Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I n the days that followed, Margaret did not once worry over anything. Her husband loved her and she him. Her family was all healthy, their larders full, and they were at peace.
No wars seemed to loom in the distance.
Spring was fully upon them. Trees had filled out, buds bloomed, lambs bleated for their mothers. Their hills were alive with new life, bright green grass, and budding flowers.
Aye, her life was truly perfect.
Or so she thought.
’Twas on a bright, beautiful spring morn when yet another letter from her mother arrived. She had been in the gathering room, helping to clean up after the morning meal.
This time there was more than just a letter; there was a gift to go along with it. A little box wrapped in fine linen.
Her good mood was all but destroyed when the messenger put the letter and the gift in her hands. Hope, Grace, and Faith stopped picking up the empty dishes. “Are ye well, Margaret?” Hope asked, her brow furrowed with concern.
“Aye,” Margaret mumbled. “Please, excuse me.”
Slowly, she made her way above stairs and into her bedchamber. With the door shut, she sat in front of the fire. She placed the letter and the gift in her lap and stared at them.
The gift was a curiosity. Her mother had never given her anything before, at least not without strings attached. In her heart, she knew nothing good was in either the letter or the gift.
Still, she was curious. More curious than she ought to be.
Instead of putting the letter in the box with the others and tossing the package into the fire, she decided to open them. Before doing so, she made herself a promise that once she was done, she would throw everything into the fire and write to her mother. She would tell her that she did not wish to ever hear from her again.
Cautiously, she untied the string and removed the linen, revealing an ornately carved wooden box adorned with flowers, vines, and leaves. The craftsmanship was quite good.
Slowly, she lifted the box of the lid. Inside, tucked into crimson wool, was a small dagger, its handle encrusted in gold and jewels of red and green. It was quite beautiful to look at. Yet she refused to remove it from the box.
Setting that aside, she opened the letter. Before reading, she took in a deep, fortifying breath, and steeled herself against whatever it might say.
Margaret,
I find that I am no longer able to refer to ye as my precious daughter. Your blatant disregard of my many requests for you to respond to my missives makes me question your loyalty to me as your mother.
Apparently, ye no longer care about your secret, the one I have worked so hard to keep hidden. Therefore, I find that I will have to resort to drastic measures. If I do not hear from ye soon, Margaret, I will be forced to out ye. I will be forced to tell the world the truth about ye and what ye did.
I can no longer blame Aiden for keeping ye from writing to me. Ye see, I have friends in many places. I have friends watching yer every move at the Randall keep. I am told that ye are falling in love with the man ye were forced to marry!
How could ye do this to me, Margaret? How could ye, after all that I have done for ye, after all the many sacrifices I made for ye, turn yer back to me? I am yer mother, Margaret. Ye owe me yer fealty and allegiance! Ye owe me every single breath ye have ever taken. Ye owe me for every beat of yer heart! Without me, ye would nae be here.
I will afford ye one last opportunity to show me that ye are loyal to me. Ye owe me everything, Margaret! Everything ye have is because of me.
With this, my final letter to ye, ye will find a very special gift. If ye wish for me to keep yer secret safe, to keep ye from the gallows, ye will take this gift and plunge it into Aiden Randall ’ s heart. Then ye shall take this same gift and put it into Onnleigh ingen Gruber ’ s heart. Ye will do it now. Ye will nae wait another moment to do this for me.
I expect ye to return this special gift to me in person. I expect it to be covered in the blood of mine enemies. Ye will do this at once and come to me to help me affect my escape from this awful, horrid place.
Ye owe me nothing less than this, Margaret.
Soon, we will be together, ye and I. If ye are smart, ye will do as I say. And soon, ye shall be Connor MacCallen ’ s wife. Together, we shall rule the MacCallen clan! We shall gain the power and untold riches that I so rightfully deserve!
Do nae let me down again, Margaret. Else, I will out ye and the world will know what ye have done.
I await with bated breath to lay my eyes upon ye soon!
