An acrid smell tainted the air as they reined in before the ruined cottage. Two blanket-shrouded shapes were on the ground, and three of Parlan’s men lingered nearby, coming alert when he arrived. Since the house was little more than ashes, Parlan was not sure the bodies would be recognizable. Artair and Lagan had said the corpses were burnt, but only now did Parlan see that there was a chance that they were burned beyond any hope of recognition. Hesitantly, he started toward the bodies.
“I ken I willnae enjoy this,” muttered Leith as he fell into step beside Parlan. “They willnae be a pretty sight.”
“Nay, they willnae. Nevertheless, we have to be certain ’tis the pair we search for.”
“Aye, ye dinnae want to ease your guard before ye are verra certain indeed. That could be a deadly folly.” Leith took a deep breath and reached for the blanket. “I have always detested fires and their consequences.”
When Leith pulled the blanket back, he paled and gagged softly, something Parlan sympathized with. He had been right. There was not much left that was recognizable. Steadying himself, he helped Leith closely examine each body then joined the younger man in making a hasty retreat from the scene. When they were several yards away, Parlan silently offered Leith a drink from the wineskin he had snatched from his saddle.
After taking a long drink, Leith handed the wineskin back to Parlan. “Weel, ye cannae tell much by looking at them save that one was tall and slim and one was short and burly. What little remains of the clothing and hair indicate that the tall one was fair and dressed fine. I have made my judgment on what few belongings survived the fire with them.”
“The ring?”
“Aye, ’tis Rory’s. So was the dagger and the sword. Rory often displayed them for he was proud of them.”
“And the other man is Geordie?” Parlan rinsed his mouth with wine to wash the acrid taste of smoke and death from it and then took another long drink.
“Aye. Strange but I feel no doubt about that.”
“Without Rory he wouldnae be a danger. Rory would always be. Kenning that ye are wary. ’Tis all.”
“Aye. A lot weighs upon my word. I cannae think of any way a man would get Rory’s possessions and be with Geordie as weel. It must be Rory.”
“T’would seem so,” Parlan agreed.
“So your worries are at an end. Ye seem little pleased.”
“I am pleased yet, at the moment, I am both angry and regretful. The whoreson has slipped beyond my reach again and this time to a place where none can hunt him down.” He smiled crookedly. “I have no wish to ride into hell before my time is due.”
“Ye wished to send Rory there by your own hand. ’Tis verra easy to understand. Father shares that wish. I ken he will share your torn feelings about this—glad the swine is dead but verra sorry t’wasnae by his hand. This lacks the satisfaction revenge craves.”
“Aye. Mayhaps that is why I am slow to accept the ending. I didnae see it or cause it.”
“So ye suspect it.” When Parlan nodded, Leith sighed. “Cut down by sword or fire, dead is dead. Do we bury them?” He finally turned to look back at the bodies.
“T’would be fitting and just to leave them for the carrion but I have ne’er done so, so why begin now. Aye, we bury them.”
Although he cursed himself for a fool, knowing Rory would never have honored his remains if the situations had been reversed, Parlan saw to the burials. He could not leave a body, any body, for the carrion. The thought turned his stomach. In a way, he also hoped that the act of burying the pair would make him accept their deaths which he still had some difficulty doing.
“T’was a waste of our time and sweat but ’tis done,” Artair said as he shared the water Parlan had drawn from the well and joined his brother, Leith, and Lagan in washing off. “I wouldnae be surprised to see the ground spit them out.”
Parlan laughed softly. “Aye, neither would I. Mark the graves, Wallace,” he called to one of his men.
“Why trouble with it? There cannae be any who will care where they rest. Weel, except, mayhaps to spit upon the bones.”
“There are those who wished that pair dead yet arenae here to see it. Marked graves might do as weel, Artair.”
“Aimil?”
“Mayhaps her. My word on it might be enough. Then again the man bred a deep fear in her, one that haunts her dreams. My word might not be enough to still that. Sometimes the sight of a grave is needed to make one really believe in a death, especially in one like this, one that she needs to ken is true. Poor lass hasnae liked wishing for Rory’s death but she also kenned that t’was the only way we would be free of the threat of him.”
“Aye, and I think my father may need to see it.”
“True, Leith. His need to see Rory Fergueson dead might even have been greater than mine. Do ye travel now to tell him?”
“Aye, I shall leave from here. Tell Aimil I shall visit again soon,” Leith called as he strode toward his horse.
“I never thought we would be kin and friends with Lowlanders.” Artair shook his head as he watched Leith ride off.
