Chapter Eighteen #4
“Aye. For days after.” Bram looked toward the doors through which Anastasia had vanished. “The lass was responsible for ending that particular misery.”
Niall muttered something in Gaelic about MacCailin never having possessed the sense to escape by any ordinary means, and Tòmas laughed beneath his breath.
A few of the other men joined him, but the questions began to subside as well.
There were wives and children waiting, duties neglected in the excitement of Bram’s arrival, horses still to be seen to.
One by one they drifted away until only Harsain, Tòmas and Niall remained with him.
Fearchar, likewise, had made no move to leave.
Bram waited until the nearest men were beyond easy hearing before looking at the four of them.
“There is something else,” he said, lowering his voice. “And what I tell ye now goes nae farther than those standing here.”
Harsain’s expression hardened immediately. Niall straightened, while Tòmas glanced toward the people still crossing the courtyard before stepping nearer. Fearchar merely waited.
“The ambush was nae happenstance,” Bram told them. “The English knew where we would be, how many rode with us, and the road we meant to take. I suspected betrayal while I was held, but at Richmond I learned whose it was.” Bram’s mouth hardened around the name. “Raghnall Hay.”
Tòmas swore beneath his breath. Niall stared at Bram in open disbelief, while Fearchar’s brows drew slowly together. Harsain said nothing at all for several seconds.
“Raghnall?” he asked finally. “Ye are certain?”
“Aye. He told me himself when he came to Richmond —nae as a prisoner. He walked about Richmond as freely as any English lord and carried his sword at his hip.” Even now, Bram could remember the satisfaction upon the bastard’s face, how comfortably Raghnall had stood beyond his reach while Bram was bruised, shackled and scarcely able to rise.
“He wanted me to ken what he’d done. Said Scotland would lose, that Edward had strength enough to crush whatever resistance remained, and only fools continued bleeding for a cause already lost.” His jaw tightened.
“He said he had chosen the winning side.”
“Son of a whore,” Niall muttered.
Tòmas shook his head slowly. “He supped with us not a fortnight before we rode last winter.”
“Aye,” Bram said.
“Sat at the same bloody table.”
Bram nodded. “He knew I wouldnae leave Richmond alive,” he continued. “Dinna trouble to hide what he was. Dead men carry nae tales home.”
Harsain had gone very still, his attention no longer entirely upon Bram. He was plainly revisiting those last days before the ambush, fitting old details around what he knew now.
“He knew our road,” he said.
“Aye.”
“He sat in council when we agreed the route. Knew when we meant to move and how many men ye would take.”
“And he left us the evening before,” Tòmas said suddenly.
Harsain looked at him.
Tòmas frowned, searching his memory. “Said he meant to ride ahead. There was some message he was to carry—I cannae recall to whom.”
“MacLaren,” Niall supplied. “He said he meant to meet MacLaren’s men.”
Harsain’s expression hardened further. “Aye. I thought he’d ridden ahead with them. When the English came upon us, I never thought to wonder why Hay wasnae there.”
“Because he wasnae fool enough to be caught in his own trap,” Bram said.
The anger that had sustained Bram through so much of his captivity stirred again, hotter for being voiced at last among men who understood precisely what the betrayal had cost. For three months he had carried the knowledge alone, turning the same details over and over while English guards mocked Scotland’s defeat and boasted of Wallace’s fate.
Now he stood in his own courtyard with men who had survived the thing Hay had arranged, and Bram could see the same fury taking hold of each of them.
Tòmas looked away first, his jaw working. “Nearly three score men we lost. For what?”
“To save his own skin, apparently,” Niall said bitterly.
“Or improve his fortunes,” Fearchar said. He had remained quieter than the others, but his expression was grave. “Men do worse for less.”
Bram’s mouth tightened. Whatever Raghnall had been promised, Bram intended that he should enjoy precious little of it.
Fearchar’s attention settled upon him. “How many ken this?”
“Now? The five of us.” Bram looked deliberately from one man to the next.
“And it remains so until we learn where Hay is and whether anyone else was bought with him. I willnae have word racing across the north that I returned from English captivity naming him traitor before we ken who might carry that warning straight to him.”
Niall’s mouth curled with distaste. “If he has sense, he’ll be halfway to London.”
“Only if he kens I escaped the noose at York.”
That earned a long look from Harsain.
Slowly, understanding replaced the anger in his face, followed by a smile containing no humor at all.
“Aye,” he said. “Mayhap we shouldnae hurry to correct him.”
“Nae,” Bram agreed. “We shouldnae.”