Helen
Margaret’s stomach churned with disgust and fear.
She knew her mother meant every word she said. If Margaret didn’t do as she was ordered, her secret would be outed. The entire world would know what she had done.
And it would destroy everything.
It would destroy her marriage.
It would destroy her life.
Swiping away tears, she retrieved the box and got to her feet. There was only one thing left for her to do. With her heart shattering into a thousand tiny pieces, she left her chamber and sought out her husband.
God, forgive me.
George had watched the messenger deliver the letter and package to Margaret. He also watched as she quietly left the gathering room and headed above stairs.
Something ugly niggled at his gut. A forewarning of sorts. He knew that he must act swiftly and go to his brother.
Aiden was back in his private study. Elayne had moved out a few days ago, after using the space for respite. No one would ever know that just a few short days ago, it had been used as a bedchamber. Everything from his desk to the chairs and other furniture were back in their original places.
Aiden sat at his desk, ciphering numbers and such.
“Aiden, I need to speak to ye at once.”
Aiden sat his quill down, his curiosity sincerely piqued. “What is it?”
“Margaret has received a letter from her mum. And a gift.”
Aiden shook his head. “Ye made it sound as if we were under attack again.”
“Are ye nae concerned?”
“Of a letter and a gift? Of course nae,” he replied, picking his quill back up.
“She has received many letters from her mum,” George told him. “This is serious, Aiden. My gut tells me somethin’ is verra wrong.”
Aiden put the quill back down and stared at his brother. “I ken about the letters, George.”
Surprised, he asked, “Have ye read them? What do they say?”
“Nay, I have nae read them. And neither has Margaret.”
George was even more surprised. “She told ye this?”
Aiden was growing frustrated. “What happens betwixt my wife and I is nae any of yer concern, George. And neither are any letters she might receive from anyone.”
Nonplussed, George said, “Might I remind ye that one of her letters almost started a war betwixt us and the MacKenzies.”
Aiden laughed at his distress. “George, I trust my wife. Implicitly. I truly dinnae understand why ye are so upset by letters.”
George didn’t quite understand it himself and told his brother as much. “I cannae explain it, Aiden. But I tell ye, my gut is on fire with somethin’. I tell ye somethin’ is afoot here. Somethin’ foul.”
“The only thing foul here, is yer verra active imagination. What do ye think, George? That my wife’s mother has ordered her to kill me?”
It was said, of course, with much sarcasm and a hint of derision. George answered him honestly. “I do.”
“Then ye are as mad as Helen Randall is.”
Aiden had placed his palms on his desk and was preparing to stand when someone knocked on his door. “Come in,” he called out.
Margaret entered.
And she carried a box in her hand.
George was ready to jump between Margaret and his brother. Aiden took note and stilled his movements with a slightly raised palm and a shake of his head.
Margaret was as pale as a sheet. Aiden took note of the odd manner in which her eyes wouldn’t quite meet his. “I must speak to ye, Aiden.”
Her voice was so low that he almost didn’t hear her.
“Aiden is busy,” George told her as he rested his palm on the hilt of his sword.
Aiden shot him a look of warning. George ignored him.
“What is it, Margaret?” Aiden asked as he came around the desk.
She looked as though she were going to faint, and she couldn’t look him in the eye. Something was most assuredly wrong.
“My mother has written to me,” she whispered weakly. “And she has sent me a gift.”
Worried that she might in fact keel over, Aiden gently took her by her elbow and guided her to a chair in front of his desk. “George, leave us.”
“Nay,” George replied sternly.
Margaret looked up at George, stared at him as if she had no idea who he was. A moment passed before recognition set in. “George,” she whispered, but said nothing else.
“Margaret. What is the matter?” Aiden was growing more and more concerned with her peculiar behavior. George was watching her closely, as if he were worried she would suddenly jump up and start stabbing them.
Slowly, she turned her attention back to Aiden. He was sitting in front of her, on the edge of the desk, his hands on his thighs. “Aiden.”
“Lass, ye are truly startin’ to worry me,” Aiden said.
