“Weel, they are waiting upstairs for her.” He walked up to the cell and began to unlock the door.
“Sorry, lass,” Hilda said as Mora stepped out. “I have thought on little else save how to stop this and have nary one good idea. The one I did try hasnae brought any results, though I thought for certain it would. The old fool kens this is wrong, but he willnae allow that cursed son of his to take any blame. Ne’er has.”
“Thank ye for trying, Hilda.”
“Weel she can just stop trying,” Manus snapped. “He is our laird, woman!”
“God help us,” Hilda muttered, and she looked close to tears as Manus tied Mora’s hands in front of her.
Manus sighed and nodded. “Ye dinnae have to come, Hilda.”
“Oh, aye, I do, though the old fool might try to shoo me away.”
Manus led her up the stairs, something Mora found it difficult to do with her hands tied. Hilda followed close behind. Mora knew without looking that the woman was there to catch her if she stumbled or even tried to hurl herself down the stairs. She doubted she would be fortunate to just break her neck if she tried it. These last few months she had found very little luck.
“Hold on, Manus,” said Hilda as they began down the corridor that led to the great hall.
“What now, woman?”
“I need to fix her hair.”
“What? Why now?”
“Because, ye old fool, they will cut it if it is hanging free like this, and she doesnae need that humiliation.”
“Go on then, but be quick about it.”
“Why would they cut off my hair?” Mora asked.
“Dinnae ken,” mumbled Hilda as she began to twist up and pin up Mora’s hair. “Something to do with getting the noose on right,” she mumbled.
The woman choked out the words so Mora asked no more questions. She stared at the doors at the far end of the hall. Lachlan, Duncan, and Murdoch walked in and went straight into the great hall. Murdoch cast an anguished look her way and she sighed. He could not stop this on his own and she knew it would trouble him for a long time.
It troubled her that the three brothers could not unite against the one making their lives a misery. She had given up trying to understand why her uncle was so determined to ignore the monster that was his son. He did not overtly dote over the young man yet did so much to cover over all the signs that the son was rotten to the core. How could he not see that he was condemning his other sons to misery, perhaps even death, by doing nothing about Robert? He was also condemning his own people. Instead of a fine, strong keep and a good laird as his legacy, the old laird could leave behind a place filled with misery, cruelty, and death.
“How can he nay see it?” she asked herself, and then realized she had spoken aloud.
“See what, lass?” asked Hilda.
“That what every mon hopes to leave behind is something good, something that will be remembered. What he has fought so hard to hide still lives in Robert and it will taint everything the Ogilvys have built here.”
“Aye,” said Manus. “’Tis why I have been looking for a place Hilda and I can go to.”
Hilda stared at her husband in shock. “Ye have? Why? Ye are the one who always reminds me he is our laird!”
“If he dies he willnae be anymore, will he? Robert will,” he said, and lowered his voice, glancing around nervously. “And I willnae serve him. Ye think he is bad now? He will turn monstrous cruel when his da is dead and no longer has to worry about what the mon might say and do. Nay, I dinnae plan for me and mine to be here for that. I want us out of his reach, especially our girls.”
“Oh, Manus.” Hilda hugged him and the man turned a brilliant red. “I was so afraid for our girls.”
He awkwardly patted her on the back. “Did ye really think I would chance them ending up like poor Mary? Or alive but broken like so many of the lassies here? Nay, not our lassies. I didnae ken what to think so I thought, get out of here, Manus. So just calm your mind, loving.”
“Thank ye, love. Thank ye.”
“Who is poor Mary?” Mora asked, touched by the man’s efforts to ease his wife’s worry.
“Mary was a kitchen maid. Murdoch was a lad and he loved this rabbit and Robert made her prepare the lad’s rabbit for the spit. Then Murdoch came in, obviously upset, and Robert gloated, told the girl to cut him more. He had beaten on her—the bruises showed for weeks—so she did, crying all the time. Poor little Murdoch emptied his belly all over the table and Robert. Mary was so upset, so bothered by what Robert had made her do, she went and told the laird. He actually did something about that and gave Robert a terrible thrashing. Then about a fortnight later, Mary disappeared. We found her down by the burn, beaten, raped, and then hanged from a tree. Oh, and her tongue cut out.”
Mora shook her head. “How does a mon get so twisted about?”
