He had added the last part for one reason. If he said too many negative things about Alysander, Moirra would end up not believing him. But if he made it sound as though he sincerely cared, that there was hope for her and for Alysander, it simply added to the believability of his lie.
Tears streamed down her cheeks, her shoulders wracking, her face contorted into a mass of heartache and pain. Thomas went to her then, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Wheesht, now Moirra. Do no’ give up hope yet. All be no’ lost, ye ken? Ye have yer daughters, Deirdre, and believe it or no’, even me. I ken ye think me nothin’ more than a greedy son of a whore, but I do care what happens to ye, Moirra. I always have.”
“Why would he leave me? He loves me, and I him. I do no’ understand, Thomas.”
Another heavy sigh before answering. “Who kens what makes any man do anythin’, Moirra. Mayhap ye did no’ ken him as well as ye thought ye did? But it matters no’. It be no’ the end of the world. Ye still have yer daughters.”
Moirra shook her head and wiped away her tears. “Aye, I have me daughters.”
Thomas patted her hand as he plastered a look of tender concern on his face. “I ken it might no’ be the best time to discuss this, Moirra. But I want ye to ken that if anythin’ should ever happen to ye, yer daughters always have a home here. All of ye are always welcome here.”
She cast him a wary look. “Why do ye behave so kindly to me now, Thomas?”
Feigning a look of contrition, he said, “When I saw how ill ye were, it scared me near to death. I soon realized that I miss the friendship we used to share, Moirra. I’ve been a fool and I can only pray ye’ll fergive me someday.”
Moirra studied him closely for a long moment. Thomas did his best to look contrite and sincere.
“I do fergive ye, Thomas.”
’Twas all he could do not to jump to his feet and scream ‘hallelujah!’ “I thank ye kindly, Moirra. And remember, no matter what happens, ye can stay here as long as ye need or want. I ken ye can no’ go to yer own home just yet fer ye need to rest and heal yerself.”
“Thank ye kindly, Thomas,” she told him. “I think I would like to be alone now, to rest and to try to sort this all out.”
He gave her hand another gentle pat before quitting the room.
Below stairs, he poured himself a cup of fine whisky to celebrate. He had planted huge seeds of doubts in the minds of two people this day. He felt quite certain that the longer Moirra stayed abed, alone with her thoughts, the more her heart would break when she realized Alysander wasn’t coming for her.
Now all he had to do was to think of a way to keep Alysander away when he was released from the gaol. Thomas still had no doubt at all that the man would be freed. ’Twas just a matter of when. Hopefully, it would be days if not weeks from now. He needed time to figure out what to do next to keep Moirra and Alysander apart. The longer the seeds of doubt lay in their hearts, the better it would be for him.
So he sat in the quiet stillness of the late hour and drank and thought.
When he finished his third cup of whisky he was no closer to a plan of keeping Moirra and Alysander apart than he had been earlier.
When the solution finally presented itself, a smile exploded on his face. He lifted his fourth cup of whisky and toasted the air before him. “To murder!”
Twenty
’Twas just before dawn when William, Bruce and Alec entered the village of Glenkirby. Straightaway they went to the inn where Finnis Malcolm was staying and thundered up the steps. William pounded his fist against the wooden door repeatedly until Finnis flung it open.
“What in the bloody hell?” he asked as he stood bare-chested wearing trews that were untied and his eyes still bleary from sleep. The fog of sleep cleared almost instantly when he saw William standing in the semi-dark corridor, with Bruce and Alec on either side of him.
“I have word from Robert II,” William said as he pushed his way into the room. Bruce and Alec followed behind him.
Finnis let out a quick breath and raked a hand through his brown hair. “It be about time.”
* * *
Alysander had slept very little, his thoughts plagued with doubt and worry over what Thomas McGregor had told him the night before. Moirra was at McGregor’s home. In his bed.
He’d been in the gaol for nearly three weeks with no word from anyone. With little food and even less warmth, his nerves were gone, torn asunder. Any hope to survive this ordeal, to live the rest of his days with the woman he loved beyond measure, had quickly dwindled after Thomas McGregor’s visit.
