The Prodigal Son

by Belfrage, Anna

  “But Ian…” Alex mumbled.

  “It will sort itself,” Simon said, taking hold of her hand and giving it a little squeeze.

  She sincerely hoped so, because the way Luke was staring at Ian didn’t bode all that well for his future should he remain in Luke’s tender care.

  “Father!” Ian ran towards Luke, slowed to a walk, a halt, arms held out.

  “Ian,” Luke replied and embraced him stiffly. “You’ve grown.”

  “Is Mam doing well?” Ian asked.

  “Aye,” Luke replied, “confined to bed, but doing well.” He expanded his chest. “Two weans in less than two years, quite a feat, hey?”

  What? He expected some sort of congratulations for having had it off with his wife? Alex patted her belly and when Luke looked her way she grinned, displaying all her sons, now gathered round her.

  Matthew had by now reached them, standing a yard or so to the side. Luke turned to face him, meeting the brittle, ice cold stare with one just as hostile.

  “Still alive? As yet not hanged or deported?”

  “Aye, as you see. But Oliver Wyndham isn’t. He hanged some days ago.”

  “Oliver Wyndham?” Luke sounded confused. “Someone I should know?”

  “Aye, I would think so. He owed you an impressive amount of money.” There was a derisive gleam in Matthew’s eyes, his long mouth stretching into a smile at Luke’s flush.

  Whatever else the brothers were planning on saying was interrupted by the dinner bell, the family and household hurrying indoors until it was only Luke, his two servants, Matthew, Simon and Alex left outside.

  “I’ll bring out something,” Alex said – not that she wanted to, unless it was some sort of creative stew including nightshade and a touch of hemlock.

  Matthew looked at her sternly. “Nay you will not. You’ll seat my brother and his men at our table.”

  Alex glared at him. “I don’t want to eat at the same table as he does.”

  “Then you won’t eat.” Matthew stepped up close to her, taking a firm hold of her arm. “They are guests, Alex. Most unwelcome, but guests.” Do as I say, his eyes told her, and over his shoulder she saw Simon nod.

  It was a strained meal, putting it mildly. Almost no conversation, Luke at one end, Matthew at the other. Matthew concentrated on his food, now and then throwing a look at his brother, who did the same, however put out he seemed at the amount of vegetables.

  “Now,” Matthew said once the table had been cleared. “What is it you truly want?” The children had been sent outside as had the servants, and round the table remained the three adult Graham siblings, Alex and Simon.

  “Want?” Luke said. “Well, that’s obvious, isn’t it? I’m here to take Ian home.”

  “I assume his mother misses him,” Joan said. “They’re so close – such a special bond, between a mother and her firstborn.”

  Luke looked as if he’d been force-fed pigswill. “Aye.”

  “In that case I’ll help Ian pack,” Alex said, getting up. She beckoned to Joan that she should come as well, and now it was only Matthew, Luke and Simon. And Ian, but in accordance with Matthew’s instructions, he was standing where he could hear without being seen, in the passageway.

  Matthew concentrated on his earthenware mug. To have Luke this close was proving to be quite the challenge to his self-control. For the last half-hour he’d been fighting the jet black anger that threatened to engulf his brain, urging him to pull his dirk and slit this Cain’s throat, and only Simon’s presence in the room stopped him from doing his brother grave bodily harm. He lifted his face to stare at Luke, who fidgeted under his eyes. Ah yes; it took but a glance to ascertain wee Luke had softened these last few years, making him no match physically for Matthew.

  Luke broke eye contact and drew his saddlebag towards him.

  “Do you remember, brother, the unfortunate incident more than a year ago when an officer was hanged?”

  “Seeing as it happened but a few miles from here, aye I do,” Matthew said.

  Luke nodded, extracting a formal looking document from his bag.

  “This is a sworn statement,” he said, throwing it on the table. “As you can see, the person in question names you as the murderer.”

  Simon laughed loudly. “You must try better than that, dear brother-in-law. Rumours without substance will not lead anywhere.”

  “Ah,” Luke smiled nastily. “This is a statement sworn by an officer. It carries some weight.”