“I need to speak to ye,” she told him.
Aiden felt as though they were going nowhere and in a hurry. “What about?”
She held up the box, staring at it as if she were afraid it might unexpectedly burst into flames. “My mother sent me a gift.”
“So, I was told,” Aiden said, glancing at his brother. “What kind of gift?”
“She sent me a letter as well,” she told him.
“Did ye read the letter?”
She nodded and murmured a low aye.
His concern was rapidly turning to worry. “What did she say in the letter?”
’Twas then she opened the box and removed the dagger. “She wants me to kill ye.”
George had been right all along. Aiden, however, was not at all worried. Aye, his wife was holding a dagger in her hand. But not in any kind of offensive way. Nay, she was staring at the glistening jeweled handle. Staring at it as if it were some sort of mystery.
“I dinnae want to do that, Aiden,” she told him. “But she demands that I do. She warns that if I dinnae kill ye, she will tell everyone my secret.”
There it was again; her secret. “I care nae what yer secret is, Margaret. I have told ye that before.”
She nodded slowly as she continued to stare at the weapon in her hand. “I ken. I remember.”
“Give me the dagger,” George ordered her as he stepped forward. “I will nae stand by and watch ye kill my brother.”
Margaret turned to him and gave over the dagger. “But I dinnae want to kill him.”
Before George could utter another word, Aiden told him to leave. Once again, he refused.
“He can stay, Aiden. He will eventually learn what I have done. Everyone will.”
She sounded so forlorn, so beaten down, that Aiden wanted to track Helen Randall down and strangle her with his bare hands.
Slowly, she began to come out of whatever trance like state the letter had put her in. “Aiden, I will nae do it. I will nae kill ye. And I will nae kill Onnleigh. And I most assuredly will nae marry Connor.”
Aiden was thoroughly confused. Relieved, but still confused. “Might I read the letter from yer mother?” he asked with an outstretched hand.
Margaret gave him the letter without argument. He stepped near the hearth for better light and read it quietly to himself.
The last time he had been this angry was when Alex MacKinnon attacked their borders in the middle of the night. Nay, he was even more angry than that.
He handed the letter off to his brother. George came to stand beside him and read the letter quietly. When he was done, he looked up at his brother. No words needed to be spoke betwixt them. George was furious.
Aiden returned to stand in front of his wife. “Margaret, I am going to say somethin’ and I hope I dinnae offend ye.”
Margaret gave a slow nod, giving him quiet permission to speak.
“Yer mum is insane.”
“Ye will brook no argument from me,” Margaret said.
“I shall write to Connor,” he told her. “I will tell him he needs to tighten the security at the monastery.”
“It will do nae good,” she told him. “My mother always finds a way to get what she wants.”
“Nae this time,” Aiden said gruffly.
From her pained expression, his wife didn’t believe he would be able to keep her mother from any mission she might have.
“Aiden, I must tell ye now, what my mother speaks of.”
“If ye wish, lass. And only if ye wish.”
George was heading for the door.
“Ye need nae leave, George,” she told him. “Ye will learn it all soon enough.”
He shook his head. “I dinnae care what yer secret is, Margaret. I am goin’ to find out who the traitor is among us. I want whoever is feedin’ yer mum information to hang.”
There was no mistaking his upset. “George, ye must know that my mother lies. I truly doubt she has any spies here. She uses her lies as threats and a means to get what she wants.”
George wasn’t quite sure he believed her. “I will leave ye two alone,” he said. “If Aiden believes I should ken anythin’, he will tell me.”
He left the room quietly, the dagger still in his hand.
Alone now, Margaret looked up at her husband. “I need ye to ken that I truly do love ye, Aiden. With all my heart.”
“I ken that, lass. I possess no doubts about that. Just as ye ken that I love ye.”
She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I ken ye do. But ye might soon change yer mind.”
Margaret could no longer lie to him. She would give him the truth, no matter how vile and ugly it was.
“I killed my father,” she blurted out. “I poisoned him.”
