothing about Robert? He was also condemning his own people. Instead of a fine, strong keep and a good laird as his legacy, the old laird could leave behind a place filled with misery, cruelty, and death.
“How can he nay see it?” she asked herself, and then realized she had spoken aloud.
“See what, lass?” asked Hilda.
“That what every mon hopes to leave behind is something good, something that will be remembered. What he has fought so hard to hide still lives in Robert and it will taint everything the Ogilvys have built here.”
“Aye,” said Manus. “’Tis why I have been looking for a place Hilda and I can go to.”
Hilda stared at her husband in shock. “Ye have? Why? Ye are the one who always reminds me he is our laird!”
“If he dies he willnae be anymore, will he? Robert will,” he said, and lowered his voice, glancing around nervously. “And I willnae serve him. Ye think he is bad now? He will turn monstrous cruel when his da is dead and no longer has to worry about what the mon might say and do. Nay, I dinnae plan for me and mine to be here for that. I want us out of his reach, especially our girls.”
“Oh, Manus.” Hilda hugged him and the man turned a brilliant red. “I was so afraid for our girls.”
He awkwardly patted her on the back. “Did ye really think I would chance them ending up like poor Mary? Or alive but broken like so many of the lassies here? Nay, not our lassies. I didnae ken what to think so I thought, get out of here, Manus. So just calm your mind, loving.”
“Thank ye, love. Thank ye.”
“Who is poor Mary?” Mora asked, touched by the man’s efforts to ease his wife’s worry.
“Mary was a kitchen maid. Murdoch was a lad and he loved this rabbit and Robert made her prepare the lad’s rabbit for the spit. Then Murdoch came in, obviously upset, and Robert gloated, told the girl to cut him more. He had beaten on her—the bruises showed for weeks—so she did, crying all the time. Poor little Murdoch emptied his belly all over the table and Robert. Mary was so upset, so bothered by what Robert had made her do, she went and told the laird. He actually did something about that and gave Robert a terrible thrashing. Then about a fortnight later, Mary disappeared. We found her down by the burn, beaten, raped, and then hanged from a tree. Oh, and her tongue cut out.”
Mora shook her head. “How does a mon get so twisted about?”
“Born that way,” said Manus. “Got it from his mama. The laird’s first wife was mad or sick or something. She would rage at time over nothing worth such anger and other times would weep and wail as if she was watching her bairn die. There were times when she was fine though and could be the sweetest lass. That’s when the laird fell in love with her and wed her. Then she had Robert. As a bairn, Robert was much like any other. The laird himself took over the bairn’s care with the help of some of the women here because his wife tried to smother her child during one of her weepy spells. She killed herself a few weeks later. It wasnae until Robert got older that one began to notice that something was not quite right with the lad. Robert was mean, bone-deep mean.
“Laird married again and the lass was fine, except that she hadnae wanted to wed him. She had Duncan and Lachlan and she was good enough as a mother but ’twas certain she didnae want to be one to Robert. She died in a fall from her horse. It was whispered about that it happened as she had been riding back from her lover’s arms.
“Then we had Murdoch’s mither. Sweet, sweet girl, a lot younger than the laird, scared of everything, but tried hard to be a mother to the laird’s boys. Then she had Murdoch. She adored that child, played with him all the time but ne’er ignored the other lads. Laird was real fond of her. Murdoch had his mother the longest, too, right up until he was walking and talking. Then the lass who wouldnae e’en stroll by the burn she was so afraid of the moving water, went to the burn and drowned. Robert was the only witness to it.”
“What a sad life my uncle has had,” murmured Mora. “So, Robert killed more than Murdoch’s pet, didnae he? He killed the poor lad’s mither.”
“Aye, I think he did,” said Hilda. “Near the end she was afraid of him and kept him away from Murdoch.”
“I dinnae understand why the brothers dinnae unite against him.”