Mayhap Thomas bespoke the truth. Mayhap Moirra was convinced that Alysander was going to hang. Mayhap, like him, she had lost all hope. She had four daughters to think of, as well as the child — their child — that she carried. How could he blame her for doing what she must in order to survive?
The heartache was almost too much to bear. He wasn’t sure if he should feel betrayed or relieved that she had moved on with her life, even if it had been only a few weeks. But, bloody hell, could she not have waited until Almer Wilgart had tied the noose around his neck?
Back and forth he went, betwixt grief and anger as it gnawed at his gut until he felt as vulnerable and weak as a newly born lamb. By the time the sun began to rise the following morning, he had no strength left to fight the demons battling inside his mind.
As he lay in the dark morning hours he heard the heavy wooden door push open. Was it Thomas come back to insult and taunt him? Mayhap he be here to tell me he bedded me wife, Alysander sulked. He closed his eyes, intent on ignoring anyone who might be coming toward his cell. To hell with all of them.
Footsteps fell in hurried progression across the stone floor. They were the kind of footsteps that bode a warning. But who they belonged to or why they were quickly making their way toward his cell, Alysander cared not. Though instinct told him the owner of the footsteps was on a mission of some importance and mayhap ‘twould be a good idea for him to prepare himself for whatever might be heading his way, Alysander continued to ignore that inner voice. He remained where he was, lying on his back, in the cot, eyes closed, feet crossed at his ankles. They’ve come to hang me, he mused. Let them.
He’d fallen that far.
So far into the abyss of depression that he no longer cared if he lived or died. Moirra was with Thomas McGregor.
And as it had been since his mother’s death, Alysander McCullum was alone once again.
He had nothing left to fight for.
* * *
Connor McCullum, chief of Clan McCullum had scared the living daylights out of George when he and his entourage of ten tall, muscular, angry looking men came barging into the public room of the gaol moments ago. They were all so blasted large that it amazed George that they all fit inside the tiny room. Connor McCullum had to have been the most imposing man George had ever met in his life. The man was tall, a good six inches taller than George. Wide-shouldered, a massive chest and arms that looked as though they’d killed more than one man in his lifetime. He wore a dark tunic over leather trews. A plaid of brown, goldenrod and green was draped over one shoulder and around his waist. He also sported a cloak made of what George was quite certain to be the fur of a black bear. He had pulled the fur back and tucked it around the hilt of his broadsword. All in all, a most terrifying image.
“I be Connor McCullum, chief of the McCullum clan. I be told yer keepin’ me brother, Alysander here, in yer gaol.”
George barely managed a nod of affirmation before the terrifying man stepped toward him.
It only took one look to discover two things. First, there was no mistaking Connor and Alysander were brothers. Two, Connor McCullum was quite angry and quite serious about slicing George’s throat with the dirk he had pressed against it.
“I have more than one hundred of me men waitin’ out of doors, ye ken? I will see me brother, now, little man,” Connor said. “Or ye will nae live to see the sun finish risin’ over the horizon.”
> George was not as inept or foolish as some might have been led to believe. “Aye, m’laird,” he squeaked out.
Connor sheathed his weapon inside his heavy leather belt, gave a quick nod and glowered fiercely at him. “Be quick about it.”
George scrambled out of his chair and headed toward the heavy wooden door. His hands shook as he fumbled with a ring of iron keys, looking for the one that would unlock the door. He was fully prepared to give them the key to Alysander McCullum’s cell if they asked for it, Almer Wilgart be damned.
Grabbing a lit torch from the wall, George had led the way to Alysander’s cell. With a shaky hand, he held the torch up and out so that Connor McCullum could see into the dark cell.
Connor took one look at his brother and shook his head. With a heavy sigh, he said, “What have ye done this time, brother?”
