Epilogue
“You believe the man?”
Malcolm MacDowylt strode down the dark hallway at his brother’s side. It was a legitimate question that Patrick posed.
“I do. The MacQuarries sent him with the message. They’d have no reason to tell us a falsehood and the rider says he looked upon the graves with his own two eyes.”
It saddened him to hear of Isabella’s death.
And the warrior who had been her self-appointed guardian.
Though their presence had been naught but a hindrance to him, he’d hoped that in engineering their escape he’d given them a chance for long life together.
Apparently the injuries the warrior had suffered at the hands of Lardiner had been too great for him to survive.
“The lad as well?” Patrick’s question brought him back to the present.
“Aye. The child dinna recover from the beating, I suppose.”
“Bastard,” Patrick hissed, picking up his pace.
Malcolm placed a hand on his brother’s forearm. “He’ll be dealt with. Keep yer anger in check, Paddy. We’ve a plan to carry out.”
His brother nodded, keeping his thoughts to himself until they reached their destination.
“I only hope the worthless whoreson tries to run,” Patrick muttered, pushing open the door for Malcolm to enter.
Malcolm didn’t mind admitting, at least to himself, that the same sentiment had crossed his mind more than once in the last hour. His hands fairly itched to mete out some well-deserved punishment.
He nodded to the men who stood guard duty outside the room as he entered, stopping to verify all was as he’d asked.
Patrick had gathered everyone together in the laird’s solar—his solar—before coming to get him. Roland Lardiner lounged in a chair by the fire, with two of Malcolm’s best men on either side of him, of course. His lackey, Shaw, fidgeted in the corner, also guarded by two men.
The lovely Agneys had taken a seat near the wall, as far away from her father as she could get.
Malcolm opted to stand, Patrick at his left shoulder.
“I’ve called you here to share with you my decisions about yer future.”
“You’ve no right to be passing judgment on me,” Lardiner snarled. “As Agneys’s father, I’m the rightful laird here. When she delivers the old laird’s male child, it’ll be me who sees to the lad’s training and welfare.”
“Truly?” Malcolm asked, managing to keep his voice light and pleasant. “Would you be seeing to his welfare in the same manner as you saw to the old laird’s?”
“And what is that supposed to mean?” Lardiner asked, straightening in his chair
“Only that you murdered yer laird. Pushed him down the stairs, according to his granddaughter and her witness.”
“Her witness?” Lardiner sneered. “A child she claims saw this happen. And her naught but a madwoman at that.”
“Perhaps. But the lad survived the fire and told us of what he’d seen in his own words. And even had he not, since I married that madwoman a fortnight ago, I am forced to give credence to her word.”
“You did what?” Agneys made it almost out of her chair before she caught herself. “My apologies for my outburst, my laird. I had not heard any rumor.”
Lardiner glared, his eyes darting from person to person in the room. “And welcome to her you are. It will do you no good. When my Agneys delivers the old laird’s son . . .”
Malcolm had had enough of this.
“There will be no son. No bairn at all, as a matter of fact. Yer daughter is no with child.”
“You lie!” Lardiner yelled, attempting to rise from his chair but finding the hands of his guards holding him in his seat.
“No. You murdered yer laird too soon, Lardiner. And you’ll have to answer for that. Murder’s a premeditated breach of the king’s peace. The justiciar ayres will meet in a few months. We’ll make sure yer brought before them to answer for yer crimes.”
“I had no part in what he did to our good laird,” Shaw sniveled from his spot in the corner.
“No, I ken the truth of that.” As he’d hoped, the rat was ready to turn. “But you had a hand in the other deaths, did you no?”
“There were no other deaths,” Lardiner snarled.
“But there were. My good wife’s guardian, beaten before he was thrown into the pit, I believe? He dinna survive that. His death is on yer head as well as yer
master’s.”
“And the child,” Patrick said roughly.
