Chapter Twenty-Three
The plastered walls of her father’s solar had never before pressed in so oppressively.
Isabella could not settle, but paced about the rectangular room, so distracted with her thoughts that several times she came close to sweeping piles of parchments from the cluttered desk.
Angus sat in his leather-bound chair by the fire, his hands steepled beneath his chin, his blue eyes following her with concern.
“Isabella, dear one, why not come and sit down?”
“I cannot rest, Father.”
Forsooth, if she sat down, she might be physically sick. The only way she could keep her rising nausea at bay was by constant movement.
The heavy oak door opened and Mirrie appeared, her cheeks flushed and her skirts dusted with flour.
“I am come to see if I can fetch you anything?”
Instead of answering, her father cleared his throat. “How goes it in the great hall?”
Mirrie grimaced. “We have placated Gaunt’s men with strong mead and a ready supply of food, together with a promise to hunt down whoever killed their master.”
“And they believe you?”
“Aye. Tristan is planting the seed that it may have been an intruder.”
Isabella’s heart leaped. She spun around so her robe flared about her calves. “Could that be true?”
Mirrie avoided her eye. “’Tis unlikely an intruder would gain entry through the main gates. Though Tristan has sworn to interrogate the guards.” She made a hopeless gesture.
Isabella sank back against the desk, her hopes plummeting once again. Mirrie darted forward just in time to catch a heavy ledger as it toppled toward the floor.
“I’m sorry.” Isabella put her head in her hands. “I cannot do anything right.”
Mirrie straightened the ledger and the parchments beside it. “You are tired, Bella. Why not sit down and take some refreshment?”
“I have been trying to persuade her to do that since before noon,” Angus remarked, dryly. “But perchance you will have better luck, Mirrie.”
“I have no wish to eat or drink, and I cannot sit still.” Isabella leaned forward in an attempt to ease her rolling stomach. “I am so worried about Hamish.”
“He has had many hours to get away.” Mirrie rubbed at Isabella’s back, as if sensing intuitively what would help.
“But how could he do that?” Isabella’s voice was anguished. “To kill a man, in cold blood, in my home.”
Angus leaned back in the chair and regarded them both solemnly. “We do not know for certain that he did.”
Mirrie opened and closed her mouth. Isabella knew that Tristan firmly believed in Hamish’s guilt. Consequently, so did Mirrie.
And mayhap they were right.
“Do not give me false hope, Father,” she breathed.
“That is not my aim.” Angus poured himself a goblet of wine. “But there are questions we must ask ourselves. Firstly, what was Lord Gaunt doing outside the keep at that time?” He shrugged. “Why was he fully dressed? And why did he wear a sword belt if he was not carrying a sword?”
Isabella blinked in confusion. “How do you know he was not carrying a sword?”
“There was no sword with the body.” Angus sipped his wine.
“Then Hamish must have moved it.” Mirrie clamped her lips together. “I mean to say, the killer must have moved it,” she corrected herself lamely.
The door opened a second time and this time it was Morwenna who appeared. At Mirrie’s sharp inhale, Isabella noted that her mother’s neatly braided hair had come loose and her silken gown was streaked with blood.
She gripped the edge of the desk tighter. Would the nightmare of this day never end?
“My love, what has happened?” Angus strode over and took Morwenna’s hands.
“I am not injured,” she spoke up quickly. “The blood is not mine.”
“Then whose?” Angus lowered his bushy brows as he helped his wife to a chair.
Morwenna sank down and put her face in her hands, as if exhausted. “’Tis a long story, husband, and perchance one for your ears alone.”
Mirrie did not miss a beat. “I will return to the great hall.” She dipped into a small curtsy and left.
Morwenna held up a hand when Isabella went to follow her. “On second thoughts, Bella, ’twould be better if you also heard this.”
Nonplussed, Isabella resumed her position by the desk.
The weak winter sunlight streaming through the window was barely enough to light the room, and she could not properly read the expression of either of her parents.
It was time for the maids to come in and light the candles, but all servants had been asked to stay away from the solar ever since Angus ushered her in here.
It was Angus who finally spoke up. “Morwenna, you know I have never been a patient man.”
Morwenna gave him a small smile. “I am also waiting. You see, ’tis not my story to tell.”
A knock sounded on the door and it was slowly pushed open.
“It is Jonah’s story,” Morwenna added as her youngest son walked hesitantly into the solar.
“Father.” He bowed. His blue eyes rested upon Isabella and then flickered to their mother in an unspoken question.
