Chapter 10 #3
“Nay, I dinnae need some potion.” He sat back. “I am attempting to rein in the rage that is near to choking me.”
Simon could see that he was alarming MacBean. The man was used to an even-tempered master, a man who got, at his worst, a little broody or irritable. “I have found out who leads the traitors. The mon should arrive in town within three to four days.”
“But, isnae that good news? Isnae that what ye have been looking for?”
“ ‘Tis what I have been looking for and yet, ‘tis nay what I expected.”
“So who is it? Anyone we might have met?”
Simon laughed and even he had to wince at the harsh bitter sound of it. “Aye, MacBean, we ken the mon verra weel indeed. ‘Tis Henry.” For the first time since he had known the man, MacBean was struck speechless.
“Nay, that cannae be.”
“So I said when I heard the first mention of his name. But I fear it was the truth I heard. After all these years spent searching for the truth, ye would think I would recognize it when I heard it, but I hesitated.”
“Your brother plots to kill the king? Why? What does he mean to gain?”
“The throne,” replied Simon. “My dear brother has obviously gained some high ambitions over the years. Instead of just killing wives and daughters and the occasional poor fool who displeases him, Henry seeks to kill the king. And, even more astounding, the mon seems to think it should be him who sits on the newly emptied throne.”
“Sweet Jesu, the king will send soldiers to Lochancorrie. People will be killed.”
“Go, MacBean. Just go. If there is someone ye feel compelled to warn of the trouble headed his way, do so, but do it as secretly and subtly as ye can. It would not do us any good if Henry gets word that we have caught on to his game.”
“Simon,” MacBean began, his voice softened with concern.
“Nay, just go. I am so filled with fury that my head aches and my stomach churns. I am nay good company this eve. I need to think, need to get rid of some of this anger that is making me lose all my wits. If I dinnae, then I will nay be able to work.
Henry could win and then all of Scotland will suffer.”
Simon winced as the door shut behind the departing MacBean. The man had called him Simon. MacBean had not done so since Simon had been a beardless boy. He must be in a far worse condition than he had realized.
“I think I need to get drunk. I need to drink until I fall on my face and my mind ceases to work,” he said as he stared up at the ceiling.
A bad idea, he decided a moment later. Drink might put him down for a while, but it would take some time for it to do so.
Simon did not want to consider what he might do when that drink mixed with the fury inside him.
He could wake in the morning, head aching, to discover he had done something very foolish or taken his anger out on some poor fool who crossed his path.
What he did not understand was the depth of his anger.
He had not seen his home for a very long time and he had few good memories of it.
The despair he suffered over its impending loss made no sense.
There were good people there, ones like MacBean and Old Bega, but he had not seen them in ten years, either.
That left Henry as the cause of his fury.
Henry, who had tormented all of his siblings with brute force and rages.
The man had even slaughtered Simon’s first dog and tossed the carcass onto his bed while he was sleeping in it.
Henry never discussed anything. If a person did not agree with his opinion or plan, he beat them until they did or they died, whichever came first. Henry was not particular.
Simon decided that there was where his fury was born, in the knowledge that Henry was still destroying all that had been good at Lochancorrie.
Perhaps he should just hunt his brother down and kill him.
That would put an end to the danger to the clan and its land.
Once Henry was dead the other traitors would be easy enough to catch and punish.
A small, still sane part of Simon was dismayed by how reasonable that sounded to the rest of him.
The boy who had grieved over his dog and the young man who had dragged his bleeding, ravaged body back to his foster father both liked the idea.
A madness had seized him. It was the only explanation for how he was feeling and the things he was thinking of. Simon knew he had to get some control over himself. He just did not know how; he had never felt such anger before and no skill in caging it.
Perhaps there was more of Henry and their father in him than he had realized. The mere thought that he might carry some of that tainted blood chilled Simon so deeply that, for a brief moment, his anger eased. He shook the thought out of his head, refusing to believe it.
The sound of soft footfalls caught his attention and he braced himself.
He knew who was coming down the stairs and walking to his door.
The breaking of the mirror must have roused Ilsabeth.
His lover who was hiding from false accusations because his brother thought he had a right to be king, he suddenly realized.
His own blood had had a hand in bringing her such trouble.
That was the source of at least some of his anger.
Because of Henry’s ambitions, Ilsabeth could not go home nor could her family.
She had to hide in Simon’s home while her family hid away in the hills around Aigballa.
All she had suffered was because of his family, his blood.
Simon did not know if he could face her now that he knew the truth.
Her soft rapping at the door stirred him to answer. He wanted to tell her to flee, to just yell it through the closed door, but Simon knew he owed her more than that. He just did not know how to explain that the root of all her troubles was her lover’s brother.
When she stepped into the room in answer to his invitation, he nearly cursed.
She looked still warm from their bed. Her hair was uncombed and there was still a sleepy look in her wide blue eyes.
His body hardened. She was what he needed.
Ilsabeth had the soft touch to soothe his fury, he was certain of it.
He would have left her alone tonight if she had stayed in bed.
But, she was near, standing by his worktable and looking at him with concern, and every tortured part of him wanted to reach for her.