William scratched his jaw while he thought for a short moment. “All those things were found with him,” he said. “At least accordin’ to Almer. He says the only thin’ missin’ was a bag of coins.”
Moirra gave a slight shake of her head. “He did no’ have much by the way of coin, William. But I ken fer a fact he had it with him when he left.” She had buried it with his body for she did not want anything left of him in her home. Not even the few coins he had.
“Moirra, can ye think of anyone else who would want him dead?” William asked.
When Moirra cast him a look that said she questioned his soundness of mind, William chuckled. “Aye, I suppose there were many, aye?”
“Aye, William, there were many who did no’ like him and aye, even a few who would want to see him dead.”
* * *
Orabilis did not like Thomas McGregor for many reasons. Primarily, however, she detested the way he treated her and her sisters, as well as her pup, Wulver. He refused to allow the sweet-natured dog into his home and had even tried to not allow Wulver any refuge anywhere on his lands. But Phillip intervened on her behalf, though in secret so Thomas wouldn’t find out.
Phillip had helped bring Wulver from Orabilis’ home to his own. Phillip and his wife were much nicer than Thomas. They even went so far as to make a bed for him, using an old basket, and setting it in front of the hearth in their tiny cottage. Orabilis spent every waking moment sitting beside Wulver, talking to him, helping to change his bandages and applying the salve that Deirdre had made for his wounds.
In a matter of days, Wulver was feeling much better. Within a fortnight, he was eating again and was soon up and about and back to his old self. Though Orabilis was quite happy with Wulver’s recovery, she still missed her mother something fierce. Her sisters did their best to take care of her, but they were not her mum and that in turn caused a good amount of frustration for everyone.
There were only two other people in her world that she hated more than Thomas McGregor; Delmar and Almer Wilgart. Thankfully one of them was already dead.
Her mum and sisters all thought that she did not know what had truly happened to Delmar. Orabilis decided it best to keep it that way, to continue to pretend she didn’t know. If they thought she knew that Muriale had actually been the one to kill Delmar, well, they would all worry that she’d not keep it a secret. The last thing any one of them needed was more worry.
What no one realized was that she was quite good at keeping secrets. She wasn’t a tattler like Esa. Nay, Orabilis knew how important it was not to tell anyone what she knew about that night. Her sisters’ very lives depended on keeping that secret. What to do about her mother was an altogether different worry. She could not help her mum without tattling on her sisters. And if she did by some chance let it slip that Muriale had killed Delmar and they hanged her for it, well, even at the age of six she knew ’twould be a long time before anyone would forgive her for that slip of the tongue.
Nay, no matter what she did or didn’t do, someone was in serious trouble. In the end, she supposed it was best to keep the secret and find another way to help her mum. If only the adults around her would listen and simply put out the call to arms, march in to Glenkirby and remove her mother from the gaol, then things could go back to normal.
But adults rarely listened to the good advice of a child.
Ten
After returning to Glenkirby, Finnis went to visit Almer Wilgart. If what James and Alysander had told him was true, then Almer had no real evidence against Moirra. He took with him two of the fifteen men that had ridden with him from Stirling. Alec and Bruce were young men who most people, at first glance, would mistake for idiots, simply because of their size and stature. Nothing could be further from the truth. A head taller even than Finnis with the appearance of having been built from stone, the men could be counted on for protection as well as intellect.
Almer and Finnis sat across from one another at Almer’s desk. Almer was just as foul smelling as he had been that morning. Apparently, bathing was not a vital part of the man’s life.
Bruce removed the small scroll he had tucked into his belt and handed it to Finnis, who in turn handed it to Almer. “As ye can see from the seal, it be from Robert II, Guardian of Scotland.”
Finnis couldn’t necessarily describe the expression on Almer’s face as one of awe. ’Twas more akin to confusion, surprise, and curiosity. Almer removed a small dagger from the top of his desk and carefully ran it under the seal. His lips moved as he read each word slowly.
“By his order,” Finnis began to explain, “I will act as judge in the proceeding against Moirra Dundotter-McCullum.”
Almer began to work his jaw back and forth as he continued to read.
“I ken ye be the sheriff here, Almer Wilgart. But ye also be related to the victim. While the king values your fealty to him, ye canna act as sheriff, judge and jury in this matter.”
Almer was visibly upset. “Ye believe I canna be fair and just in this matter?”
“I do no’ believe any man in yer position could be fair and just in such a matter,” Finnis told him. “I ken that I would no’ be able had it been me brother who was dead.”
“I want justice fer me brother,” Almer told him with a firm voice.
“As would any man,” Finnis agreed. “But we must make certain it be justice that is given, no’ vengeance.”
Almer angrily tossed the scroll aside. “And if I seek both?”
Finnis arched one brow as he answered. “If the woman be truly guilty, ye shall have both. Me only concern is fer justice. Ye may, of course act as counsel fer the crown.”
That offer seemed to ease some of Almer’s anger. “Verra well, m’laird. When would you like the trial to commence?”
“The sooner, the better,” Finnis said. Though not for the same reasons Almer wanted to begin. Finnis doubted there was much in the way of evidence but he was still willing to keep an open mind on the matter. “We shall commence on the morrow at ten.”
