by Aileen Adams
“I passed through your village on my way here,” Murphy explained. “I spent the winter in Killiechonate, among Clan Cameron. A very interesting winter, at that.”
“Go on,” Quinn urged, careful to circumvent any opportunity for the man to lapse into one of his colorful tales. Murphy held no clan allegiance and was an entertaining and often profitable friend, which allowed him to move in and out of various types of company with little trouble.
“On the return journey, we passed through Tor Castle along the River Lochy. You’re familiar with it, from what I understand.”
“Aye.” His father’s farm had sat downriver from the castle, held by Clan Mackintosh.
“It’s my understanding that yer brother, Lennox, fell into debt while maintaining the farm. Some of it was earned by your late father and was forgiven after his death, but yer brother…” Murphy shook his head.
“Go on. Just say it, man.”
“It seems yer brother’s temper earned him the ire of more than a few of the old men who yer father had been indebted to. He’s not one to take his drink easily.”
So the two of them had more in common than a last name, Quinn thought with a bitter sneer. His older brother had become a drunkard as their father had been, though, unlike Kenneth, Lennox had not the excuse of a dead wife.
At least, that was Quinn’s understanding. It occurred to him how little he knew of his brother’s life, having left home not long after Kenneth Murray’s passing. Lennox had stayed behind as the eldest son, taking up his father’s work. Including a farm which carried a debt.
“He insulted them or started arguments, and they decided to call up the old debts, then,” Quinn murmured, staring at the wall over Murphy’s shoulder.
“Aye. That seems to be the long and the short of it.”
“Is he married?” Quinn asked. “Did you hear anything about that?”
“He is, that. A wife, two wee ones. She took them to live with her family, so it isn’t as though they’re suffering overmuch,” Murphy assured him.
“That is a small relief. Do ye know how much he owes?”
“I do not, sorry I am to say it.”
Quinn set his jaw in a determined line. “Not to worry.”
He would see about it himself.
2
Quinn looked at the faces seated around the table and was not surprised by the stunned expressions of all.
“You believe it would be in your brother’s best interest for you to go off alone? You believe you would earn more that way?” Fergus looked around as though assuring himself that he hadn’t heard wrong.
“Aye,” Quinn replied with a firm nod. “I’ve got to ride out, see how much it is he owes and find a way to aid him.”
“We could come with you,” Brice said. “We’ve never allowed for one of our group to struggle when there was something this important in the balance.”
“Aye,” Rodric agreed. “It hardly seems fair to send ye off on your own. What if the sum is beyond what you’re able to pull together?”
“There is no such thing as a sum I’m unable to earn,” Quinn replied, eyes moving over the three of them as if to dare them to deny it. “It may take a bit of time, aye, but I’ll do it. I am the only hope he has. Do ye think any friends Lennox may have will go out of their way to pay his debts? Do ye think he would even let them? No man would.”
“Why are you doing it, then?” Brice posed in a quiet, thoughtful voice.
“He doesn’t need to know I’m behind it,” Quinn explained. “I have no intention of making it known until the deed is done.”
When none of them offered further questions or argument, he continued, “I’ll be packing my things, then, and leaving in the morning.”
“I will speak to Sorcha and Padraig,” Rodric offered. “I know they’ll both wish to send ye off with bags full of food and anything else you may need.”
Quinn turned to the bed, where he’d already begun to lay out the new tunics a few of the Anderson women had made for him during his stay in the household. Tunics made from fabric he’d purchased with the silver from Earl Remington, the fee for delivering Alana safe and in one piece.
Granted, she had then run away from the man on their wedding day, and Quinn had helped spirit her away to Padraig’s home, where she and Brice were married. But the silver had remained in their possession.
He ran his fingers over the fine fabric, then looked down at the new shoes and trousers he’d purchased. He thought about the new saddle, so shining and fine, and how dearly it had cost him.
He could have used that toward Lennox’s debt. If he’d only known…
Brice cleared his throat behind Quinn’s back, how Quinn knew which of his friends wished to speak with him was a mystery, though likely the result of so many years spent together.
“Have you come to help me?” Quinn asked, still focused on what he’d spread out before him.
“Perhaps, though not in the way to which you refer.”
“What is it, then?” Quinn glanced over his shoulder. “Coming to say you’ll miss me? Sending me off with a warm glow in my heart?”
“What do ye truly intend to do? Truly.” Brice stepped into the room, closing the door so they might have privacy.
“I told ye. Murphy gave me the names of a few men in that area who employ themselves as he does. Listening, asking questions, knowing people. It’s as though he has ears all over Scotland.”
“And ye plan to visit these men, find out what needs to be done in the area, and collect a tidy sum each time you’ve completed your task.”
“You’ve described it perfectly.” Quinn looked up with a grin and saw that Brice was not smiling. In fact, his brows drew together until they formed a straight line over his eyes.
“Why don’t ye try being honest with me, lad? Ye know I see straight through ye. The others might not, and I have no intention of sharing your secret with them, but I do wish you’d at least let me know what it is I have to be fearful of.”
