Chapter 23
Evan had risen long before the first gray light crept over the hills, listening to the wind scrape along the shutters like restless fingers. Sleep had become a stranger to him these past days. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw fire, saw the barn on the Byre estate burning like a candle.
Now he stood in the hall, staring out of the window at nothing.
His hand strayed to the neck of his shirt and the tiny pouch tied around his neck.
His fingers traced the outline of what it held, feeling the hard, continuous line.
Niall had given it to him several days ago, back when Evan thought he’d finally figured out his future.
This is yers, his brother had said as he pressed the object into his hand. Mother always meant for ye to have it.
Evan had looked down at the tiny object on his palm and had immediately understood the gift his brother had given him.
It was hope. The future. A promise of the life with Ruby he’d dared to dream of.
But that had been before. Before he’d become.
..this. This person that skulked in shadows and ruined other people’s lives.
He tucked the pouch back beneath his shirt. Two days had passed since the flames had taken hold at the Byre manor. Two days since rumor had begun its careful crawl through every alehouse in the district.
Sabotage, those rumors whispered.
And just as he’d predicted, unrest had followed.
The road between the Byre estate and Clough estate to the south—once busy with carts, livestock, and gossip—now lay near deserted.
No one wished to be caught between angry men and sharper steel.
A cart had been overturned yesterday, the driver knocked clean out, the goods stolen.
No one claimed responsibility. Everyone blamed someone else.
He turned at the sound of the door opening. Fergus Key entered the room, mud-spattered and travel-stained from giving his latest report to MacInnes.
“Well?” Evan demanded. “What did he say? Will MacInnes agree to meet me?”
Key’s mouth twisted. “He’s considering it.”
Evan’s jaw tightened. “I’ve done everything he asked. If MacInnes wants my continued support, then he’d better start holding up his end of the bargain.”
Key studied him for a long moment. “Seoras MacInnes doesnae take orders from ye. He’ll act when he’s good and ready. But rest assured, he’s always watching.”
“I am aware of that.”
A shout from outside caught their attention. Loud footsteps. A crash. Raised voices. The unmistakable sound of a struggle.
Evan and Key turned just as the door burst inward with a violent bang, slamming against the wall so hard the hinges groaned. Tam Bisset and Angus Gowan stumbled in, dragging a third man between them.
Hamish.
The headman’s hands were bound roughly before him, though he did not appear cowed. He looked furious.
“What is this?” Evan demanded.
“We caught him,” Bisset said, breathless. “Trying to slip away.”
“With this,” Gowan added, thrusting a rolled parchment toward Evan.
Key snatched it first, scanning the lines quickly. His expression shifted—satisfaction, sharp and ugly, then handed it to Evan.
With a furious glare at Key, Evan took it and read.
It was a letter addressed to Bryce. As he read it, he felt his body tense.
It was an invitation. An invitation for Bryce to ride here with his men and oust Evan as laird.
It promised that the villagers would support Bryce if he claimed Evan’s lands.
Evan lowered the parchment slowly, a hollow feeling of betrayal forming in his gut.
“Did ye write this?” he asked Hamish.
The headman held his stare without flinching. “I dinna have my letters so I had the priest write it for me, but aye. The words are mine. Ours. We discussed it at the village meeting last night.”
“Why?”
Hamish’s jaw worked once before he answered. “Because ye are not the laird we need.”
The words landed heavier than a blow. Key shifted slightly beside him, looking between Evan and Hamish.
“Ye go out at night,” Hamish continued. “Then we hear rumors of bad things happening to our neighbors. Ye leave yer men without direction. Ye let them bully the villagers and do nothing to stop it. The villagers have begun whispering that ye’ve no right to ride in here after so many years and begin throwing yer weight around. And I agree.”
“And so ye would hand my lands to my brother?” Evan asked, his voice hard and cold.
“I would hand them to the man who stood by us whilst ye fled!” Hamish snapped. His eyes flicked to Key, Bisset and Gowan. “I would hand them to the man who wouldnae let his thugs swagger around like they own the place!”
Evan became aware of the eyes of MacInnes’ men on him, waiting to see how he would respond. He could not afford mercy. Not here. Not now.
Evan folded the parchment carefully. “Such disloyalty,” he said, “canna go unpunished.”
A flicker of something flared in Hamish’s eyes. Not fear. Something else.
Evan nodded to Key, and the man stepped forward and drove his fist into Hamish’s gut.
Hamish doubled over but didn’t cry out. Evan forced himself to remain still even though every instinct in him screamed at him to stop this.
He crumpled the parchment in his fist, knuckles turning white. But he did not move.
Key struck again, and Hamish made no move to defend himself. That, more than anything, made Evan’s stomach twist. He forced his expression to stone. Another punch landed. Hamish fell to one knee.
“Enough!” Evan said finally.
Key stepped back, breathing hard. Hamish swayed but did not fall. Blood dripped from his chin to the floor, and one eye was nearly closed. Slowly, he lifted his head and looked at Evan. But it was not betrayal or anger that Evan saw on his old friend’s face.
It was something else entirely. Determination. And an odd, unblinking stare, as though Hamish was trying to tell him something. He’d known Hamish all his life, long enough to know that he could have caused serious damage if he’d fought back against Key.
So why hadn’t he? And why was he looking at Evan now with that intense, knowing expression?
“Take him,” he said, his voice steady despite the storm inside him. “Lock him in the store room. I’ll have more questions for him later.”
The men hauled Hamish upright and dragged him out.
Key wiped his knuckles on a cloth then inclined his head slightly—approval, perhaps—before slipping out. To report, no doubt.
Only when he was alone did Evan allow his shoulders to sag. Hatred twisted inside him like a coiled snake. Hatred for Seoras MacInnes. Hatred for Fergus Key. But mostly, hatred for himself.