“Isabella should hear this,” said Morwenna, in a tone that brooked no argument.
“Very well.” Jonah shuffled his feet on the rug. His embroidered tunic was crumpled, almost as if he had slept in it. His thick hair was uncombed and there was a smear of dirt on his cheek. “I am here to beg for your forgiveness, Father. I was the one to kill Lord Gaunt.”
In the silence that followed, Isabella could hear her heart pounding against her ribs.
Jonah was the one to kill Lord Gaunt!
It made no sense at all.
Her father must have been wrestling with the same problem, for it was some time before he answered. “Tell me how it happened.”
“I challenged him to a duel.”
A log cracked in the fire whilst they all digested this. “A duel?” Isabella repeated, wondering if she had misunderstood.
“Aye, a duel.” Jonah frowned across the room and she realized it was not dirt on his cheek, it was dried blood.
Nausea rose inside her and she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth.
“You killed him in a duel?” Her father’s voice was strained.
“I fail to see why that would be so hard to believe.” Jonah’s eyes flashed and he walked to the window to compose himself, as he had often done as a child. He spoke with his back to them. “But nay, that is not how it happened.”
“Why would you challenge Lord Gaunt to a duel?” Isabella felt as if she were stumbling about in some new land.
“For the freedom of Elena, as well as for you, Isabella. Do not pretend you were happy at the prospect of marrying him.”
“I was miserable about it,” she cried. “But I would ne’er have asked you to put yourself in danger.”
Jonah lifted his golden head, apparently staring with great interest at something outside.
“I know you would not. There are times when you petition for Tristan’s help, but ne’er mine.
I long since realized this is because you do not believe me capable of helping you.
” He turned slowly. His eyes were calm, even if his voice shook with restraint.
“But you see, there are some things that I can do, that Tristan cannot.”
Isabella cast about for an answer to this, but her mind remained stubbornly blank.
“Our father, as Judiciary, cannot act outside the law. Our brother, as the future earl, cannot act outside the law. But I can.”
Angus spoke up quickly. “’Tis not outside the law to duel. Not if it was done with honor.”
Jonah let out a bark of laughter. “It was not.”
Morwenna stood and poured them all a goblet of wine. She passed one to Isabella and one to Jonah, insisting they take them when they both declined.
“For the shock,” she said.
“We arranged to meet at sunrise. I gave the guard a bag of coin to be elsewhere.” Jonah gave his father a small nod of apology. “I waited for Gaunt by the fountain. But when he came, he was not alone.”
At this point, Jonah walked over to the fireplace and took a long drink of wine. Isabella watched impatiently, tapping her long fingers on the silver goblet. Was Jonah about to speak Hamish’s name?
“Elena was with Lord Gaunt,” Morwenna revealed softly, perchance reading the anguish in her daughter’s face.
“Aye. The coward brought Elena from the western tower. He told me that I could only kill him if I went past her.” Jonah slammed his empty goblet onto the mantle. “Of course, I yielded straight away. I could not put Elena’s life at risk.”
“’Twas the right thing to do.” Angus nodded with relief.
“I placed my sword on the ground, near the fountain.” Jonah fixed his gaze on a finely-stitched tapestry of Wolvesley Castle which had long hung over the fireplace. “And whilst Gaunt was taunting me for standing down, Elena picked up my sword and came at him.”
Isabella gasped, slopping wine onto the rug beneath her feet. “So Elena was the one to kill him?”
Jonah looked at her shortly. “Nay, she struck only a glancing blow. Gaunt turned on her in retaliation. And when I saw the devilish intent in his eyes, I had no choice but to step in. I grabbed my sword from Elena and swung it wide. It struck him full in the chest.” He picked up his empty goblet, looked inside and placed it back down.
Isabella saw that his hands were shaking. “He died almost instantly.”
Angus glanced up at his son. “Why did you not stay by the body?”
“Because Elena was injured in the struggle,” Morwenna answered for him. She rose from her chair and put an arm around Jonah’s shoulders.
“She was most aggrieved.” Jonah took a deep breath. “She blamed herself. I was worried she might either bleed out or pass out with distress. And then I heard men coming from the knights’ sleeping quarters. I did not think, Father. I simply picked her up and ran.”
“You got her to safety,” Morwenna said pointedly.
“Is she badly hurt?” Isabella thought of Hamish, who had been wrongly banished whilst his only sister was bleeding.
“She will heal, but it will take time.” Morwenna guided Jonah into the chair she had recently vacated. “She can stay here for as long as she needs.”