A glint came into Angus’s eyes that told Callum the man would have enjoyed being part of it and he ached to strike him down. The image of Bethoc tied to that bed, the sheriff between her legs ready to take her, was not one he could easily forget. Any man who revealed an interest in such a thing deserved to be pounded into the dust.
“Cease picking at Walter, Angus, ’tis beneath ye, though I begin to believe little else is. Ah, and I believe this is what I need,” the laird said as his eldest returned looking enraged, with several papers in his hands.
Silence reigned as the laird read the papers, though he kept one hand on his eldest’s arm. Callum judged that wise as the man looked eager to strike at Angus. The other two brothers edged closer, reading the papers over their father’s shoulder. The way their eyes widened and they glared at Angus made Callum think they might know, or knew, someone mentioned.
“Ye killed David,” said the laird, and he stared at his son as if he did not know him.
“What? Nay! I ne’er killed anyone. What are ye talking about? David was my friend.”
“Then ye had your hirelings do it, but he is dead all because ye wanted Boswin Cottage. Tell me, have ye already moved in or have ye set up a mistress there?”
“Nay, I didnae kill David.”
“Then why do ye have the deed to Boswin Cottage? Is that why ye also have the deeds to Colin Knox’s and Ian Fearn’s farms? Ye killed David”—he paused as Angus stuttered a denial—“or had him killed. Colin and Ian as weel. Then ye had the sheriff take their poor wives and accuse them of murder and then ye saw to it that they hanged. What happened to David’s bairns?”
“I dinnae ken what ye mean. Why should I ken what happened to them?”
Angus cried out and fell to the floor when his father suddenly rushed at him and backhanded him, demanding, “What happened to his bairns?”
“I dinnae ken.”
The laird looked at his other two sons who had come in with Angus. “Find them and find out if Knox and Fearn had any bairns. It cannae give them back their parents but we will make certain they are raised weel, cared for until they are of an age to take possession of what this worm I bred tried to steal.”
“Nay, Da, I didnae . . .” Angus began as his two brothers rushed off.
“Shut it. And ye nay longer have the right to call me Da. Nay longer have the name. Ye are nay my son. Ye are nay a Keddie and ye nay longer reside at Dunburn. As soon as I replace the sheriff ye are his problem.”
“I could hang!”
“Aye, ye could. Right now I wouldnae lift a finger to stop it.” He walked back to his seat as his eldest son dragged Angus off. The laird stared at the papers for a moment before looking at Sir Simon. “The other women are freed, aye?”
“Aye,” replied Sir Simon. “The sheriff and his guards as weel as two of the five men who did the killing are locked up tight. A big fellow named William is running free but I doubt he will be hard to find. I am sorry this trouble has come to ye but it had to be stopped. As for the two women now freed whose husbands were killed, weel, ye will have no trouble o’er that.”
“Ah, they dinnae grieve the loss.”
“They werenae verra good husbands, nay. And I am now done with this so I willnae be pressing ye to do what may be impossible for ye.”
“That is verra good of ye. Dinnae fear though. Whate’er happens he will ne’er be unwatched again.”
“I think that is best.” Sir Simon stood up and the others followed as they all shook hands with the laird.
When the laird went to Walter, he clasped him by the shoulders after shaking his hand. “I am truly sorry, Walter. I picked ye as a magistrate because I kenned ye were a deeply honest mon, one who could be fair, honest, e’en kind.”
“I sent three innocent women to their deaths.”
“Nay. Nay ye didnae. My son sent them there. Ye did naught but what ye should when given a preponderance of proof by men ye trusted, the sheriff, his men, e’en Angus. Remember that. They lied, they twisted justice. Ye have naught to feel guilty about. Put the blame where it belongs.”
“Aye, my laird.”
They were almost out the door when Walter suddenly stopped and turned back. “My laird? Ye will be in need of a new sheriff. If I might venture a suggestion, I think Artair MacReavie would be a good one.”
“Aye, I will consider it. Thank ye, Walter. God’s speed.”
“Jesu, that was hard business,” said Uven once they were outside.
“Nay as hard as it could have been,” said Sir Simon as he mounted his horse. “The mon listened and believed. We were fortunate that the laird had already seen what evil lived in his son. His brothers kenned. Each one of them. Even before we spoke they had guessed who we had come for.”
“Aye, a good mon, the laird. He didnae deserve this blow.”