* * *
For a brief moment, Alysander thought he might have been dreaming. He had not thought of his brother Connor much in months. Mayhap ’twas simply his mind playing tricks, now that the end of his life was drawing near. For a long moment, he did not move. He simply waited.
“Open the bloody door,” Connor growled.
Next he heard the jangling of keys as one was shoved into the heavy iron lock. Alysander swallowed hard before daring to open one eye, just to peek, just to make certain ’twasn’t insanity taking hold.
The door swung open and a large figure stepped inside.
Connor.
His eldest brother, the man he both admired and envied. “Connor,” Alysander said as he jumped out of the bed and stood before him. “Why are ye here?” He wasn’t so much excited to see his brother as he was leery. They had not parted on the best of terms last year and as far as Alysander knew, he was not necessarily one of Connor’s favorite people.
Connor thought it an awfully stupid question considering the circumstances. “I get word that ye be sittin’ in a gaol in this Godforsaken place, that ye’ve been accused of murder, and ye ask why I be here?” He turned to George, who was still shaking with fright and said, “He asks why I be here.”
George remained mute, Connor simply shook his head and turned his attention back to Alysander. “And to think Da always considered ye the most intelligent of all his sons.”
Alysander’s mouth fell open. “Ye must be drunk fer we both ken well that our father can no’ stand the sight of me, least of all would he consider me to be his smartest son.”
Connor’s expression changed from playful to serious rather rapidly. “Alysander, much has happened since ye left, much ye do no’ ken.”
Connor’s sudden change in countenance, as if he bore the weight of the world on his shoulders — though broad they may be — brought an overwhelming sense of unease to the pit of Alysander’s stomach. Why, after all this time, he still cared about his family or his clan, he did not quite understand. Hadn’t he pushed away all those kind-hearted feelings toward his brothers long ago? Again, he had to think ’twas his current predicament that left him with that sorrowful and worried feeling.
Turning to George, Connor said, “I want me brother released, and I want him released now.”
A most peculiar expression washed over George’s face as his skin turned ashen. “I-I can no’ do that, m’laird. Only the sheriff or the King’s emissary can do that.”
Connor stepped forward, bent low so that he could look George in the eye. “Then I suggest ye find either one of them and bring them here at once. Else I’ll tell those one hundred and fifty men waitin’ fer us out of doors to tear ye from limb to limb.”
Alysander almost — not quite, but almost — felt sorry for George. The man looked as though he was ready to piss his trews. Served the fool right for having been such an arse these past weeks.
George nodded his head rapidly before bowing and scurrying away to do Connor’s bidding. Connor and Alysander smiled as the man hurried away as if his arse was on fire.
“He left the door open,” Alysander said when Connor turned to face him.
“Aye, that he did,” Connor said as he raised a devilish brow. “We could leave now, me brother.”
Alysander gave the idea some thought before answering. “Nay, ’twould no’ look good fer the future chief of Clan McCullum to be hangin’ from the gallows next to his brother.”
Alysander noted once again that odd expression fall across his brother’s face.
“Tell me why yer here,” Connor asked in a low, concerned voice.
Alysander let loose with a long, heavy sigh as he ran a hand through his brown hair. “I fear that be a very long story, Connor.”
Conner smiled rather devilishly. “I do no’ think we be goin’ anywhere anytime soon.”
Realizing his brother was probably correct in his assessment, Alysander took in a deep breath and began to explain the events that led to his being incarcerated. “It all began many months ago when I got so bloody drunk that I could no’ find me arse with both hands. I was set upon by a small band of highwaymen …”
* * *
The more Alysander told his story of how he came to be here, the wider Connor’s eyes and mouth became. A wife? Four daughters? ’Twas all completely out of character for Alysander. What surprised Connor even more was the fact that Alysander had given up drinking anything stronger than cider. “I never thought I’d live to see the day ye gave up drink,” Connor said with more than a hint of surprise in his voice.
Alysander smiled woefully. “Mayhap, had I stayed drunk, I’d no’ be here today.” But then he would not have met the most beautiful, kind, wonderful woman he had ever known. Neither would he be suffering from a broken heart the likes of which he would never have believed possible. How can a man still live when his heart has been ripped from his chest?