Startled by her words, Aiden sat upright a bit taller. “Nay,” he said. “Ye could nae do such a thing.”
“But I did,” she told him. “I poisoned him.”
Dismayed and in a state of disbelief, he asked her, “Now why would ye have done such a thing, lass?”
In her heart of hearts, she knew there was no acceptable answer. Truthfully, she didn’t really know why. So she told him what her mother had told her that day long ago.
“My mother says it was because I was jealous of him. I was jealous of the time he spent with her. She explained to me that I wanted her all to myself. That I didn’t want to share her with anyone. Nae even my own father.”
’Twas odd, saying that aloud. Not once had she discussed the death of her father with anyone but her mother.
“That,” Aiden said with a shake of his head, “Is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.”
Margaret knew he couldn’t believe such a thing about her. While that should have made her feel cherished, it only succeeding in making her feel even more disgusted with herself. “But ’tis the truth, Aiden.”
“Lass, ye said ’twas yer mum who told ye these awful lies.”
Honestly, she didn’t know what that had to do with anything and told him so. “The fact of the matter remains that I killed my father. I poisoned him.”
He wasn’t about to let the matter alone. For reasons she couldn’t quite fathom, the man had faith in her. Far more than he should. “Margaret, did ye love yer da?”
“Of course I did!” she protested loudly. “He was a good man! He loved me and I loved him!”
Aiden looked positively victorious. “Then there ye have it, lass.”
Confused, she asked, “There I have what? ” He wasn’t making a lick of sense. He just stood there, smiling like a fool, as if he had all the answers to all of life’s problems.
Smiling at her he said, “Any lass who loves her da would nae kill him, now would she?”
He was doing his best to get her to see the truth of the matter. Not for a moment would he ever believe she had killed her father. Even if she had said she hated the man.
Nay, it simply wasn’t in her nature to kill anyone, let alone her own father. To his way of thinking, this was nothing more than a lie Helen had told her to keep her in line and to have her do her bidding.
“Aiden, I ken ye would like to believe I am nae capable-”
He cut her argument off with a wave of his hand. “Margaret, I know in my heart ye are nae capable of such a thing. If yer da was as good a man as ye say he is, then why on earth would ye have taken his life?”
“Ye are a thick headed man, aye?” she bit out. “I told ye the why of it.”
With great care, he took her hand in his and helped her to sit on the edge of the bed beside him. “I have been told that before,” he said, amused with her statement. “Now, tell me again, why ye believe ye killed yer father. And take it slowly this time. Dinnae leave out even the smallest detail.”
Why he wanted the gory details defied all logic as far as she was concerned. “Why do ye insist I tell ye that, Aiden? Is it nae bad enough that I did what I did? Must ye punish me?
Wrapping one arm around her shoulder, he kissed the top of her head. “’Tis nae punishment, lass. I merely need to make sense of it all. If, it is as ye claim, the truth, then mayhap if we figure it out together, we can have some understanding in the matter.”
Understanding. That was something that had been missing in her life for a good number of years.
“Now tell me lass, did the beatins yer mum gave ye start before or after yer father’s death?”
“After,” she told him. “Da would never allow her to lay a hand on me. Or my sister Mairie.”
Aiden gave a nod as he gained a grasp of the situation. “Did yer da beat ye?”
Appalled, she sat back and away from him. “Of course nae!”
“Calm down, lass. ’Twas just a question.”
“Really, Aiden. I dinnae understand why we must do this.”
“It might help ye, Margaret. And I ken it will definitely help me.”
With a shake of her head, she sniffled and turned her gaze toward the floor. ’Twas next to impossible to look at him, so great was her shame. Really, he should be even so ashamed of her, so bitterly angry that he would throw her in the dungeon. She should be hanged, right next to Garrett Randall.
But he wasn’t ashamed. He wasn’t angry or furious. Nay, he was as calm and as cool as the loch in winter time. Nary a ripple of concern or worry to be found in his eyes or countenance.
