Highland Protector (17 page)

“Nay, not weel at all. Mary was beautiful and she stirred my blood until I was crazed with lust for her. Jesu, I was but a green lad of eighteen with verra little experience of women and she was a weel-practiced seductress of five and twenty. She also filled my ears with tearful stories of how cruel Henry was to her, how desperately she needed to get away from him. She was certain that he would kill her one day. At least in that she spoke the truth. I got word that she drowned about five years ago. The mon who gave me the news hinted that few of the people at Lochancorrie believed it was an accident. He also implied that no one truly cared if she was murdered or nay. They were just pleased that she was gone.”

“So she seduced ye and it wasnae out of love. Why? Revenge on Henry?”

“Nay. She and Henry were much alike, in truth. She wanted a son. She had already given Henry two daughters and he wasnae verra pleased by that. I fear they, too, may be dead for Henry’s daughters dinnae live long, either. I only ken of one who lived to marry, although in truth she was still little more than a child when she was sold off to an old mon.

“I discovered later that Mary chose me to breed her because she wished to be certain that the child looked like Henry. That was Henry’s plan as weel, although I was stunned that he would e’er accept that he was unable to breed a son.

“Weel, Henry discovered we were lovers and beat me near to death. My back is badly scarred from the whip he used and he peeled most of the skin off my back with it. My foster father didnae hold much hope that I would survive until weeks later. He said he had ne’er seen anyone so torn up. He ne’er got over his astonishment that I had had the strength to crawl back to our rooms.”

“What did ye do after ye healed?”

“Fool that I was, I went back to Lochancorrie. I feared for Mary’s life, didnae I. I had some grand plans about rescuing her from my brute of a brother. Henry’s wives didnae live long although no one could e’er prove that he killed them.” Simon scowled as he recalled all the painful truths he had uncovered on that last visit to his birthplace.

“Ye dinnae need to continue, Simon.”

“Aye, I do.” If only to learn how to tell the tale when I finally answer Ilsabeth’s question about what happened to cause the scars, he mused. “Instinct made me cautious. I at least retained enough sense to ken that I couldnae blindly rush to the fair maiden’s rescue, that I needed to plan. So, I watched and I listened. Disguised, I e’en got inside the keep a few times. That is how I discovered that Henry had sent her to seduce me. I willnae trouble ye with all the things she said save to say that she didnae do it for love or e’en fear of Henry. Henry’s outrage over finding his wife in my bed was false although he admitted that he enjoyed beating me. Called me a self-righteous little bastard.”

“Do ye think he is expecting ye to come after him?”

Simon stared at Tormand for a minute and then cursed. “I cannae say. I didnae want to believe it when I heard Hepbourn say his name. Couldnae believe that Henry would risk all our forefathers built, all he has claimed and lived off for years. It just makes no sense. But it seems that he has.”

“Some men cannae resist the lure of power.”

“There is naught in our history or bloodlines that should have given him the insane idea that he has a right to the throne. Not one cursed thing.”

“All he needs is a thirst for power, Simon. Ones who get that thirst will justify all of their actions until they believe they are right in what they think and do. Mayhap ye should step away from this. I suspicion ye have no care for your brother, but all the rest? Aye, I think ye care that he risks Lochancorrie and its people. Yet, there is no ignoring that he is blood and, if ye get the proof ye need to reveal him as a traitor, he will be facing a verra hard death.”

“That willnae trouble me all that much. The mon has killed and is long overdue for a hanging. As Morainn saw, the mon has a lot of blood on his hands. Aye, it willnae be an easy death he faces, but he chose his path. I doubt many of the others at Lochancorrie were asked their opinion and yet they will all lose.”

“Aye and that is why I think ye may be too close to all of this.”

“I have a small hope that I might yet save Lochancorrie. If I am the one who brings the traitors to justice, I may weel be able to ask a boon.”

“And that boon will be the lands, aye?”

Simon nodded and leaned against a tree facing Tormand. “'Tis all I might be able to save. E’en if I step back, Henry will be found out for the traitor he is. At least if I stay and try to bring him to justice I have a chance of keeping others in the clan from suffering for his idiocy. And did ye forget that your kinsmen sent Ilsabeth to me to protect? That they are looking to me to prove her innocence?”