“Aye,” Malcolm agreed. “The child who witnessed the old laird’s murder. Lardiner beat the boy severely and then you—” He smiled at Shaw, but he felt nothing even approaching humor. “You tried to burn him alive in my wife’s cottage.”
“I dinna ken the lad to be inside. I heard no screams. I told Master Roland. I heard no screams.” Shaw’s voice became more frantic as he pleaded his case.
“And if you had, would it have made a difference? My own brother tells me you were about to put my wife and her guardian to the sword when he arrived.”
The man looked around the room as if desperate to find a single ally. He would find none here.
“And the old woman here at the castle?”
“I had nothing to do with Auld Annie. That was Master Roland himself did that,” Shaw offered up. “Strangled her with his own two hands. I stood witness to that.”
“Hold yer tongue, you fool,” Lardiner yelled, once again being held down in his seat.
“You stood witness,” Malcolm repeated, disgust turning his stomach at the murder of a helpless old woman. “But you did nothing to stop it.”
“Yer as guilty as that one,” Patrick all but spat at the man.
Malcolm held up a hand to stop his brother. All in good time.
“And he’ll stand before the justiciar ayres for his crimes as well.”
“You’ve a nerve,” Lardiner yelled. “As if yer above murder yerself. Did you no threaten to bring yer army down on the whole of the MacGahan in order to take over these lands?”
“It’s because of yer deceit we came here, Lardiner.
” Patrick delivered his accusation with deadly calm.
“You came to us two years back, claiming to represent the word of yer laird. Offering money you never paid for livestock we supplied. In his name, yer the one offered us title to the lands if yer laird failed to make payment. Did you no think we’d track you down? ”
“Enough.” Malcolm was done with the men. “My men will accompany you both to Edinburgh on the morrow. You’ll be turned over to the sheriff there to await yer trials. The justiciar ayres will deal with yer crimes. Get them out of here.”
“And what of me?” Agneys asked quietly from her seat. “You ken I had nothing to do with my father’s crimes. I even warned you of his plan against you. Would you have me be yer wife’s maid or will I be confined to my chambers for the rest of my life?”
Patrick made a noise of disgust low in his throat, but Malcolm forestalled any comment he might make with a touch to his brother’s arm.
“Sadly my good wife did not survive her trek to see her guardian home to his family.”
As he expected, Agneys’s expression brightened and she popped up from her chair, heading straight for him. “That’s perfect. We can go forward as we planned. None save the men in this room ken that I dinna carry the old laird’s bairn. We can marry and yer child can be the rightful laird.”
She had closed in on him, sliding her delicate hand seductively down his chest.
He grabbed her fingers, trapping them before they trailed below his waist, surprised she’d try this ploy with Patrick as witness.
“Can you no see my poor brother’s in mourning after the recent loss of his wife,” Patrick said. “As you should be for the loss of yer laird and husband.”
“Must he stay?” Agneys asked, her pleasant facade cracking just a little as she placed her other hand on Malcolm’s chest.
“Aye, my lady,” Malcolm answered, peeling both her hands from his body and backing away. “I think it’s for the best that he remain with us. And as to the plans you spoke of, they were yers alone and none of mine. I dinna require a bairn to name myself laird.”
“He is laird by rights of his own,” Patrick added.
“As you say.” Agneys turned her back, crossing to her chair and retaking her seat. “If you won’t take me to wife, what will you do with me?”
He’d thought long and hard on this. Though Agneys was a beauty indeed, he’d tossed his lot to chance when he wed Isabella to ensure a clear succession. She, to his good fortune, had been an honest woman, true to her word. But he wouldn’t risk his future to any female again. He didn’t need to.
“You’ve a choice, my lady. I’m told yer father has family in England and yer mother’s people are in France. I’ll see to it yer delivered to whichever one you wish.”
“France,” she answered without any hesitation, and with a deep sigh she rose to her feet. “The young widow of an old Scottish laird, living in France? I could do much worse.”
“Indeed, my lady.”
It was Malcolm’s guess that a woman like Agneys would do very well indeed.