With a good measure of trepidation, she slowly began to recount the day her father died.
The memories of that day were just as raw and painful now, as they were back then.
“I was only three and ten,” she began in a near whisper. “I -” she struggled to find the appropriate words. “I had been visiting Marie that morn. ’Twas spring time. Mairie was already married to Connor and she was expecting their first child.”
Thinking of her sister made her smile. Of all the people in her life, Mairie was her most favorite. Always Margaret’s champion, even when they were very young.
There wasn’t a mean bone in Mairie’s body. Honestly, Margaret could not ever remember meeting anyone as good and kind as her sister.
“I had been helpin’ her getting her bedchamber ready for her babe. Och! She was so excited and so happy!”
The heartache at losing her sister crept in. “For a long while after Mairie died, I asked God why it could nae have been me. Why did he take sweet Mairie? I was far more deservin’ of death than she.” She wasn’t asking Aiden for any answers and doubted he had any.
“That is nae true,” he told her.
Oh, he might believe that to be the case, but ’twas a sensation she had been dealign with for many years now.
Returning the real matter at hand, she began to tell him about the day her father died. “Da had been workin’ in the fields. ’Twas noonin’ time, ye see. So mum sent me to take him a basket in the fields. He had been workin’ so hard to bring the wheat in before bad weather set in. I wanted to help him, I truly did, but mum would nae hear of it.” She shook her head and changed her voice to mimic her mother’s. “ Ladies dinnae work in fields!”
“So I did as I was told. I took da his basket and returned back to our cottage. When he dinnae return home after nightfall, mum and I went to fetch him. ’Twas dark and we had torches to light our way.”
She closed her eyes and allowed herself to remember every moment of that awful, awful night. Their torches flickered in the night breeze. The cold, autumn air chilled her skin. She had even tripped once, over a stone she couldn’t see in the darkness. “We found him,” she whispered, fighting back tears. “He was face down in the field. His skin was as cold as ice in wintertime. I could nae believe he was gone! He was so cold. His lips were blue, his eyes wide open. His hand was still clutched to his throat.”
She buried her face into her hands and wept. “I dinnae ken why I did it,” she cried. “I still dinnae understand.”
Aiden was pulling her up to her feet. “Look at me, Margaret. Look at me.”
She couldn’t. She knew that she would nothing but shame and betrayal in his eyes.
“Please,” he softened his tone. “Please, look at me.”
She was hesitant at first, but his pleas tugged at her heart. When she finally did look up at him, she saw nothing but love and adoration staring back at her. No man could be so daft. He still believed in her and could not fathom, not even for a moment, that she had done what she was telling him.
“Did ye poison him?” Aiden asked in a most gentle tone.
“Aye,” she admitted.
“What kind of poison did ye use?”
It took a moment for her to realize she either didn’t know or could not remember. “I, I dinnae remember.”
“Did ye put it in his drink or his food?”
Yet another question she had no answer for.
“Think, Margaret. Think hard,” he told her. “What did ye make him to eat that day? Did ye give him ale or cider? Stew or mayhap a meat pie.”
She tried, truly she did. “I dinnae remember, Aiden. I only remember taking the basket to him.”
“Did yer mum prepare it per chance?”
Margaret closed her eyes and thought back to that day. In truth, it was so long ago. And she had been so distraught over her father’s death. Some things she could remember vividly, others? They were but a blur.
“Did yer mum prepare the basket?” He asked her again. “Think, Margaret. Please, try to remember.”
Closing her eyes, she thought back to that day. ’Twas a beautiful autumn morn, that she remembered. She could remember helping her mother prepare meat pies. One for each of them. She could also remember that she had burnt herself on the cooking pot. Not badly, but enough that it stuck in her memory.
“I help mum prepare the meat pies,” she told him. “I also burnt my fingertips on the cooking pot. And I remember grabbing the jug of cider from the barrel we kept outside our door. It was filled with water and mum kept the cider and ale in it to keep it cold. Dad preferred his cider as cold as possible.”
