As Simon stood up, all too aware of his bruises and bleeding wounds, he looked down at Henry. He felt no triumph, no sense of a job well done. All he felt was weary and resigned. He had beaten Henry but that meant that he would be taking his own brother to the king for a hasty trial and a horrific execution. He would have his own brother’s blood on his hands.
“I was pulled into this against my will!” cried Walter, dragging Simon from his dark thoughts, and he looked over at the trussed up Walter. “He threatened my own mother! What choice did I have?” Walter did not seem to notice that Peter, who stood by him, was paying no attention to his pleas and excuses.
“ ‘Tis no wonder I have lost this battle,” Henry said, staring at Walter in a way that told Simon his brother was envisioning all the vicious ways he would like to kill the man. “I depended too much on a fool and a coward.”
“I cannae understand why ye even started it,” said Simon, grunting softly in pain when Wallace began to tend to his wounds. “Ye have no claim to the throne.”
Henry shrugged. “As much claim as the mon sitting on it now. I would ken how to rule this land. The king is too weak, too merciful. It takes a strong hand to rule a country and make it great.”
Staring into Henry’s face, Simon could see the madness clearly now. “Ye dinnae even think ye have a rightful claim, do ye. Ye just wanted to be king.”
“Aye. I have been the laird of a small holding for nigh on to fifteen years. It was time to better myself.”
“Is that why ye killed our father? Because ye felt it was time?”
“Aye. The fool had ruled long enough but he wouldnae name me his heir, wouldnae step aside. He was so strong, so cursed healthy, I would have been an old mon myself ere he died and the laird’s chair was empty.”
“What do ye mean, name ye his heir? Ye were always his heir.”
“Nay after the fool looked around and realized I was the only son left. He kenned it was me who had gotten rid of all of ye. It was then that he began to talk of making ye his heir. Weel, that wouldnae be right. I was the firstborn, after all. Since ye didnae have the decency to draw near enough for me to be rid of ye as I was rid of the others, the only other way to see that ye didnae get what was mine, was to be rid of the laird. When ye were eighteen, I thought I had finally rid myself of ye as weel, but ye lived.”
“Are ye saying that ye killed our brothers? Nay, ye cannae have for I am certain I have been hearing of them from time to time. I was told they had all been fostered out.”
“I dinnae ken how ye could have heard about them as I tied them up, put them in a wee boat that wouldnae stay afloat for verra long and set them adrift on a very big, very deep loch. E’en if they got themselves free of the ropes, they couldnae swim, could they.”
“They didnae have to,” said Tormand, his quiet, deep voice cutting through Simon’s shock. “They were picked up out of the water ere they drowned by a passing fishermon.”
Henry cursed and shook his head. “I cannae believe how impossible it was to get rid of ye. Ye would think I would have succeeded in but one of my attempts.”
“Ye ken where my other brothers are?” Simon asked Tormand.
“Aye, and they are all healthy. They are also good men although they are swords for hire from time to time.” He glanced at the ones Simon and Gowan’s men had defeated. “Nay like these fools who dinnae have the sense to ken that they were accepting the coin of a madmon.” Tormand looked back at Henry as if fascinated. “Ye should have waited to see if they truly did drown. Just curious as to how ye thought to explain that they were all tied.”
“I assumed they would sink to the bottom of that verra deep loch and ne’er trouble me again. But, ye are right. I should have waited about to make certain of it.”
Simon felt an urge to be sick. “They were little more than bairns.”
“They were a threat, as ye were. And the one thing I wanted of ye, ye couldnae even give me that. A son. Nay, I got just another wee, puling girl child. I kenned she would have your eyes and she would be staring at me, judging me, so I rid myself of her as weel.” He smiled coldly at Simon. “It wasnae hard because she was sickly and I had already had some practice at that with my other children.”
Simon staggered a little and Wallace caught him, steadying him. The madness in Henry was so clear, so chilling, as he spoke of killing children. Of killing Simon’s child, his young brothers, their father, and even his own children. For reasons of his own Henry felt like talking and every word out of his mouth was horrifying.
“Weel, ye failed to rid yourself of your brothers,” Tormand said. “They havenae been dead all these years, just wise enough to stay so hidden away that ye would think them dead. They may even come and watch your execution so ye may get another chance to see them as ye are made to pay for your treason.”
“Where are my brothers?” demanded Simon, unable to stomach listening to any more of what Henry was spewing out.
“Ye will see them soon. I was but curious as to why this madmon would do such a thing. As ye said, your brothers were just bairns.”
Simon looked at Walter, who stared at Henry as if he had never seen the man before. “Seeing more clearly, Hepbourn? Seeing that ye gave up all ye had for the sake of a madmon?”
“I am nay mad,” Henry said, acting highly insulted. “I am but logical and do what is necessary to stay the laird and keep Lochancorrie safe and the people fed.”
Wallace’s snort of derision told Simon that Henry was seeing only what he wished to. Simon could not bear to hear any more. He had known that Henry killed easily and that he was one of the most brutal men he had ever met, but the coldness with which he spoke of killing so many of their own blood terrified Simon.
“Time to take him to the king to be judged,” said Gowan as he stepped up to Henry, grabbed his bound arms and yanked him to his feet.
“Do I ken who ye are?” asked Henry. “There is something verra familiar about you.”
“I suspicion I look like my cousin,” Gowan said as he roughly dragged Henry along the rocky ground.