Cocking his head slightly and raising a brow, Connor said, “But ye’ve a beautiful wife from what ye tell me, as well as four daughters. Certainly they were worth givin’ up the drink?”
“Aye, she be beautiful.” There was no way to deny that. She was also charming, smart, witty, giving, and perfectly capable of tearing his heart to little pieces.
“Do ye love her?” Connor asked in a low voice.
Did he love her? More than he loved the next breath he would take. More than he could fathom. The fact that she was now in Thomas McGregor’s bed did nothing to change how he felt about her. They could hang him this very day and he would go through eternity loving that woman. “Aye, Connor, I fear I do.”
Connor was about to ask another question when a great commotion coming from the public area broke out. Moments later, Finnis Malcolm came bursting into the gaol, along with William McGregor and a handful of other men. Bringing up the rear and practically screeching like a banshee was Almer Wilgart.
“Ye can no’ do this!” Almer cried out at the men walking ahead of him. “He has confessed! We are set to hang him on the morrow!”
Hang him on the morrow? Alysander hadn’t been privy to that bit of information.
“I will petition the King!” Almer continued to call out to the backs of the men. “Robert II has no right to do this!”
Finnis had apparently heard enough of Almer’s complaints. He spun on his heels and thundered toward him. “Would ye like me to have ye put in chains and taken to Robert so that ye might tell him yerself that ye claim he has no right to do this?”
Almer went ashen for the briefest moment as if he were thinking on Finnis’ threat. That ugly scowl that Alysander had grown accustomed to seeing on the man’s face returned quickly. “Verra well, ye may have Alysander McCullum, but I will leave this verra moment to go to Thomas McGregor’s home and retrieve Moirra Dundotter. I ken she be the one who killed me brother, no matter what Alysander claims.”
William stepped forward then, bearing the fiercest and most frightening glower he could manage. “If ye step one wee little toe on me lands, I will kill ye.”
Fear flickered briefly in Almer’s eyes. “It be Thomas’ land, no’ yers.”
�
��It be mine as much as it be Thomas’ and I will no’ warn ye again. Moirra did no’ kill yer good-fer-nothin’ brother!”
“That is enough,” Finnis growled. “Ye’ve read Robert’s missive,” he held the missive up in one hand as a reminder to Almer. “Ye’ll no’ be arrestin’ Moirra or anyone else fer that matter.”
* * *
To say the least, Alysander was as confused as Connor seemed to be. Together, they stepped out of the cell and toward the group of men. “Pray tell,” Alysander asked. “Could one of ye explain what yer all arguin’ over?”
“How did ye get out of yer cell?” Almer demanded to know.
“Yer man did no’ lock it when he went to find ye,” Connor said with a nod toward George. George, who had been standing beside Almer, went as pale as a ghost. “Ye might want to have a conversation with him about the proper way to keep yer prisoners in the gaol.”
Almer began to shout at George, who seemed to shrink with each insult and threat that Almer hurled at him.
“Enough!” Finnis shouted. His face was an odd shade of deep red, a sure sign that his patience had been tested beyond its limits. All eyes in the small area turned to look at him.
He let out an exasperated sigh as he turned to face Alysander and handed him the missive. “By order of Robert II, ye are hereby declared innocent of the charges against ye. Ye’ll no’ be hanged on the morrow,” he said as he turned to face Almer. “Or any other day.”
Almer’s eyes turned to slits, his anger and fury undeniable. “And what of Moirra Dundotter? Will ye let that murderin’ whore go free as well?”
Simultaneously, Alysander and William lunged at Almer and tackled him to the stone floor. Alysander got to his knees and held Almer by the scruff of his tunic. “Ye’ll never say such a thing about Moirra, ever again, Almer Wilgart!”
Moirra's Heart Series: The Complete Collection ( Moirra's Heart Series: The Complete Collection (The Moirra's Heart Series Book 3)) Page 21