Aiden looked pleased that she was remembering, at least certain things. “Ye helped yer mum with the meat pies?”
“Aye,” she told him. “I did the crusts, she did the fillings. There were three. One for each of us.” Something was beginning to niggle at the recesses of her mind. “Mum baked them because I had burnt my fingers. When they cooled, she prepared the basket for Da and I took it to him.”
His expression was hopeful. Hopeful that she was finally understanding what had actually happened. “Do ye remember anything else? Do ye remember putting anythin’ at all in yer da’s ale or pie?”
Honest to God, she couldn’t. “Nay,” she said, swallowing back tears. “I cannae remember that part.”
“But later, after yer father died? What happened?”
She shuddered at the memory of the day they buried him. Her grief was overwhelming to the point she couldn’t stop crying. “I could nae stop cryin’, the day of his funeral. After everyone left our home, my mother became enraged. She slapped me so hard, across my face, that she loosened one of my teeth. That was the verra first time she had ever hit me.”
The beating that followed left Margaret unable to walk for two days. “She beat me with a strop, Aiden. I thought I was goin’ to die. She was relentless in it. She kept screaming at me to stop my cryin’, that my father was nae worth my tears. That he was an ugly, foul man.”
She pulled away, her eyes widening with horror when she remembered every foul insult her mother had hurled at her that day. “’Twas then she told me his death was my fault. That I had poisoned him. That I was jealous of the love he had for her.”
Aiden gave a nod of understanding. “But ye were nae jealous, were ye?”
Slowly, she shook her head. Her heart was pounding in her chest so violently, she thought it was going to leap out. “Nay, I was nae jealous, Aiden. I loved my father, verra much. He was a good man. And he loved me.”
“Ye dinnae kill yer da, Margaret.”
The realization hit her like a mace. “My mother did.”
For the next hour, she paced angrily around Aiden’s study. Her hands balled into fists as she angrily urged her mother to the devil.
“All these years!” she said through gritted teeth. “All these years, she had me believin’ that ’twas I who had killed him. And all the while it was her!”
Oh, she was bloody well furious. But the relief she felt in ascertaining the truth? It felt as though the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders.
“That vile, vile woman!”
Aiden stood back a ways, letting her vent her anger and frustrations. He too, was quite relieved that she had figured out what had truly happened to her father.
“Why? How? How could I have believed her?” she asked, neither expecting or wanting an answer. “All these years! Lost! She had me believin’ I had killed him. Then she forced me to do her bidding.”
“She stole away my innocence,” she growled bitterly. “She stole away my youth. She changed me. Made me into someone who was nearly as ugly and foul as she!”
She stopped pacing and spun around to look at Aiden. “Oh, the things she made me do, Aiden! Cruel things. I lied, I cheated. I even stole for her!”
Another deep growl escaped her throat. “Oh, what I would nae give to see her one last time. To tell her just what I think of her. To tell her -” she stopped mid sentence and took in a deep breath.
“Tell her what, lass?” Aiden asked.
“I would tell her that I know all of her secrets. And if she ever writes to me again, I shall tell every single one of them to the world .”
Aiden couldn’t’ help but to chuckle at her fierceness.
“I am goin’ to write to her now,” she declared as she headed toward the door.
“I have a better idea,” he said with a smile.
“What better idea?” She asked curiously.
“Ye are goin’ to tell her in person.”
Within three days time, Margaret and Aiden stood outside the gates of the monastery that housed Helen MacCallen.
Connor MacCallen had received Aiden’s request the day before and had come at once. They three of them met a mile away less than an hour before. Aiden explained about the letters, the secret, all of it.
After informing him of the situation, Connor hung his head. “I knew I should have hanged her when I had the chance,” he said, sounding bitter.
With his help, they were given entry. They were met by an elderly man who had a warmth in his eyes that Margaret felt rather soothing. He introduced himself brother Phillipe, the abbot. “I will take her to ye myself,” he told them in a low, soft voice.