Almer looked pleased with his answer, barely able to contain his excitement.
The more time Finnis spent with Almer the less he liked him. Was Almer as heartless as he was pompous? “Verra well,” Finnis said as he stood to leave. “I shall see you on the morrow.”
At the door, Finnis paused to glance over his shoulder one last time. Almer was still smiling. ’Twas a smile that made Finnis’ blood run cold.
* * *
Finnis was in a most difficult position. As a servant to his king and the laws of his country and as an honorable man, he could not allow his friendship with Alysander McCullum to interfere with his duty. It mattered not that he didn’t like Almer Wilgart or that he loved Alysander McCullum like a brother. The only thing that mattered was the truth.
If the evidence that Almer was going to present to him was strong and proved without any doubt that Moirra had in fact killed Delmar Wilgart, then his only option would be to convict her and sentence her to death. If, however, the evidence was severely lacking then he would have no qualms of declaring her innocent. If the lines between the two — guilt or innocence — were blurred, his decision would be far more difficult. In the end, it could end up costing him a friendship. Finnis would always try to err on the side of caution. More than one life was at stake in this situation. If Moirra were hanged, Alysander would likely die not long after, more likely than not, from a broken heart.
The lives of two people were now in his hands.
He could only pray that he would make the right decisions.
* * *
Her trial would begin on the morrow. Moirra wasn’t sure if she should feel relieved or even more worried.
Almer had informed her that Robert II had sent an emissary to act as overseer of the proceedings. Though he did his best to make her believe it had been at his own request, Moirra didn’t fully believe him. Almer was as trustworthy as a wolf left to watch over a flock of sheep. She also seriously doubted that Almer Wilg
art had any connection to the king whatsoever. Had there been any, either he or his brother Delmar would have bragged about it repeatedly.
Tired beyond compare, sleep was elusive. Nay, there had to be more to it than what Almer said, but what? Mayhap ’twas all a lie, a ruse to make her feel even more disheartened. Mayhap there was no emissary at all and it was simply another way for Almer to torture her.
In the end, the only thing that truly mattered was keeping her daughters safe. If Almer ever learned the truth, he would not give a second thought to hanging Muriale, no matter how young she was. Nay, she would gladly sacrifice her own life so that her daughters would have some chance at a future.
If Alysander did not want the responsibility of raising her daughters, Moirra would not hold that against him. Though Deirdre had been quite emphatic that Alysander was sick with worry and had sworn he would raise the girls as his own, Moirra still had lingering doubts. He was a good man of that, there was no doubt. But to take on the task of raising his soon-to-be dead wife’s daughters? That would be a tremendous act of love. One that she could carry into eternity with her, that was if the good Lord saw fit to allow her access.
“Heavenly Father,” she whispered into the darkness “On the morrow, they’ll make me swear an oath to tell the truth. I be lettin’ ye ken now that I’ll be lyin’ through me teeth.” Mayhap if she admitted now that she’d be lying, God would be able to forgive her.
Aye, she was perfectly willing to die to protect her daughters.
The truth was that Delmar Wilgart had been a waste of human flesh. Unfortunately, she hadn’t realized that until it was too late. She had only agreed to handfast with him because she needed help with her farm and no one else would have her. Had she realized sooner that Delmar was just as awful as his brother, she would have sold the farm to Thomas McGregor and moved on.
But had she done that, she would not have met Alysander McCullum.
And she would never have been blessed with experiencing the joy that true love brings. She and Alysander loved one another much like her parents had loved one another. Without restraint, without condition. Passionately, wholeheartedly. ’Twas a rare kind of love, one that she had at one time believed she would never experience.
But now she had and it was everything she thought it would be, yet more.
Had she done something in her past that had angered God? ’Twas the only thing that made sense to her at the moment. She’d angered God and this was His way of exacting His vengeance. He gave her the one thing she had silently longed for, for the whole of her adult life.
Then He took it all away.
Or, was He simply testing her? Testing her faith, strength and resolve?
Either way, she was locked in a cold, dark cell. Punishment for some wrongdoing or a test of faith, here she was. Cold, tired, sick with worry and fear. Longing for her husband, her children, wishing that she had done so many things differently. Questioning poorly made decisions and wondering how differently her life would be had she not done this or that.
It wasn’t the first time Moirra had been with child. But it was the first time she’d found herself locked in a filthy, dank gaol while with child. With Deirdre’s help, they estimated she was only two months along. The morning sickness was overwhelming, to say the least. She could not remember ever throwing up this much with her four daughters. The excessive vomiting could be, she assumed, due to her horrible living conditions, the worry over her family, and the stress of not knowing when she’d hang. More likely than not, it was all of the above.
If she was found guilty, would they allow her to live long enough to bring Alysander’s child into this world? She wondered, if they killed her whilst with child, would anyone besides her consider that murder of an innocent child? ’Twas doubtful that Almer Wilgart would care.
He was hell-bent on seeing her hang.
* * *
According to the sunlight beaming in through the small window of her gaol cell, morning had dawned bright. Was that another way of God making her suffer? Was this His way of saying See what ye shall miss, sinner?
