7
“Is this how ye mean to play your game?”
Alexander muttered a curse, then turned to face Barra, heavily wishing that his young brother had not followed him up to the battlements. It was annoying, but it was also embarrassing. He had come up on the high walls to try and covertly watch Ailis work in the kitchen garden with the children. Alex suspected it was rather obvious, especially since Barra had caught him doing such spying several times in the two weeks since Ailis had been brought to Rathmor.
“And what is that supposed to mean?” he asked, meeting Barra’s sardonic look with a calm he did not feel.
“Ye may not have noticed, brother, but I am no longer the dim-witted drunk.”
“I noticed. ‘Tis one of the few good things that have happened to us in the last few years.”
Barra shook his head, rested his arms on the parapets, and stared down at Ailis and the children. “Ye sounded like a petulant child just then. We are alive, Alexander. There must be some good to find in that.”
“Ye found little good in these last two years.”
“True enough. ‘Tis why I can so clearly see how wrong ye are and fear it. I have seen the wretched depths grief and hopelessness can take a man to. I have seen how easily it can steal a man’s strength and reason. In ye, I see how it has stolen all that made ye such a good man. Ye have lost your gift of understanding, of forgiveness.”
“Forgiveness?” Alexander spat out the word as he glared at Barra. “Do ye ask me to forgive Colin MacFarlane for dishonoring us by cuckolding our father but months after his marriage? Or for his cowardly murder of our father and his theft of our lands? Do ye expect me to forgive our adder of a stepmother for leading our hapless father into that MacFarlane trap? She may as well have cut his throat herself. Should I forgive her for helping her lover Colin gain all he coveted? She even used her wiles and the power of her many lovers to help MacFarlane gain the king’s acknowledgment of his false claims, thus stealing our right of vengeance. If she wasna already dead I would kill her with my bare hands. And, despite the crimes done us, we risk the taint of outlawry each time we act against Colin or what few allies he has clung to. Am I to forgive all that?”
“Nay, and ye ken that I dinna ask ye to.”
“Then who am I to forgive?” Alexander continued before Barra could say any more. “My wives? The first one mayhaps. She was just a whore—an embarrassment but little else. That leaves my second wife—the mad Frances? Am I to forgive her? She who killed my Elizbet, my only child?” he asked in a tight whisper.
“Nay. Cease trying to silence me with a litany of the crimes done to us. Ye ken that I would never ask ye to forgive such things, that I would think ye a saint if ye were able to do so. What I ask is that ye forgive womankind, that we cease faulting the innocent for crimes done by a few of their ilk.”
Alexander gave an unpleasant laugh. “A few? The course of my life has been littered with whores, liars, and adulteresses. I forgave too often. ‘Tis why we lost so much. They sensed my weakness. No more. I have finally seen the rot that lurks beneath the soft skin and pretty face. I shallna be fooled again.”
“Ye canna believe all ye have just said. What of the brides of your closest friends? What of the MacLagan women?”
“They are proof of what I say. They, too, brought trouble with them.”
“And good, but I can see that ye have blinded yourself. It also explains why ye have turned cold toward your old friends, even refusing their help in this fight.”
“ ‘Tis our fight, not theirs. I willna risk their lives for our gain.”
“Nay, nor will ye risk meeting with women ye ken will prove your accusations and beliefs are all wrong, all born of your pain. Ailis—“
“Ailis is a MacFarlane.”
“A trick of birth, ‘tis all, and well ye ken it.” Barra shook his fist at Alexander. “She doesna deserve what ye are doing to her. Ye bed her every night, and I dinna need to witness it to ken that ye do so with gentleness and lustiness. That can be seen on your faces—briefly—each morn. Ah, but then ye recall that she is a woman, a MacFarlane, and ye turn cold. Ye lurk about watching her, hungering for her, but rarely speak to her or treat her very kindly at all.”
“She is a MacFarlane!”
“Aye, and ye are a fool!”
Before Alexander could strike Barra, as he ached to, he heard young Sibeal’s voice saying, “Papa, Uncle, I need ye to help me.” He fought to control himself as Barra immediately turned to Sibeal.
Barra picked the child up and gave her a kiss on the cheek before gently scolding her. “Ye ken that ye shouldna be up here, dearling. ‘Tis dangerous. Why didna ye stay with Ailis? Ye looked to be having fun in the garden.”
“I was.” Sibeal lightly chewed on her bottom lip and twirled a fat reddish curl around her dirty finger. “I needed ye.”
“Well, I am pleased to help, but what can I do that ye canna do? Or that your aunt canna help with?”
“Ye must save the wee puppies.”
“What wee puppies?”
“The wee puppies that will fall in the water.” She tugged on the front of Barra’s jupon. “Come, Papa, ye must save the puppies.” She began to cry, and her words became jumbled.
