He watched Tormand disappear into the wood and sighed, thumping the back of his head against the tree a few times. The thought that his brother was a traitor, that he planned to kill their liege lord, was more than Simon could bear. There was so much anger churning inside him, he felt ill. There was only one path he could take and that was to bring the traitors to justice no matter who they were. And he had lied to Tormand. It would trouble him to send Henry to a traitor’s death despite all the ill will that lay between them. Henry might be a brutal monster in a man’s skin, but he was still blood, still clan, still his brother.
Simon stood in the great hall where the king was holding his court and watched Hepbourn. The man was still busy slandering the Armstrongs and spreading the subtle rumors that had made the king question Simon. The man was relentless in his pursuit to destroy the Armstrongs all the while saving his own hide. For the first time in a long time, Simon wanted to beat the truth out of someone.
This is what his brother wanted? To rule over these adulterers, gossipers, and sycophants? Simon had seen what the king had to deal with every day, the weight of some of the decisions the man had to make, the idiocy and the arrogance he had to suffer through, and he could not see Henry wanting any part of that. Henry was obviously thinking of only the power and wealth he would gain.
The thought of Henry sitting on the throne of Scotland was a chilling one. Simon knew his brother would use his new power to make a lot of blood flow. Anyone who disagreed with his plans, or just looked at him wrong, would be killed and there would be little anyone could do to stop it. In truth, Simon was certain that, if by some miracle Henry won the prize he sought, there would be war and the ground would soon be soaked in blood.
This was a bad place to come and try to calm his tumultuous emotions, Simon decided. He was so filled with anger that the people around him made his head pound and his fists clench with the need to hit someone. As if in answer to his need, Hepbourn walked over to him.
“The search still nay going weel?” Hepbourn asked. “ ‘Tisnae such a big town. I cannae see how one small lass can hide in it so weel.”
“Unless, of course, she was ne’er here to begin with,” drawled Simon.
“If she plots to kill the king she will have to come here at some time, will she not? She cannae kill the mon without drawing close to him. Mayhap ye would serve our liege better if ye ceased trying to find the traitors and guarded the king. Then they will have to come to ye, aye? And then ye will finally have them.”
Simon’s hand tightened so much on the tankard of ale he held that he was surprised it did not buckle. Hepbourn was growing bold. No longer satisfied with questioning Simon’s skills behind his back, Hepbourn was doing it right to his face. Taunting him. The man was beginning to feel dangerously confident. Simon tried hard to restrain his urge to beat the man for this was just what he needed. A man who was too confident of victory made mistakes.
“And what if they come with an army, Hepbourn? Nay, ‘tis best to stop the threat before it draws too near to the king. I will find my answers. I am a patient mon. I ken how to wait and watch.”
Realizing he was too angry to be cautious about what he said, Simon nodded to Hepbourn and walked away. He needed to get out, to get away from all the empty words and false smiles of court life. Simon strode through the crowd, sullenly pleased by the way they hurriedly moved out of his path, and went outside. Just as he had done when he had first heard Henry’s name connected to treasonous plots, he walked until his legs ached. Only then did he turn around and head home. This time, however, the hard walk had not eased him or cleared his mind.
He was still too angry to think clearly. Somehow he had to shake free of the fury gripping him so tightly. Simon knew he could all too easily make a mistake if he did not get his emotions under control.
The house was quiet when he entered, the children already abed. He suspected Ilsabeth was in bed, too. His body was eager to join her there but he fought the temptation. He feared his anger was still so great and so uncontrollable that he could hurt her. There would be some relief to be found in the sweetness of her passion but he knew he would be rough in the finding of it.
As he entered his ledger room, he thought on how Henry had managed to ruin the one good thing Simon had found. With a soft growl, Simon picked up the oddly patterned rock Reid had gifted him with yesterday and hurled it at the fireplace. It hit the mirror hanging over the mantel and loudly smashed it. The abrupt act of violence brought him little ease.
“Sir?” asked MacBean as he opened the door to look in shock at the broken mirror.
“God’s tears, mon, why do ye never knock?” Simon hurled himself into his seat and put his head in his hands.
Ignoring the scolding, MacBean drew near. “What ails ye? Shall I have the old woman brew ye up something?”
“Nay, I dinnae need some potion.” He sat back. “I am attempting to rein in the rage that is near to choking me.”
Simon could see that he was alarming MacBean. The man was used to an even-tempered master, a man who got, at his worst, a little broody or irritable. “I have found out who leads the traitors. The mon should arrive in town within three to four days.”
“But, isnae that good news? Isnae that what ye have been looking for?”
“ ‘Tis what I have been looking for and yet, ‘tis nay what I expected.”
“So who is it? Anyone we might have met?”
Simon laughed and even he had to wince at the harsh bitter sound of it. “Aye, MacBean, we ken the mon verra weel indeed. ‘Tis Henry.” For the first time since he had known the man, MacBean was struck speechless.
“Nay, that cannae be.”
“So I said when I heard the first mention of his name. But I fear it was the truth I heard. After all these years spent searching for the truth, ye would think I would recognize it when I heard it, but I hesitated.”
“Your brother plots to kill the king? Why? What does he mean to gain?”
“The throne,” replied Simon. “My dear brother has obviously gained some high ambitions over the years. Instead of just killing wives and daughters and the occasional poor fool who displeases him, Henry seeks to kill the king. And, even more astounding, the mon seems to think it should be him who sits on the newly emptied throne.”
“Sweet Jesu, the king will send soldiers to Lochancorrie. People will be killed.”
“Go, MacBean. Just go. If there is someone ye feel compelled to warn of the trouble headed his way, do so, but do it as secretly and subtly as ye can. It would not do us any good if Henry gets word that we have caught on to his game.”
“Simon,” MacBean began, his voice softened with concern.