“I have been here all my life, lass, and I have seen how Robert keeps them down,” said Manus. “Ridding the keep of anyone or anything they love. Just as he did with Murdoch. Then he showed them how easily he can get to them when they are sleeping. He has ground Lachlan and Duncan beneath his boot since the day they were born. The only rebellion they have ever shown is how they try hard to defend Murdoch in some way. They are tugging on a wee scrap of bravery to do even that much.”
“It is a horrifying tale,” Mora whispered, then stiffened in shock when she saw who entered the keep next. “Gybbon,” she whispered, and took a step toward him only to feel Manus’s grip tighten on her arm.
Hilda turned, putting herself between Mora and the men at the door, probably to keep her from acting on seeing Gybbon, so Mora took a moment to collect herself. Just because Gybbon was here did not mean she would be freed. She caught the glimpse of a redhead over Hilda’s shoulder and smiled a little. It was Sigimor and he was holding the doors to the hall open for someone to go through. He was at least on a standing with her uncle, so there might be a bit of hope.
“Weel, I didnae expect such a fine answer to your letter, lass.” Hilda turned and smiled at Mora. “It is hopeful, aye.”
“Aye, but I am nay allowing it to be too hopeful. I think the disappointment would be more than I could bear and I am trying to look brave and calm.”
“That is probably wise. But, ne’er underestimate the Laird of Dubheidland.”
“Oh, I would ne’er be that foolish. I am verra sorry I have brought him this trouble, however.”
“I doubt he is bothered. If he was, he would have just sent ye on your way. The mon doesnae bother with all that politeness some folk do.”
Mora could not believe she could, but she laughed softly. “Ah, nay, he isnae. He has married a woman who kens how to deal with him verra weel indeed though.”
Hilda nodded. “The English lady. She has spirit. It showed when he brought her here to look at the laird and she said he was being poisoned. No one argued and have done all she told them to. Laird’s better, too.”
“If ye are done gossiping, ladies,” Manus said, “Jonathan is signaling us to go in.”
Mora looked toward the doors to the hall. Jonathan stood there angrily signaling them to come along. She did not know what he had to be angry about. She was the one who faced hanging for lies told by Robert.
“Does he expect me to run over there just to hear the laird condemn me?” she muttered.
“Probably.” Manus started walking and she hurried along with him. “Mon is so proud of his new station and fears any mistake will lose him the post.”
Mora took a deep breath to steady herself as they walked through the doors.
* * *
Sigimor reined in when the Ogilvy keep came into view. Harcourt and Gybbon reined in on either
side of him and Mora’s brothers reined in beside Gybbon. “Sigimor, why are we just staring at the keep?”
“Weel, Gybbon, I think ye have kenned me long enough to ken I dinnae just storm a place. I have to think on it and plot the best approach.”
“I would wager that hurts. Why make your head ache before a battle?” drawled Harcourt.
Harcourt let out a quickly muffled yelp as he suddenly went flying out of the saddle. Gybbon was impressed. He had not seen Sigimor move, yet the small grin on the man’s face as he looked down at Harcourt was proof enough that he had done it. Mora’s brothers chuckled, but softly. Sigimor’s men laughed freely.
“Curse ye, Sigimor. I hate it when ye do that,” muttered Harcourt.
“Then ye should ken when to keep your clever remarks to yourself.”
“Ye must kick a lot of people out of the saddle,” he murmured, “because ye do inspire the remarks.”
“I did find that it had become a habit and I should be more careful when I suddenly saw my wife on the ground once and realized I had kicked her out of the saddle. She wasnae pleased with me. I even got down to help her up and she punched me in the face.” He sounded outraged.
“How did she reach it?” Harcourt asked in a voice that told everyone he was fighting hard not to laugh.
“Slammed her tiny fist right into my eye as I was bending over to lift her up and saying . . .”
“‘Stiffen your wee backbone and grit your tiny teeth,’” the MacFingals called out, then laughed.
Sigimor shook his head. “I often wonder why I have them around so much.”
“They are your kin.”
“I should look more carefully into that claim of relation,” Sigimor muttered, then went back to staring at the keep.
Highland Devil Page 20