“Since when are ye fearful?” Quinn jested in a poor attempt at humor.
“Since learning that a man I think of as a brother intends to do something terribly foolish,” Brice murmured.
He’d already run his hands through his shaggy hair until it stood on end, Quinn noted, and the flames flickering in the hearth made it glow like a cloud of fire around his head.
There was no lying to a man whose head appeared to be on fire. Not when his eyes glowed with the same intensity.
Besides, it would be a comfort to know that at least one of the people who meant something to him knew the truth of what he was about to embark upon.
“Men do it all the time, men no better than ourselves,” Quinn whispered.
“Lying in wait along the side of the road, stealing from those who happen past?” Brice shook his head with a sorrowful sigh. “We have always been better than that. Haven’t we?”
“Not by much.”
“But we have,” Brice insisted. “We’ve never harmed anyone who did not place themselves in harm’s way by attacking first. We’ve always protected those who might fall prey to thieves; I would say that’s a large part of what we’d done, wouldn’t ye? Protection?”
“Aye.”
“Now, you’re going to go on and do the opposite.”
Quinn whirled on him. “What do you expect me to do? For him to be in debtors’ prison means he owes a great deal, much more than any of us could get together using the few paltry tasks Murphy currently has for us. And there is no guarantee that the four of us would fare much better if we rode out to Tor Castle together. So there is no sense in anyone but me going. This is my brother; this is my concern.”
“What if you’re killed, out there on your own?”
“That will not happen.”
“What if it does?”
“Then, I’ll die. It happens to all of us.” He shouldered his way past Brice to open the door. “I do not need ye to tell me how to conduct my business. If that is
all ye came here to do, I would ask ye to kindly leave me, so I might finish preparing.”
“I do not wish to leave things this way,” Brice said, remaining in place. “In fact, I refuse to. I will not carry the memory of a fight between us, knowing it was the last time we ever spoke.”
“Do ye really have so little faith in me?” Quinn asked, the fight suddenly leaving him. Moments earlier, he would have liked to teach his old friend a lesson for doubting him so. His pride fell by the wayside when he recognized the concern in Brice’s face, in his voice.
“It isn’t a matter of having little faith in ye. It’s that I have little faith in those who travel the road, their eyes always sharp for thieves who might be lurking out of sight. We all hear the tales, do we not? Anyone traveling on horseback or in a carriage through days of open country is bound to be on their guard.”
Quinn offered half a nod.
He clapped his hands on Quinn’s shoulders. “It’s that I have little faith in men such as ourselves, when a stranger threatens that which they’ve been paid to protect. If any of us were to cross paths with a thief on the road, what would we do? Would we accept their apology and send them off with a warning?”
“You’ve made your point,” Quinn grumbled.
Brice nodded, sighing again. “I know ye feel this is what needs to be done, and perhaps it is. I only want ye to take care, to avoid taking chances, to size up those ye choose to accost in a careful manner prior to making your move.”
“I will.”
Brice’s hands tightened, and a ghost of a smile played over his mouth. “And for the love of all that’s holy, try not to get yourself killed over catching the eye of another man’s lass. It would be just like ye.”
3
The rain fell in gusty sheets, rendering the trees under which Quinn waited useless in terms of keeping him dry. Water dripped from every leaf, running down the back of his neck and into his tunic, over his face, plastering his hair to his head. He imagined his normally dark thatch would appear black both thanks to the rain and the darkness.
He reminded himself that this worked in his favor, in spite of his discomfort.
As he crouched beneath the tree, the road which ran alongside the River Lochy in view, he could not help but think of his brother.
How different he’d looked when Quinn had visited the prison. How old, how drawn. The lad could not be older than twenty-seven, and yet he might have easily passed for a grandfather. The circles under his eyes, as though he’d smudged ash there.
“How long have ye been here?” Quinn had asked upon first seeing Lennox, taking note of his tattered tunic and trousers.
“I cannot say,” his brother had admitted. “I’ve lost track of the days. What is the date?”
“This is the last day of March.”
Lennox’s already haunting eyes had gone wide. “They brought me here just before Christmastide.”
“You’ve been here for three months.” It was not a question. It was a statement of horror. How had he survived so long without breaking entirely?
Then again, perhaps he had broken. Perhaps the poor, sad, helpless shell of a man who sat upon the bench opposite Quinn’s was all Lennox would ever be.
Then, he had smiled. “My brother. It’s been far too many years.”
Shame had rushed to the surface of Quinn’s thoughts, darkening his face. “Aye. Too long.”
Lennox had shaken his head. “Not at all. You’ve had your life to live, as every man does. I only hope ye haven’t made the mistakes of your older brother.”
“I hear you married. I wish I had known.”
Another smile, wider this time. “Aye. Aileen. We have twin girls, Innis and Cairstine. They’re three years old. It’s glad I am that they’re but bairns. They need not bear their father’s shame.”
“What happened? How did this come to pass?”
“Father’s creditors,” Lennox had spat, a bit of his old fire returning along with the memory.
“But how? Did they not forgive his debts?”
