Chapter Ten #2
“Convents,” Rory said dryly. “A place to hide away anything distasteful.”
Before Iain could respond, a Macqueen warrior hurried inside. “Milord, Sir Jasper has found the chicken thief.”
…
Laria held the shawl over her head as she stood with the Staffin villagers.
Her chest squeezed so hard that it was difficult to draw breath as she watched Jasper Whitt lead Erskine to the center of the square by a thick rope around his neck.
His face, already pale, held the red bloom of exertion.
His white hair and eyes the color of the palest blue sky, framed by oddly white eyebrows, made people shrink away from him.
The onlookers didn’t know the kind heart and fierce loyalty that lay beneath Erskine’s unusual skin.
He’d been in exile since he was born, his mother giving him away to a forest woman to raise.
Being ostracized through no fault of his own could have made the thirty-year-old man bitter and cruel, resentful of those who drew away and cursed him.
But instead, Erskine had become a man of compassion and quiet acceptance.
He’d taken in the recently widowed Kate and her daughter when Leah was born with the red mark across her face.
He’d become a father to the young girl and a protector of them both.
Laria thought they would eventually marry if they could find a priest willing to do it.
But now, in the cruel grip of Jasper Whitt, Erskine might not survive the day.
Iain would celebrate if this man, who could challenge him for the chiefdom, died.
Laria scanned the crowd but didn’t see Cyrus or his friend, Rory MacLeod.
Had they left Tuath? Laria’s heart sank at the thought of Cyrus sailing south without any type of farewell.
Her camp, though, was an hour’s walk north of the village.
After their two nights together, would he take the time to find her again before leaving?
I am on my own. She’d always been. Never had a man of integrity stayed in her life.
Her father had been a great leader of his clan but had ignored his only daughter.
Her husband had been stolen by death before they’d truly known each other.
Even her brother had been taken from her before she was born.
Only her grandmother had been a constant in her life.
No, Cyrus wouldn’t have remained, either.
She’d mourn the loss later. Right now, she needed to keep Erskine alive.
After Cyrus had left the other morning, each member of their group had come to tell her that they didn’t want to abandon their home to move south.
They supported Erskine and wanted him to become chief of the clan.
He was clever, kind, and strong—a born leader.
But right now, Laria would take Erskine and her grandmother and any who would follow and leave Macqueen territory.
If only Erskine would live to get the chance.
Let him live, she prayed to a God who seemed not to care anymore.
“Stealing food from yer clan is a sin of the highest order.” Jasper’s voice rang through the square as two Macqueen men who aided the bastard looped Erskine’s bound wrists over an iron hook suspended from a wooden scaffold.
A flick from a dagger started a rip at the bottom of Erskine’s tunic.
The linen parted as the two men pulled it until, and with another flick of the dagger, the tunic split to hang before him.
While it was still attached to his arms, his back was completely exposed, a swath of milk-pale skin across taut muscles.
“Even his armpit hair is white,” a woman next to Laria whispered. She sounded aghast, as if she were looking at a changeling or devil.
Anger flared inside Laria. Erskine had done nothing but try to feed his family with chickens that Iain’s wedding guests probably hadn’t missed among all the other food. And it had been her suggestion.
“Admit yer guilt,” Jasper yelled.
Erskine stared directly into Jasper’s eyes. “I took food to keep Macqueen people alive, people who have no home because the Macqueen chief has decided they are unworthy.”
Jasper leaned into his face. “Ye are unworthy. Ugly, marked by the devil, infirmed in the mind. Ye deserve nothing more than starvation.”
Laria looked around at the villagers. Did they believe the same? That people must be perfect in mind and body to deserve to live? She knew there were others in the village who were malformed or imperfect or aging, but they were hidden away by their families.
“Today ye will learn not to steal.” Jasper took a leather scourge from one of his men and snapped the whip in the air. Crack! “Today ye will feel the pain of yer sin.”
No, no, no! If Erskine was flogged, leaving his back open to infection, he could easily die. The caves were damp and dirty, and she had none of her grandmother’s herbal cures. They had been left at Tuath Tower in their haste to escape.
Jasper held the scourge in the air, the multiple tails embedded with iron spikes clinking slightly when they hit each other, like deadly rain on tin. He lifted it. “Feel the bite of justice.”
“No!” Laria pushed forward, dropping her shawl. “Stop! I am the one who stole the chickens. He is innocent.”