Her thoughts quickly turned to Margaret and the boys. Not only must it be difficult for Callum and his friends to deal with so many children, but the children had to be concerned for her. She prayed someone would take the time to comfort any of the children who needed it. Margaret would be badly in need of it to still her fears.
* * *
Callum walked into the sheriff’s room with Margaret by his side and five little boys marching behind him, Uven guarding their backs. He noted the sheriff’s eyes widened a little but then his face took on that almost petulant look of self-righteousness the man favored. Callum’s free hand clenched on his walking stick. It took a lot of control to deal successfully with such fools, and Callum’s temper was on a very frayed rope.
“What game do ye play, sir? What are these brats doing in my house?” the sheriff demanded.
“Try to speak more civilly, sir, ye are scaring the children.” Callum patted Margaret’s back as he picked her up. “Ye asked me to bring in the brothers and I have.”
“Those bairns are nay them! What about the big lads? I ken weel that Kerr had some.”
“The boys were with me all day,” he lied without hesitation or shame. “As ye can see”—he patted his broken leg—“I have a lot of need of assistance. And ye obviously havenae seen the lads for they are nay so verra big.”
“Then where were those bratlings if nay helping to kill Kerr Matheson?”
“These lads were working in the fields as they do every day when nay aiding me. If they had happened to see or hear anything, which I doubt, the men killing Kerr would have gutted and killed them as weel.” Callum nearly smiled when he noticed the sheriff getting a look of panic in his eyes, obviously seeing too many holes in whatever plan he had devised. “I cannae stress enough that none who were in the area could have killed Kerr Matheson. Bethoc and these lads certainly wouldnae have tortured him. There are five men riding about with a growing list of crimes attributed to them, yet ye dinnae e’en ask for their description.”
“Who the hell are ye?”
“Sir Callum Murray MacMillan, laird of Whytemont.”
“I can give ye a verra good description of the five men, sir,” said Magnus as he stepped up to the desk. “The leader was as tall as Sir Callum, had long brown hair and a brutish scar down his face that killed one eye but left the other a sort of muddy brown. The second man was taller, bone thin, had a hooked nose. He was missing two fingers on his right hand, last two of them. The third was shorter and square, so thick with muscles he might have had trouble moving about. He was fair with blond hair to his shoulders and little blue, blue eyes. Fourth fellow wasnae much of anything, ye ken?”
“Nay, I dinnae. What does that mean?” asked the sheriff, shocked by the boy’s precise description yet fascinated.
“Ordinary people and all,” replied Magnus. “He was nay too tall or too short, nay too thin or too fat, either. Hair was nay too short or too long save to say he had brown hair. Plain brown hair. And ordinary gray eyes. The last mon had a beard, it was black and streaked with silver but his head was bald. He also had a boil on his neck though it could break at any time and disappear so may nay matter. There, now ye can go look for them and let our Bethoc out.”
Callum could tell the man had recognized the ones Magnus described. The way the man’s eyes had briefly widened with certain descriptions gave him away. And that was why Bethoc was in jail, charged with murder, and, if this man could do it, would be convicted. The sheriff knew who Magnus spoke of and knew they had killed Kerr Matheson but planned to blame Bethoc for it. He either needed to impress his master or enrich him. It was hard to believe that flashing the fact that he was a MacMillan, a clan this area knew well, and laird of Whytemont could break that need. It should have worked and the very fact that it had not made him suspicious.
“If I catch such men and if they prove to be the killers, then we will let her go,” said the sheriff, still looking a bit dazed by Magnus but sounding firm.
With a shake of his head, Callum said, “Ye are making a verra big mistake, Master . . . ?” He looked at the man and waited for him to give up his name.
“MacDavid. Patrick MacDavid.”
“Thank ye. I will remember it.” He finally saw the man pale a little. “Now I would like to see Miss Matheson.” When the man started to protest, Callum asked very quietly, “Is there some reason ye dinnae wish me to see her? To assure her that I am working to set her free?”
“Of course there isnae,” snapped the man as he stood up and snatched some keys from a hook on the wall. “Ye will see that she is just fine. We dinnae mistreat our prisoners.”
Callum fell into step behind the man, wincing as he heard the children walking behind him but he did not have the heart to tell them to wait for him. Uven moved up beside him to keep a close eye on the two men who flanked the sheriff. The two men said nothing but continually looked back at them as they went down the stairs. Margaret slipped her small hand into his and held on tight as they went down the well-worn steps. He tried hard not to think of how many had made their last walk on these steps but now he wondered how many had done so and been completely innocent.
“Bethoc?” she asked, staring up at him.
“Aye, we are going to see Bethoc now.”
The moment the sheriff stopped before a cell Margaret ran up to the door and grabbed the bars. She struggled to open the door but Bethoc hurried over to her. “Nay, Margaret. ’Tis locked,” she said.
Margaret spun around to glare at the sheriff. She stamped her foot and pointed at the door. “Open! Now!” she bellowed.
It was difficult not to laugh, especially at the sheriff’s shocked face, but Callum managed and grabbed hold of Margaret. “Now, lass, we told ye Bethoc was in jail, aye?” She nodded and her bottom lip began to wobble. “That means the door stays locked. Ye can still see her and talk to her though.” His heart broke a little as two fat tears trickled down her cheeks but he set her down and she walked over to the bars to stick her arms through them and grab hold of Bethoc. He watched as Bethoc quietly talked to the child.
Bethoc tried to explain things to Margaret and thought the little girl understood most of it but the fat tears that kept trickling down her cheeks broke her heart. “I need to speak with Callum now, sweetling.”
When Margaret kissed her and stepped back, Callum went up to the door. He glanced back at the little girl to see her standing next to Magnus, a fierce look on her face as she glared at the sheriff. It was hard not to laugh as the man began to look increasingly uncomfortable.
Then he turned all of his attention to Bethoc as he clasped her hands in his. She looked wet and tired. The tired he could understand. The wet, though, confused him. He lightly touched her gown and frowned when he found it wet.
“Why are ye so wet?” he asked.
