“Oona, stand before me and confess.” Liam waited as the warrior lifted her arms over his head before he could dismount. He lifted Oona from the saddle, placed her on the ground, and gave her a none too subtle nudge forward. Her daughters soon stood with her. The woman’s defiance oozed from her, and Liam was unprepared for it. She didn’t resemble the woman he’d entrusted with his household after the woman he’d known from childhood passed away. Hagatha had been the Sinclairs’ housekeeper for as long he could remember. He’d mourned her death almost as keenly as his mother’s and Kyla’s.
“I have naught to say.” Oona glared at Liam, then looked away.
Saoirse walked to her two friends. “Explain.” It wasn’t a request.
The sisters kept their eyes on the ground. Saoirse stepped so close they could see her boots. Neither wanted to confront their friend in front of their mother. Saoirse looked toward Oona, then Liam. She canted her head toward the keep. Liam signaled one of his guards to take Oona inside.
“She’s gone. Tell me how ye could try to kill the mon ye ken I love. Tell me how ye could betray me when we’ve been friends since we were weans. Tell me what yer mother said that made ye believe a mon ye’d kenned yer entire life is the monster she must have claimed. Tell me.” Saoirse’s voice remained quiet, but there was authority in it she now felt as a tánaiste’s wife.
“Mama said he forced the woman betrothed to him before ye. We thought he would do the same to ye,” Morag whispered.
“Did ye believe I didna ken what happened with his last betrothal?”
Both women nodded. Morag continued speaking. “We didna think ye would believe us.”
“So, instead of taking yer fears to ma father or our laird, ye took it upon yerselves to try to murder him.” Saoirse didn’t temper her sarcasm. “Who did it?”
Ròs looked up. “We both did. Our mother said it had to be done. That nay one would believe us against Óg. She said we had to protect ye and defend our clanswoman’s honor.”
“Yer clanswoman? Ye’re Sinclairs. Have ye ever met a Matheson other than that vendor?”
“Nay,” Morag confessed. “But ye ken Mama. She makes a fine housekeeper because she doesnae take anyone’s guff, and she can command an army of servants. She’s nae someone ye can refuse.”
Saoirse knew that truth, but it didn’t diminish her disbelief that her friends could so betray her. “Ye didna think we would catch ye. How would ye have lived with kenning ye murdered a mon?”
“It would have been a righteous killing. At least, that’s what Mama said.” Ròs’s eyes darted in Magnus’s direction.
Saoirse felt sorry for the women. Even if Oona weren’t so demanding, it would have been difficult for the young women to act against their own mother. To confess the plan to anyone would have been a death warrant for their mother.
“Morag! Ròs!” Everyone turned to watch a man in a Sinclair plaid running toward them. He stopped short when he reached Liam. His expression was distraught, and he appeared agitated. He looked at Liam, his mien clearly fearful. “I didna ken, ma laird. Will ma lasses hang?”
“I havenae decided, Darrell.”
“And Oona?” Darrell twisted toward the keep before looking back at Liam.
“She wouldnae speak on her own behalf. If she continues to refuse, I will take her silence as an admission of guilt. She will die.”
Darrell swallowed and nodded before looking back at his daughters. He grew more upset, his hands fisting and unfisting at his side. “Tell our laird all that ye ken.”
“We did, Da.” Morag burst into tears. Darrell took a step forward but stopped himself. He looked at Liam, who nodded. The guard hurried and engulfed his daughters in his embrace. He kissed the tops of their heads before resting his cheek on Morag’s head. The young women clung to their father.
Magnus came to stand with Saoirse, who’d stepped aside for Darrell. He slid his arm around her waist, and she turned into his body. She encircled his waist and sagged against him. The situation felt overwhelmingly sad to her.
“Grandda?” Saoirse looked between her shoulder and Magnus’s. The older man walked forward and placed his hand on her back. “Can ye do aught but hang them? Banish them?”
“To banish them would be worse than to execute them. There is only one means to provide for themselves, and it’s more likely to kill them than give them the chance to start over.” Liam looked at the young women. If he banished them, he would have to mark them. Anyone would know. Their best hope would be to become whores, but that life would prematurely age them. They were more likely to die from illness or at a drunkard’s hand. “I will send them to Eynhallow Monastery as servants.”
It was on a remote, uninhabited island in Orkney. The only thing there was the monastic house. As the Earl of Orkney, Liam had the authority to relegate them to servitude to the monks and nuns. It would keep them alive and away from harm, but not allow them a normal life after their role in their assassination attempt.
The women heard Liam, and both sobbed, but Darrell appeared grateful. Saoirse suspected he thought he would visit them, but she doubted Liam would grant him permission. Saoirse thought it was a benevolent decision, considering the other options. It pleased her that they would live, but it also satisfied her that they wouldn’t go unpunished.
“They can remain here, but I will imprison them with their mother.” Seamus said. Saoirse hadn’t noticed him join them, but she suspected he had after Darrell ran through the gates. He would have investigated. Liam and Saoirse nodded, and Darrell’s shoulders sank. It was more likely they would wind up in the dungeon than house arrest.
Monty arrived with the other riders, but he’d remained silent. It wasn’t his place to be involved. He’d merely been the bearer of bad news. But as the group headed back to the keep, Seamus invited him to join them. The Ross men returned to their camp while Monty walked alongside Seamus. While they were hardly friends, their discord ended far more easily than anyone, including them, expected.
* * *
The massive army, one that rivaled those Andrew Murray could command, traveled southwest for a day to Loch Achaidh na h-Inich. At the northern end, lay Ach Dà Thearnaidh, or the Field of Two Descents. They aptly named it since there were two hills, making it a secluded spot. There were enough men to divide between the two sides. It was the traditional rallying point for Clan Matheson, and it would be the site of any battle. The Mathesons’ keep, Crannog, sat on a small isle in the loch. It kept them well protected, but it wasn’t entirely impervious to attack.