  Matthew scanned the document. No proof, only a list of coincidences that pointed in his direction; his flogged wife, his open support of the Covenant movement, the fact that only on Tuesday was there a firm sighting of Matthew in Edinburgh, by one of the local judges. The undersigned had ridden the road himself and concluded that a good horse could be pushed to cover the distance to Edinburgh in something around thirty-four hours – and Graham was possessed of a very good horse. He bit back on a smile when he saw the signature. Somehow he suspected Captain Howard would no longer wish to be associated with this statement.

  “Conjecture,” Matthew scoffed, shoving the document in the direction of Simon. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

  Luke leaned back until his chair balanced on two legs, eyeing him coldly.

  “It doesn’t take much these days, dear Brother. That document in the hands of a zealous officer will cause you much trouble. I’m sure witnesses can be found to verify that you’ve been seen with Peden.” He leaned even further back, looking like a replete fox in a devastated henhouse. Matthew kicked the chair from under him, sending him to land on the floor.

  “You’re a disgusting excuse of a man,” Matthew said, towering over Luke. “And I’ll regret to my dying day that I didn’t kill you when I had the chance.”

  “Well you didn’t,” Luke said, getting to his feet. “You lacked the balls.” He bent forward and retrieved the document. “I’ll give this to the commanding officer in Ayr, and then, Brother, you might find yourself in a most uncomfortable position. Perhaps not hanged, but certainly deported.” He laughed and looked at Matthew. “And your family with you, Matthew.”

  “Bastard!”

  “Tell me,” Simon interrupted. “Are you planning to accuse your brother of murder, based on that?” He indicated the deed with a dismissive wave.

  Luke frowned in his direction, assenting with his head.

  “Murder, hmm?” Simon went on, creasing his brow. He tapped a finger against his pursed mouth and studied Luke in silence. “Then we should perhaps also talk about another murder; that of Malcolm Graham, in December 1653.”

  Luke had gone the colour of chalk. “Da? He died of misadventure!”

  Simon shook his head slowly from side to side. “Nay, that he did not. He was lured up to the pond and there pushed, or somehow forced into the water. We have a witness recalling a scuffle, loud angry voices and a splash.”

  “What is it you’re saying? That someone killed our father?” Luke looked from Matthew to Simon.

  Matthew nodded, quite impressed by his brother’s acting skills. If it hadn’t been for the ring presently in his pouch, he would even have believed him.

  “Well, I wasn’t here,” Luke said, relaxing somewhat. “I came back the day he was buried.”

  “Excellent timing,” Matthew muttered.

  “So you weren’t here?” Simon repeated.

  “You know I wasn’t! I’d been driven from my home.”

  “By Da,” Matthew nodded, “for your sinful behaviour with Margaret.”

  “The old fool,” Luke sneered. “If only he’d listened and allowed us to wed, but no, he had to stand there and tell me I was a sinful, misbegotten creature, no son of his, and then he threw me out, promising he’d kill me himself should I ever darken his door again. He shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Nay, he shouldn’t,” Matthew agreed, making Luke look at him in surprise.

  “He did what he thought was right. You were both too young, and Margare
t was his ward, in his mind almost a daughter – your sister.” Joan came over to the table and sat down, looking from brother to brother. “I know for a fact that Matthew was nowhere close to the millpond that day, he was here, in the kitchen, repairing harness.”

  “And I wasn’t here at all,” Luke insisted.

  “Are you sure?” Matthew asked, digging into his pouch.

  “Of course I am!” Luke snapped. Matthew opened his hand and let a small object fall onto the table. Joan gave a loud exclamation, touching it gingerly.

  “Grandmama’s ring!” She looked at Matthew. “But… it was gone!”

  “I found it,” a low voice said from behind them.

  Luke closed his eyes.

  “Ian?” Joan held out her hand and Ian inched forward, maintaining a cautious distance to Luke.

  “I found it,” Ian repeated, “in a small casket in Father’s office. It was hanging off a broken chain.”

  “I wasn’t here,” Luke insisted.

  “Nay, but Margaret definitely was,” Simon said, making Ian gasp.

