“Aye.” Sir Simon grinned. “And they have a fine rhythm to it. The laird was buried under his grief but he is out of it enough now that we can tell our tale.”
Sir Simon began to speak to the laird. Bethoc listened for a while then turned to Laurel. The rags she wore were no longer needed to hide in and she suspected Laurel would like to put something else on. She could do with a change as well, as four dunkings into the water, the dress left to dry on her body, had left it shapeless and itchy. They would both feel better after a change. Perhaps Lorraine would as well, she thought.
“We need to wash up and change,” Bethoc said.
Laurel looked down at herself and grimaced. “Och, aye. It was useful, I think, even when it went to rags but now I want it gone. Didnae save me though. Nay, it needs to go. It and the smell of the prison. And those men,” she whispered, and smiled faintly when both Bethoc and Lorraine grasped her hands. “How do we get away?”
“Ask,” Bethoc said, and stood up. “We are going to Laurel’s to clean up, if ye would be so kind as to excuse us,” she said to the laird.
Robbie glanced at Callum who nodded. “I will go with ye.”
The three women got up, spoke politely to the laird, and followed Robbie out. The man seemed to have elected himself the guard of everyone, Bethoc thought with a little smile. And he could be very insistent about it.
“Do ye have to stomp around after everyone?” she teased him.
He gave her a sideways glance, looking down at her. “Seems a reasonable thing to do.”
She laughed and shook her head as Laurel led them to her home. It was a small, neat house made of stone with a fine garden in the back. Inside it was tidy but not richly furnished. Leaving Robbie to watch the door, all three women went to the room in the back of the house that Laurel said she had set aside for bathing. They heated water and talked as they prepared the first bath for Laurel. As they scrubbed her hair, rinsed it, and scrubbed it again, Laurel was revealed to be a redhead. Bethoc decided the woman was a lot more stunning than she had first realized.
Lorraine went next and Laurel disappeared to collect gowns for them to wear. By the time it was Bethoc’s turn, she nearly tore her own gown in her rush to undress. Laurel returned with gowns for each of them. When Bethoc put on the one chosen for her, she was pleasantly surprised to find that it fit and looked at the taller Laurel in curiosity.
“My younger sister visited us for a wee while last summer,” Laurel said, and then smiled. “It was nice. For a short while I enjoyed being the lady of this house and my husband was on his best behavior.”
Bethoc patted her on the arm then frowned as she tied back her damp hair. “I wonder how the men are doing convincing the laird of what his son has done.”
“He was certain of it the moment they told him,” said Laurel. “The decision they seek now is what to do next.”
* * *
The laird was heartbroken but holding up well, Callum decided. The man never argued anything they said and Callum kept waiting for the man to explode in fury and refuse to believe a word. He did not. He knew he had a bad one but had obviously held out a hope that whatever he had seen in his child would never manifest or would just be petty things, easily ignored. It all had to be unbearably hard news to bear, however.
Just as Sir Simon asked where the young man was, he walked confidently into the hall. It surprised Callum a little that the young man was so plain, so ordinary, and not just because, at sixty, the laird was still such a strong, imposing figure of a man. Two other young men stepped in and halted as they studied Callum, Sir Simon, Uven, and the magistrate all seated there near their father. They showed a curious caution that was missing in young Angus Keddie. Despite how much sympathy he felt for the laird, he was going to enjoy crushing the cockiness the young man wore so proudly.
“Who are these men?” asked Angus, flicking a dismissive hand toward them.
“These men are more important than ye think,” said the laird in a hard, cold voice that quickly put a dent in the young man’s confidence. “That one”—he pointed at Sir Simon—“is Sir Simon Innes, laird of Lochancorrie, and do ye ken what he used to be called? The King’s Hound.” Angus paled a little but his father did not hesitate in continuing the introductions. “Sir Callum MacMillan, laird of Whytemont, Sir Uven MacMillan, and I believe ye ken our magistrate. Seems your wee game has been uncovered, lad.” He patted his eldest son’s hand and that man quickly left the room.
“What game are ye speaking of?”
Callum had to give the young man praise for how well he acted shocked. He noticed the other two young men had edged their way into the room, hands on their swords as they eyed Angus warily. If the fool was in some war with his father he had failed miserably in gaining any support from his brothers, for Callum had finally seen the familial resemblance that marked them as the laird’s sons. He would not be surprised to learn the young man had long been a thorn in his brothers’ sides.
“It appears there has been a rash of husband killing in our village. The wives have been taken up for the killings. So far three have been hanged. ’Tis odd that I heard naught of this, aye? But, I didnae. Ne’er heard a whisper of their crimes, their troubles, or their fate. Wonder why that is. Magistrate?” He glanced at Walter.
“I was informed by your son Angus that ye had been told, even that ye felt certain the women were guilty,” Walter answered quietly, the paleness of his face telling Callum that it would be a long time before he forgave himself for the hanging of those three women.
“Weel, why should ye hear of all these troubles, Father? Ye have sons to deal with such petty problems.”
“I doubt those women thought them petty problems,” said Walter.
The look Angus gave Walter was so full of spiteful menace, Callum was glad they would soon take Angus down. Even if Walter was too sunk in guilt to see it, Callum did, and a quick look at Sir Simon told him that man had seen it too. The way the laird had narrowed his eyes told Callum the man was also aware of the threat. The youth had grown overconfident but he suspected killing six men and having three women already pay for some of the murders had made him cocky. That and he put too much faith in being the laird’s son giving him some shield against actually paying for his crimes.
“They killed and they paid for it. All of them confessed.”
“Nay,” said Walter, anger beginning to harden his voice, “the three ye had brought in recently are crying nay and naught changes that.”
“They will. The sheriff can be verra persuasive.”
“Aye,” said Callum, “tying a lass to a bed and having three or four men use her as they will can make a lass confess to anything.”