He closed his eyes, trying to picture Ruby’s face in his mind.
But every time he did, her face was twisted with loathing.
FERGUS KEY STRODE INTO the hall as though he owned it, boots ringing against the stone, a grin curling his lips. He looked extremely pleased with himself as he flung himself into a chair, took off his cloak, and tossed it across the chair’s back.
Evan watched as he poured himself a drink without asking and took a big swallow, smacking his lips appreciatively.
“I have good news,” he said, raising his glass to Evan. “MacInnes is pleased. He wants to meet ye. And he thinks ye are ready to be brought in on the rest of the plan.”
Evan nodded, keeping his expression neutral even though his heart was racing. At last. This is what he’d been working towards.
Fergus took out a parchment. “New orders. A shipment will be coming here in three days’ time, on the night of the high tide. Men too. We need to be ready to receive it. And ye need to make sure yer villagers willnae interfere. Can ye do that?” He tossed the parchment to Evan.
Evan snatched it out of the air and read it, seeing it was full of the same outlaw shorthand symbols as in the ledger Niall had intercepted.
Shipment. High tide. Three days. It was confirmation of what they’d already guessed: that MacInnes planned to bring his final shipment of weapons here, completing his encirclement of the capital.
“MacInnes doesnae need to worry,” he said. “All will be ready.”
Fergus rose to his feet and clapped Evan on the shoulder. “Excellent! Then we’ll go see MacInnes together to give him the good news. He wants to see ye tomorrow.”
Evan swallowed, trying to keep his tone nonchalant. “Where?”
Fergus grinned. “That would be telling, wouldnae it? Ye’ll find out when we get there. I need to piss. That whisky of yers has gone straight through me.”
Evan watched the man leave. Only when he’d heard his footsteps crunching on the gravel outside, did he move.
He left the room, looking left and right to make sure his minders weren’t around, and ghosted down the corridor towards the back of the house.
All was quiet as he reached the lower storeroom.
Evan paused only briefly before unlocking it and stepping inside.
Hamish sat against the far wall, one leg stretched out, the other bent. His face was a map of bruises but he looked up as Evan entered.
“Ye took yer time,” Hamish rasped.
Evan shut the door behind him. “I’ve only just been able to get away.”
Hamish gave a faint huff of amusement that turned into a wince. Evan crossed the small space in two strides and crouched in front of him. Up close, the damage looked worse.
Evan’s jaw clenched. “Dear God, Hamish! What were ye thinking? Inviting Bryce here? Are ye mad?”
Hamish shrugged slightly. “Seemed necessary.”
“Necessary? It was stupid! Why didnae ye just talk to me if ye had concerns? Did ye really think these men would allow ye to send a message to the Earl of bloody Newborough? Ye’ve already seen what they are capable of!”
A flicker of something—humor?—touched his good eye. “Aye, and they’ve just proven it. Strange friends ye have, Evan.”
Evan fixed him with a stare. “Ye know they are not my friends. Dinna ye?”
Hamish nodded “Aye, I know who they really are. Criminals. Just like Seoras MacInnes. And ye are pretending to work for him. Am I somewhere near the mark?”
Evan exhaled sharply. “I knew it. Ruby. She told ye?”
“Aye, she told me. She wanted someone to keep an eye on ye.”
Evan sat back on his heels. “That bloody woman. She couldnae stop meddling if her life depended on it.”
“She wasnae meddling. She was looking out for ye. Like we all are.”
“So the letter to Bryce was a ruse? Ye deliberately provoked MacInnes’ men. Why?”
Hamish shrugged. “Because ye are running out of time. I figured if MacInnes thought there was the threat of Bryce coming here, it might speed things up a bit.”
Evan dragged a hand over his face. “Ye have to stop doing this. Ye all have to stop doing this!”
“Doing what?”
“Taking such risks for me! Ruby. Ye. Ye let Key beat the stuffing out of ye, and for what? A man who doesnae deserve yer loyalty, that’s what!”
Hamish’s expression hardened. “Ye are wrong. Ye are a good man, Evan Campbell. And we need ye.”
Evan let out a low, humorless laugh. “Good men dinna let their friends bleed for them.”
Hamish clasped his shoulder. “Good men make sure it means something.”
Silence settled between them. Aye, he would try to make it mean something. He reached into his tunic and withdrew the parchment.
“Ye must get this to Ruby and Niall,” Evan said. “It confirms MacInnes’ plan. They need to be ready. Tell them I’m meeting MacInnes tomorrow but I dinna know his location yet. I’ll get it to them as soon as I’ve met him.”
Hamish nodded, taking the parchment. “I’ll tell them.”
Evan nodded, then stood and crossed to the door. “I canna just let ye go. It needs to look like ye escaped. Otherwise Key will suspect me.”
He lifted the heavy grain scoop leaning against the wall and brought it down hard against the lock.
Metal rang. Again. On the third strike, the mechanism cracked.
The staple tore loose from the wood. He kicked the splintered frame once for good measure and the door swung half-open, hanging crookedly.
Evan took a deep breath and turned to face the headman. “I’m sorry, my old friend.”
Hamish climbed to his feet, wincing in pain. “For what?”
“For all of this. For what ye’ve had to endure for my sake.”
Hamish’s expression softened. “To win, sometimes ye have to take a blow.”
For an instant, the weight in Evan’s chest felt unbearable. Then he straightened. “Head through the east trees. Avoid the road.”
Hamish nodded. Evan stepped aside to let him pass. The headman clasped his shoulder briefly then slipped into the passage and was gone.
Evan stood alone in the dim store room, looking at the dried blood on the floor where Hamish had been sitting. Dear God, he didn’t deserve such loyalty.
But somehow, somehow, he would find a way to prove worthy of it.