The monastery was a cold, place, made of stone and wood. There was very little furniture to help quash the echo of their footfalls against the stone floor.
The abbot led the way, with Margaret right behind him, Aiden and Connor brought up the rear.
As they walked down the refectory, Aiden and Connor both caught sight of one of the monks. A man of middle age, with dark eyes that followed them along. Something about the man set Aiden’s teeth on edge. Connor apparently felt the same way, for he appeared just as bothered by how the man was watching them as Aiden was.
Beyond the chapter house was the dormitory. The hallway was dark, save for a few torches that lined the wall. A cold breeze blew in from somewhere unknown, making the firelight flicker rather ominously. A chill ran down Margaret’s spine. While she wanted to have it out with her mother, she was still quite nervous. Her hands began to tremble when the Abbot stopped at the very end of the hallway.
This had to be Helen’s room, for it was the only door with a heavy lock on the outside. The abbot fumbled with keys on the belt around his waist. But soon, he was twisting the key into the lock and pulling it open.
“Would ye like me to stay?” he whispered to Margaret.
Politely, yet silently, she declined his offer. Aiden waited by her side, watching as she took in deep breaths. After a few long moments, she finally nodded at him, letting him know she was ready.
Slowly, he pushed the door open. It creaked and groaned in protest. Earlier, they had discussed Margaret meeting with her mother alone. To which he told his wife, “Nae bloody likely.” There was no way on God’s earth that he would leave his wife alone with this woman.
He stepped inside first. Into a room that was almost as black as pitch. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. Only one small candle burned on a low table to his immediate left.
The room was small, the only window had been sealed shut from the outside with wood planks. Inside, to his right was a small bed. Next to that, a small table and chair.
Helen MacCallen stepped out from the shadows. She was cast in shadow. To Aiden, she looked small and weak. Her hair was in disarray, her wool dress smudged with dirt and grime.“Who are ye?” She demanded.
Margaret stepped into the room and answered. “He is my husband, mother. Aiden Randall.”
Oh, the absolute hatred and anger that filled Helen’s eyes made the hair on the back of Aiden’s neck stand on end. Her eyes turned to slits as she glared furiously at her daughter. “Ye have nae done what I told ye to do!”
“Nay, mother,” she said as she took a few steps forward. “And I will never again do anythin’ that ye tell me to.”
Helen growled, low and deep. “Ye ungrateful fool!”
“Pray, mother, tell me what I should be thankful for.”
“I did everythin’ I could to give ye yer rightful due! Yer rightful place as lady of the MacCallen keep!”
“But mother, that is nae quite the truth, is it?”
Helen was seething mad. “Truth? Would ye like me to tell yer husband the truth about ye?”
Aiden laughed at her. “I ken the truth about Margaret,” he said.
“Did she tell ye that she killed her own father?” Helen scurried towards him. In the candlelight, he could see the insanity in her eyes as plain as day. The woman was mad, there was no mistaking it.
“That?” Aiden said with a shake of his head. “Aye, we ken the truth of that as well.”
Margaret’s skin began to crawl. She could not wait to be out of this place. She had something important to say and she didn’t want to drag it out. “Mother, I have come to wash my hands of ye. Ye are nae allowed to write to me ever again. In fact, if ye do, my people know to simply burn yer letters. I will and read any of them.”
“Bah!” Helen cried out. “I am yer mother! Ye will do what I say, ye stupid creature! We have a plan, remember? Ye were supposed to kill him! Where is the dagger I sent ye? Where is it?”
She tried lunging forward, but Aiden stopped her. Holding her back, he said, “We destroyed it. It can no longer be used for yer evil purposes.”
“Ye bloody bastard!” She said as she pounded her fists against his chest. “I hate ye. I hate ye. I hate ye!”
Aiden truly didn’t care what her opinion of him was. Neither her words nor her fists could hurt him, or his wife, ever again.
Margaret took a cautious step towards her mother. “Stop that at once!” She shouted firmly. “Ye are behavin’ like a fool.”