“They claimed to but recalled them when it was convenient. They received word that the farm was failing—it wasn’t,” he’d been quick to add, “but the harvest wasn’t strong, and a few of the cows fell ill and died, meaning I would have to purchase more. The man who holds the next parcel of land, Alec, was one of the men to whom Father owed money. Do ye remember him?”
“Aye. A nasty man.” And an extremely wealthy one.
“That would be him,” Lennox had confirmed, a hard glint in his eye. “He was quick to provide me with what I needed after Father died and I was left at sea, without enough understanding of how to run a farm. Seed, a few hands to assist in the planting, and the like. It turns out, he had loaned Father many things over the years. I was never aware of just how much. When he decided it was time to collect, I had nothing to give him. He decided that instead of demanding I repay, he would simply take ownership of the land.”
Quinn had frowned. “What was your response?”
“What do ye think? I blacked his eye and knocked out one of his teeth.”
“Because ye were in your cups,” Quinn had muttered.
Lennox’s jaw had set in a hard line so much like their Father’s, and, Quinn could admit, like his own when he was feeling stubborn. “What of it? Right is right. That land has been Murray land for generations. We’ve been free men, outside the rule of lords and the like. Land of our own, which we’ve been fortunate enough to tend to feed and provide for our families.”
“How much does he want?” Quinn had asked, overlooking sentimentality. It helped no one.
Lennox had looked at the floor. “You’re forgetting something.”
“What is that?”
“He spoke with each of the other men to whom Father owed something and worked out the value of each debt, and to each of the ones I owed, then paid it off in order to carry the full debt on his own.”
“I see.” A shrewd man, to be certain. “And how much is that, all told?”
“Ten pounds, seven shillings.”
“Ten and seven?” The number was enough to knock the air from Quinn’s lungs. He’d never seen ten pounds all at once in his life.
“Aye. I’m certain some of it is additional shillings he’s added on for his troubles,” Lennox had snarled.
It was enough to make Quinn wish for five minutes alone with old Alec, but it would do no good. The matter had been turned over to the comhdhail, and the assembly of men who composed the court had sentenced Lennox to prison until the debt was repaid.
Killing Alec would not erase the record of the debt.
Quinn had craned his neck to look through the open door to the communal room in which prisoners were kept. All of them—men, women, children—in one great room. The horrors of what must have taken place in there were not lost on Quinn, nor was the sound of great, wracking coughs and groans of misery from inside.
Illness spread like fire through a dry forest in such a place. There was no telling what might befall Lennox if he spent much more time in there.
“I will help ye,” Quinn had promised as the guards approached to take his brother away.
“No, ye cannot. Ye must not. Not for me.”
Quinn had stared into his brother’s eyes, willing himself to commit them to memory. “No Murray dies in a debtors’ prison. I wasn’t going to tell ye of my plan, but I want ye to have a little hope to hold on to. I will free ye from this place and see ye back with your family. On our land.”
He’d watched as the guards led Lennox to the communal room with its filthy walls and floor, where women huddled their sickly children in the corners, and the healthy men paced like caged animals, while the ill simply curled up against the wall and waited to die.
He remembered all of this as he crouched by the tree, soaked to the skin, waiting for the chance to overtake a rider or carriage. He’d already collected fifteen shillings, the better part of a pound, along with a few pieces of jewelry which mig
ht fetch a sum. They were tucked deep in the leather purse he wore on a strap across his chest, never willing to be far from his treasures.
If he didn’t die of the grippe after spending so much time in the cold, wet woods, he would have his brother out of prison before long.
He needed to believe it.
4
“Ysmaine, might you speak with Mama about letting us go to Inverness with her and Father?” Little Hilda looked up at her tutor with pleading eyes which threatened to become watery.
Ysmaine knew all too well how easy it was for her charming little charge to turn on tears when she felt it would suit her purposes, and willed herself not to fall prey.
Instead, she ran a hand over the little girl’s auburn brown curls and shook her head with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, my dear, but I do not think it will be possible. This is why your Mama and Father have asked me to look after you while they are away. It will only be several days, perhaps a week. And we always have lovely times together when I stay with you, do we not?”
“Aye,” the little girl agreed, though it was clear she did not truly share her tutor’s opinion.
“Hilda…” Ysmaine crouched before the eight-year-old so that her own blue Fraser eyes might meet the sharp, snapping gray so prevalent in Clan Bissett. They were of a distant relation through marriage, which was why Hilda’s father, Niall, had been quick to employ Ysmaine as his daughter’s tutor.
That, and the two men had been best friends throughout their lives.
He, like Ysmaine’s father, believed in the value of educating young women, though, in hindsight, Ysmaine believed it was much more her mother’s gentle French influence which had worn down her rugged Highland father’s opinions.
Hilda scuffed at the soil with the toe of her leather shoe, unwilling to look at Ysmaine.
“Hilda, dear, you know your father is an important man in Clan Bissett. He’s taking your mother with him to the clan meeting in Inverness, but it will be no place for… young people,” she was careful to finish, keenly aware of an eight-year-old’s loathing for being called a child.