Tormand cursed. “For a moment, aye, I did. So ye must see this out until the end.” He stood up and briefly clasped Simon’s arm. “Take care, friend. I dinnae want to see ye place more scars upon your soul. And tell my cousin that her family remains safe and free.” He started to walk away. “I am at your service if ye need me.” He stopped and looked back at Simon. “What are the names of your other brothers?”

“Malcolm, Kenneth, and Ruari. Why?”

“No particular reason. Ye arenae the only one who suffers from the bite of curiosity. And, mayhap it will help ye do what ye must if ye think on how ye will be trying to save Lochancorrie for them as weel.”

He watched Tormand disappear into the wood and sighed, thumping the back of his head against the tree a few times. The thought that his brother was a traitor, that he planned to kill their liege lord, was more than Simon could bear. There was so much anger churning inside him, he felt ill. There was only one path he could take and that was to bring the traitors to justice no matter who they were. And he had lied to Tormand. It would trouble him to send Henry to a traitor’s death despite all the ill will that lay between them. Henry might be a brutal monster in a man’s skin, but he was still blood, still clan, still his brother.

Simon stood in the great hall where the king was holding his court and watched Hepbourn. The man was still busy slandering the Armstrongs and spreading the subtle rumors that had made the king question Simon. The man was relentless in his pursuit to destroy the Armstrongs all the while saving his own hide. For the first time in a long time, Simon wanted to beat the truth out of someone.

This is what his brother wanted? To rule over these adulterers, gossipers, and sycophants? Simon had seen what the king had to deal with every day, the weight of some of the decisions the man had to make, the idiocy and the arrogance he had to suffer through, and he could not see Henry wanting any part of that. Henry was obviously thinking of only the power and wealth he would gain.

The thought of Henry sitting on the throne of Scotland was a chilling one. Simon knew his brother would use his new power to make a lot of blood flow. Anyone who disagreed with his plans, or just looked at him wrong, would be killed and there would be little anyone could do to stop it. In truth, Simon was certain that, if by some miracle Henry won the prize he sought, there would be war and the ground would soon be soaked in blood.

This was a bad place to come and try to calm his tumultuous emotions, Simon decided. He was so filled with anger that the people around him made his head pound and his fists clench with the need to hit someone. As if in answer to his need, Hepbourn walked over to him.

“The search still nay going weel?” Hepbourn asked. “ ‘Tisnae such a big town. I cannae see how one small lass can hide in it so weel.”

“Unless, of course, she was ne’er here to begin with,” drawled Simon.

“If she plots to kill the king she will have to come here at some time, will she not? She cannae kill the mon without drawing close to him. Mayhap ye would serve our liege better if ye ceased trying to find the traitors and guarded the king. Then they will have to come to ye, aye? And then ye will finally have them.”

Simon’s hand tightened so much on the tankard of ale he held that he was surprised it did not buckle. Hepbourn was growing bold. No longer satisfied with questioning Simon’s skills behind his back, Hepbourn was doing it right to his face. Taunting him. The man was beginning to feel dangerously confident. Simon tried hard to restrain his urge to beat the man for this was just what he needed. A man who was too confident of victory made mistakes.

“And what if they come with an army, Hepbourn? Nay, ‘tis best to stop the threat before it draws too near to the king. I will find my answers. I am a patient mon. I ken how to wait and watch.”

Realizing he was too angry to be cautious about what he said, Simon nodded to Hepbourn and walked away. He needed to get out, to get away from all the empty words and false smiles of court life. Simon strode through the crowd, sullenly pleased by the way they hurriedly moved out of his path, and went outside. Just as he had done when he had first heard Henry’s name connected to treasonous plots, he walked until his legs ached. Only then did he turn around and head home. This time, however, the hard walk had not eased him or cleared his mind.

He was still too angry to think clearly. Somehow he had to shake free of the fury gripping him so tightly. Simon knew he could all too easily make a mistake if he did not get his emotions under control.

The house was quiet when he entered, the children already abed. He suspected Ilsabeth was in bed, too. His body was eager to join her there but he fought the temptation. He feared his anger was still so great and so uncontrollable that he could hurt her. There would be some relief to be found in the sweetness of her passion but he knew he would be rough in the finding of it.