Helen stilled almost immediately. “Ye dare yell at me?” she seethed. “How dare ye?”
“How dare ye? ” Margaret asked, her tone growing firm and strong. “How dare ye convince me that I killed my own father? How dare ye use that against me for all those years? To do yer bidding? How could ye treat yer own daughter that way?”
Helen grew eerily calm. “Ye did. Ye did kill him. ’Tis the truth I speak.”
Margaret shook her head disgusted with Helen. “Nay, mother. Ye killed him. Nae I.”
Helen began to laugh maniacally. “Nae, ye stupid fool. Ye killed him. Just as certain as we are standin’ here. Ye killed him.”
Margaret was beginning to realize this visit was a mistake. Her mother was insane and there would be no getting through to her. She let out a heavy breath and said, “Aiden, I wish to leave now.”
“Ye killed him! Ye did!” Helen shouted as Aiden stepped away. “’Twas by accident, of course, but ye did kill him.”
Margaret’s curiosity was piqued. “What do ye mean ’twas by accident?” Aiden was standing next to her now, and she was mightily glad for it.
Helen smiled most deviously then. “Ye really are stupid,” she said as she stepped forward. “’Twas ye who was supposed to die that day, nae yer father.”
Margaret felt as though the wind had been knocked from her lungs. “What do ye mean?”
Helen shrugged her shoulders as if she didn’t wish to speak again.
“Tell me,” Margaret demanded. “Tell me what ye mean.”
Helen watched her closely for a long moment before she decided to answer. “I hated ye. From the day ye were born, I despised ye. Yer were a homely child who cried all of the time. Ye were the bane of my existence. But yer da loved ye. Oh, he was such a fool.”
Her words hurt Margaret. Hurt her deeply. She simply could not believe what her mother was telling her.
“Aye, ’tis true,” Helen said as she stepped towards the small table that sat below the boarded up window. “Ye were naught but trouble since the day ye were born.”
Aiden gently took Margaret’s hand in his. She was trembling again, her stomach filling with bile. “The poison? ’Twas meant for me?”
Helen spun around. “Aye, ye eejit! ’Twas meant for ye! I wanted ye gone. I could nae wait to have ye out of my life for good. But ye took the wrong meat pie to yer father.”
It took every ounce of willpower Margaret possessed not to fall over. Aiden gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Come, Margaret. We need nae listen to anymore.”
“Ye will listen to me!” Helen shouted. “She needs to ken the truth.”
Margaret shook her head, in utter dismay and shock. “Ye hated me that much?”
“Ye took yer father’s affection from me. I hated ye for that! Mairie did the same, ye ken! Both of ye. Ye took his love from me!”
Margaret was beginning to feel light headed. Her mother truly hated her so much so that she wanted to kill her.
“So aye, Margaret. Ye killed yer own father!”
“Nay,” Margaret replied. “Ye killed him. Ye are a vile, foul woman and I want never to see or hear from ye again.”
She turned around to open the door. That’s when Helen screamed.
It all had happened so quickly.
Helen had lunged forward, screaming like a banshee. In her right hand, she held a long, silver letter opener. Margaret turned as soon as she heard the scream, only to see her mother’s hand rise, a flash candlelight glinting off silver. She thrust the letter opener towards Aiden’s throat.
Thankfully, Aiden had seen her coming, had seen the weapon in the mad woman’s hand. He held out his arm, blocking her forward progression. The metal fell from her hand, and landed on the floor next to Margaret’s feet.
While Aiden struggled to get Helen under some sort of control, Margaret picked up the letter opener. For the longest moment, she stood, watching her husband holding her mother around her waist, all the while Helen screamed and kicked, clawed and scratched at his arms. As the scene played out before her, she imagined herself plunging the bit of metal into her mother’s heart.
Connor rushed through the door. “What in the bloody hell?” he shouted. It took him only a moment to assess the situation.
He took Helen from Aiden’s tight hold and pulled her into the corner. “Go!” He called out to Aiden and Margaret. “I have her. Go!”
They needn’t be told twice.