  Luke lunged across the table, making for the ring, but Matthew was too quick, snatching it back and returning it to his pouch.

  “You need not fear, little brother, I won’t say anything – not unless I have to.”

  “It isn’t enough,” Luke said.

  “No?” Matthew laughed, holding up three fingers. “Motive, a ring in your possession that Da carried on him always, and then the witness to the struggle as such. I think it will carry quite some weight. Do you wish to put it to the test? I fear the king wouldn’t be amused, would he?”

  His brother was sweating, perspiration dewed his forehead, his upper lip. Well, it would, no? Matthew knew for a fact that the king had been most displeased when he received a letter a few years back, detailing Luke’s sins against his brother – penned by an inspired Sandy, no less. Defeated, Luke threw the signed statement back onto the table.

  “So what is it you want?”

  Simon produced several papers. “First of all, you should know that the ring and a sworn statement, signed by Matthew, Joan and myself as well as Ian, will go into safekeeping. If anything happens to Matthew it will be sent to an officer of the court, with a separate letter being sent directly to His Majesty.”

  Luke slumped lower in his seat, his eyes glacial when he turned them on Ian.

  “Secondly, you’ll renounce the lad.” Simon nodded in the direction of Ian.

  “And you think that’s a sacrifice?” Luke spat in the direction of Ian. “That’s no son of mine!”

  Ian jerked, his eyes dark with hurt, and Matthew rose, placing a hand on his shoulder.

  “Nay, Luke, you’re right. He’s mine – in everything he’s mine.”

  Half an hour later Luke was back on his horse. He’d signed Ian away, he’d signed over the princely sum of 500 pounds sterling as a lump sum compensation to Matthew – Simon’s idea – and had set fire to the statement, reducing his threat to nothing but ashes.

  Ian had stood mute throughout the proceedings, but had at one point opened his mouth to say that perhaps they should have a witness to all this, which had earned him an approving glance from Simon. So the literate one of Luke’s men had been brought in, had listened in obvious amazement when he was told that Luke was hereby renouncing his legal rights to Ian, and had then signed the document.

  My son; Matthew couldn’t help it, as he stood in the yard his arm came round Ian to hug him close, thereby showing the world his son was back where he belonged – with him.

  “May God grant me the pleasure of never seeing you again,” Luke said in a low voice to Matthew.

  “Aye, that would be for the best,” Matthew replied. For an instant their eyes met and held, and then Matthew inclined his head in a stiff nod. “Please convey my regards to Margaret.” He felt somewhat ashamed on her behalf; today he had reclaimed a son, today she’d lost one. Luke didn’t reply. He wheeled his horse and set off up the lane.

  Sandy listened as Matthew told him everything, from the sad ending of Oliver to yesterday’s confrontation with Luke.

  “He’ll be back, of course,” he finished.

  “Aye; Luke Graham is a most persistent man,” Sandy said. He drank some more of the beer Matthew had brought with him, belched, and bit into yet another piece of pie.

  Matthew regarded the landscape spread before him. “Simon says I must leave – he says it’s but a matter of time before they corner me.”

  Sandy finished his pie, brushed the crumbs off his worn and soiled coat and turned his grey gaze on Matthew.

  “You should.”

  “I can’t leave this, this is my home!” He looked across the bare fields and sighed. “My birthplace, the birthplace of my father and his father before him and his father… ten generations and more.”

  “About time for something new then,” Sandy said. He nudged Matthew and pointed at Alex, who was walking through the orchard, unaware of them. “That’s your home. That woman is all the home you need.”

  Matthew leaned back against his arms and let his eyes rest on Alex and the children that tumbled around her – all his children.

  “I’m a fortunate man.”

  Sandy chuckled. “She may be half-heathen, wild and wayward, but aye, you’re indeed blessed.”

  And you don’t know the half of it, Matthew smiled.

  Chapter 38

  “You have to,” Alex said to Matthew, “and you have to do it now.”

  Matthew sighed, but recognised that she was right. Mark had hovered round them the last few days, somehow understanding that things had changed, but not how.