As he entered his ledger room, he thought on how Henry had managed to ruin the one good thing Simon had found. With a soft growl, Simon picked up the oddly patterned rock Reid had gifted him with yesterday and hurled it at the fireplace. It hit the mirror hanging over the mantel and loudly smashed it. The abrupt act of violence brought him little ease.

“Sir?” asked MacBean as he opened the door to look in shock at the broken mirror.

“God’s tears, mon, why do ye never knock?” Simon hurled himself into his seat and put his head in his hands.

Ignoring the scolding, MacBean drew near. “What ails ye? Shall I have the old woman brew ye up something?”

“Nay, I dinnae need some potion.” He sat back. “I am attempting to rein in the rage that is near to choking me.”

Simon could see that he was alarming MacBean. The man was used to an even-tempered master, a man who got, at his worst, a little broody or irritable. “I have found out who leads the traitors. The mon should arrive in town within three to four days.”

“But, isnae that good news? Isnae that what ye have been looking for?”

“ ‘Tis what I have been looking for and yet, ‘tis nay what I expected.”

“So who is it? Anyone we might have met?”

Simon laughed and even he had to wince at the harsh bitter sound of it. “Aye, MacBean, we ken the mon verra weel indeed. ‘Tis Henry.” For the first time since he had known the man, MacBean was struck speechless.

“Nay, that cannae be.”

“So I said when I heard the first mention of his name. But I fear it was the truth I heard. After all these years spent searching for the truth, ye would think I would recognize it when I heard it, but I hesitated.”

“Your brother plots to kill the king? Why? What does he mean to gain?”

“The throne,” replied Simon. “My dear brother has obviously gained some high ambitions over the years. Instead of just killing wives and daughters and the occasional poor fool who displeases him, Henry seeks to kill the king. And, even more astounding, the mon seems to think it should be him who sits on the newly emptied throne.”

“Sweet Jesu, the king will send soldiers to Lochancorrie. People will be killed.”

“Go, MacBean. Just go. If there is someone ye feel compelled to warn of the trouble headed his way, do so, but do it as secretly and subtly as ye can. It would not do us any good if Henry gets word that we have caught on to his game.”

“Simon,” MacBean began, his voice softened with concern.

“Nay, just go. I am so filled with fury that my head aches and my stomach churns. I am nay good company this eve. I need to think, need to get rid of some of this anger that is making me lose all my wits. If I dinnae, then I will nay be able to work.

Henry could win and then all of Scotland will suffer.”

Simon winced as the door shut behind the departing MacBean. The man had called him Simon. MacBean had not done so since Simon had been a beardless boy. He must be in a far worse condition than he had realized.

“I think I need to get drunk. I need to drink until I fall on my face and my mind ceases to work,” he said as he stared up at the ceiling.

A bad idea, he decided a moment later. Drink might put him down for a while, but it would take some time for it to do so. Simon did not want to consider what he might do when that drink mixed with the fury inside him. He could wake in the morning, head aching, to discover he had done something very foolish or taken his anger out on some poor fool who crossed his path.

What he did not understand was the depth of his anger. He had not seen his home for a very long time and he had few good memories of it. The despair he suffered over its impending loss made no sense. There were good people there, ones like MacBean and Old Bega, but he had not seen them in ten years, either.

That left Henry as the cause of his fury. Henry, who had tormented all of his siblings with brute force and rages. The man had even slaughtered Simon’s first dog and tossed the carcass onto his bed while he was sleeping in it. Henry never discussed anything. If a person did not agree with his opinion or plan, he beat them until they did or they died, whichever came first. Henry was not particular. Simon decided that there was where his fury was born, in the knowledge that Henry was still destroying all that had been good at Lochancorrie.

Perhaps he should just hunt his brother down and kill him. That would put an end to the danger to the clan and its land. Once Henry was dead the other traitors would be easy enough to catch and punish. A small, still sane part of Simon was dismayed by how reasonable that sounded to the rest of him. The boy who had grieved over his dog and the young man who had dragged his bleeding, ravaged body back to his foster father both liked the idea.