After retching into the bucket, Moirra laid back down on the cot. Though Deirdre had done her best to see that Almer improved the conditions of her cell, it was still a filthy, dark and dank space. Whenever it rained — which was happening more and more frequently this time of year — the water would trickle in through the open window and tiny cracks in the stones. There had been a few times where deep puddles had formed, forcing Moirra to stay on the cot to keep from soaking her feet in the frigid, murky water.
The brazier that sat in the small space outside her cell was lit only once a day and only after nightfall. None of her gaolers bothered to light it again, no matter how cold the night air became.
I treat me cow better than this, she mused as she stared up at the dark ceiling.
Worry and dreadful anticipation draped around her like a wet blanket. Soon, very soon, she’d be led away. But to what end? Her freedom or her death?
Much to her surprise and near glee, George and Harry brought her a bowl of clean water. She washed as best she could and rinsed out her mouth. A while later, they brought her a small hunk of bread, an even smaller hunk of cheese, and a small flagon of cider. Her stomach was too upset to eat anything more than a few bites of bread.
How much time had passed, she neither knew nor cared, but George and Harry did come for her. They led her out of her cell with her hands and feet bound in chains as if she were some great threat.
She recognized most of the faces and knew they were here not to wish her well, but to see her sentenced to death. They didn’t care about seeking the truth; of that, she was quite certain.
There had been a time, when she was younger, when the townspeople were kind to her. Her parents had been well-respected by all who knew them and they afforded Moirra the same respect.
But something had begun to change, right around the time she married Kenneth, her first husband. ‘Twasn’t a sudden change, but something that happened over time. ’Twasn’t until the death of her second husband that the townspeople began to openly show their contempt for her. Some would turn and walk the other way when they saw her approach, others were not so subtle.
’Twas then that the rumors — that before had been whispered behind her back — were spoken openly and within earshot. For reasons she could not grasp, the people believed she was responsible for the deaths of her husbands. ’Twas utter nonsense of course, for Kenneth had died of the ague and Aric had been killed in battle. How they found her responsible for his death remained a mystery.
When she saw Alysander and three of her four daughters sitting in the small chamber, Moirra was tempted to turn and run back to her cell. She did not want Alysander or her children seeing her like this; in a dirty dress, her hair unwashed, and bound with shackles at her ankles and wrists.
When Moirra’s daughters saw her, they started to jump to their feet and rush to her side. Alysander held them back and whispered something to them that made them return to their seats.
She thought Alysander’s smile looked forced and knew he was doing his best to lift her spirits and offer silent hope. Though she didn’t feel like smiling, she tried to return his smile all the same. His Adam’s apple bobbed once, then twice, as if he were fighting back emotion and tears. When he mouthed the words I love you, she nearly fell to her knees with raw heartache. Returning his sentiment was almost impossible without crying, but from somewhere deep within, she found the strength to do it.
What she would not give to be able to wrap her arms around her family once more. Tears she’d been holding on to for days, welled in her eyes. She swallowed hard and cleared her throat to keep them at bay. ’Twas bad enough that she was dirty and shackled. The last thing they needed to see were her tears.
A hush fell over the room when she was brought to stand in the center of the room. A man she did not recognize sat in a high-backed chair on the dais. He had the look of someone important what wi
th his regal bearing and fine clothes. Parchments were spread on the table before him, along with a block of wood, ink and quill. He seemed far too young to be an overseer of any trial, let alone hers.
After George and Harry positioned her in the middle of the room, facing the overseer, they stepped away, but not far. They watched over her as if she were some great threat to the innocent people in the room.
The overseer picked up the block of wood and banged it against the table. Moirra had been watching her family and was caught off guard. The loud bang gave her a start.
“I be Finnis Malcolm, Emissary to Robert II, Guardian of Scotland and King David. I will be actin’ as overseer for the trial against Moirra Dundotter-McCullum. Actin’ as counsel for the defendant will be William McGregor. Acting on behalf of the crown will be Almer Wilgart.”
Moirra didn’t know which was worse; Almer acting as her judge or as her prosecutor.
* * *
Alysander knew there was no real evidence against his wife. Almer had kept whatever evidence he had against Moirra a secret. There had been no way for William to prepare any kind of defense. He was hopeful that whatever evidence Almer might have, it would be so weak as to be laughable. Still, he worried.
He also knew that the sheriff did not necessarily need any cold, hard evidence or facts in order to convict Moirra in the eyes of the public. All that was required was an accusation. The townspeople would do the rest. Had Finnis Malcolm not been here to oversee the proceedings, Alysander knew his wife would already have been hanged. And the townspeople would have welcomed it.
Even if she were found innocent, her future here was questionable at best. All that Almer need do was accuse Moirra of a crime. The good people of Glenkirby would, in the end, do Almer’s dirty work for him. After all, the good sheriff would not accuse an innocent person, would he? The truth was of little consequence.
Moirra's Heart Series: The Complete Collection ( Moirra's Heart Series: The Complete Collection (The Moirra's Heart Series Book 3)) Page 16