  “What do I tell him?” he groaned.

  “I think you must tell him the truth.”

  Matthew grimaced; it seemed a lot to load on a lad not yet eight.

  “He has to know,” Alex said.

  “Aye,” Matthew agreed and got out of bed. Anyhow, he owed it to Ian.

  Mark looked surprised when Matthew came to find him, suggesting they should do some fishing, just the two of them. He beamed and hurried off to find his rod, throwing a triumphant look in the direction of Ian, who was told to sweep the threshing floor.

  Jacob rushed over to Matthew, saying he wanted to come too, because he didn’t want to stay at home all day with only wee Daniel, and he was big enough now to go fishing, wasn’t he? Matthew shook his head; today it was him and Mark.

  “You like Ian, don’t you?” Matthew asked once they were settled in position. The river flowed sluggish and dark below them, shadowed by alders that grew high enough to create a green tunnel. Mark was frowning down at his worm, at his hook.

  “Aye,” Mark replied, closing his eyes when he pushed the hook through the wriggling body.

  “He’ll be staying with us,” Matthew said.

  “Oh aye? He already is.” Mark sounded rather uninterested.

  “You know I was married before?” Matthew said.

  Mark looked at him, shaking his head.

  “To your Aunt Margaret,” he continued, smiling wryly when Mark’s mouth fell open into a surprised ‘o’. “It wasn’t a good marriage. Margaret was very much in love with your uncle, not me.”

  “But…” Mark frowned, clearly grappling with what Matthew had just told him. “A wife is supposed to love her husband. Like Mama; she loves you.”

  Matthew chuckled softly. “It isn’t always like that, and your mama is an exceptional woman. Not many men find someone like that.”

  “I will,” Mark said confidently. And his wife would have many, many babies and laugh and tell them stories and sometimes chase them round the yard when they had been naughty. He thought a bit more. “Brown eyes, I think, and her name will be Mary,” he confided to his father, who didn’t quite know whether to laugh or agree.

  “And if you meet a bonny brown-eyed lass called Lizzie?”

  Mark shrugged. “Mary.”

  Matthew reverted from the tangential excursion into his future daughter-in-law�
��s name.

  “While I was wed to Margaret there was a child,” he said. Mark’s float was bobbing up and down, and Mark was on his feet, struggling to lift the fish out of the water.

  “Look!” he sang out. “A big one!”

  Matthew laughed and helped him land it, waiting until he had calmed down before continuing.

  “As I said, there was a child – Ian.”

  That got Mark’s attention and he turned to face his father.

  “Ian? But he’s Uncle Luke’s son.”

  “Ian was born in my marriage to Margaret, he was born as my son.” Matthew inhaled loudly and looked his son in the eyes. “Ian is my son. Luke tried to steal him, but now I’ve gotten him back.”

  Mark didn’t say anything. He sat looking at his float, lower lip caught between his teeth. He got to his feet.

  “I want Mama,” he said, sounding much younger than he was. And then he turned and ran.

  Alex was singing while she stripped one line of raspberry canes after the other of its late fruit. She saw Mark come flying towards her and held out her arms, stumbling backwards when he barrelled into her.

  “Oouf,” Alex said, righting them both. “You’re much stronger than you think.” She slipped a hand under his chin and raised his face to inspect him. “So he told you.”

  Mark nodded and sat down at her feet. Alex sat down beside him and offered him her basket. They sat in silence, eating their way through a sizeable quantity of raspberries.

  “I don’t understand,” Mark said in a low voice.

  “Of course you don’t. It’s quite a mess – even if you’re an adult.” She tilted her head in the direction of where Matthew was coming down the hill. “It’s difficult for him. You see, for very many years he’s known that Ian was his boy, but Luke and Margaret tricked him. They made him believe Ian wasn’t his, and so he let them take him.” She smiled at him. “It’s enough to see you and Ian together to see that you must be brothers, not cousins. You’re both so very like him, like your father.” She chewed at her cheek, trying to decide how to tell him the rest.

  “Luke had a son last year.”

  “Charles,” Mark nodded. “Very ugly, like a pig with red hair on it.”