“Of course. And her family, the Armstrongs of Aigballa? Their names, and to some extent that of the Murrays, have been damaged by all of this.”
“I ken it and the word has already begun to spread that they were just the pawns in another’s game. The soldiers will be leaving as soon as they get the message I just sent them and they, too, have sworn to spread the word. It will take a while for we both ken that once a stain has been put upon one’s honor, ‘tis a verra difficult thing to wash away. I have great faith that Ilsabeth’s people will manage.”
Simon nodded, biting his tongue against the words he wanted to say. A family forced to run and hide, branded traitors, their home taken and treated roughly by soldiers, and a few of their oldest clan members killed in the taking of the keep did not equal a “stain” on the family honors. Simon would not press now for the reparations the king had spoken of early in this deadly game, but he would not forget them, either.
The king should be pleased with the traitors that were caught, he mused. There were eight men, not including Walter and Henry. Eight men of good blood, wealth, and property who would soon be tried and, undoubtedly, proven guilty of treason. Simon decided he would do his best to be somewhere far away when the executions began. Even Henry’s. Lochancorrie needed him. Wallace had already reminded him of that several times. He now had brothers who might be willing to return home and make Lochancorrie the place it should have been before the darkness of Henry’s madness had descended upon it.
He was tired. Tired, heartsore, and, at the thought of losing Ilsabeth, feeling very empty inside. He was going to set Ilsabeth free and not just from prison. Simon could not hold her to a man who came from such a troubled family, the hint of madness always there. She needed a brighter future.
Simon finally excused himself from the king’s presence and started to make his way to the prison. He met a very solemn Tormand and the children at the door that led down into the dungeons. The realization that he would be losing the children, too, nearly brought him to his knees. He stiffened his spine and greeted them with the cool indifference he was hoping to perfect soon.
“He is setting her free?” asked Tormand as they started down the stairs.
Picking up Elen, who had stood before him with her arms stretched out to him, Simon nodded. “He has also begun to spread the word that the Armstrongs of Aigballa were no traitors, just victims of the real traitors’ attempts to hide their trail.”
“We both ken that willnae clear away the mark left on them,” said Tormand. “The whispers will always be there. That is the way of it when ‘tis bad news, aye?”
“Aye, but we can do what little we can and hope.”
“True. Now open the door so I can let the children go and greet her and then mayhap ye will tell me what has ye looking as if your dog Bonegnasher has just died.”
“I dinnae ken what ye are talking about,” he muttered as he set Elen down and opened the door to Ilsabeth’s cell.
He was about to turn back to Tormand when Ilsabeth hurled herself into his arms and kissed both his cheeks. For one brief, heady moment he held her close for the last time. Then he released her to greet the children. He stepped back, fighting the temptation to join them in the happy reunion and then looked to see Tormand at his side staring at him.
“Ye are making the painful choice, arenae ye?” said Tormand. “The one Morainn spoke about.”
“There is no choice about it. Ye saw Henry; ye saw what lurks in my blood.”
“I thought ye didnae believe in that.”
“I didnae until I saw the madness in Henry, until I felt the unreasoning rage he could stir within me. And I have lands now but from what Wallace says, they will need a great deal of work to get them to produce a goodly supply of food again.”
“Ye are making excuses.”
“They arenae excuses, they are reasons.”
Tormand made a mocking noise deep in his throat. “Ye keep telling yourself that. Mayhap it will work. Just remember that changes cannae always be fixed.”
“Oh, Simon, I am so sorry for ye, for what ye are having to deal with with that brother of yours.” Ilsabeth walked over and hugged him.
Simon stepped back again, gently but firmly pulling her arms away from his body. If she kept touching him, he would never be able to let her go. He fought to ignore the hurt that flared in her beautiful eyes. It was better to hurt her now than to condemn her to a life where there might still lurk madness and despair.
Ilsabeth thought her heart would shatter. There was no welcome light in Simon’s eyes.
He had pushed her out of his arms as if he could not bear to have her touch him. That caused her so much pain she nearly cried out from the sharpness of it.
He was leaving her. She could see it in his eyes. The gray was as cold and penetrating as it had been the first day she had met him. What Ilsabeth did not understand was why he was doing it.
“Simon?” She reached out to him and he stepped back.
“ ‘Tis time for ye to go home, Ilsabeth,” he said. “Your family will be anxious to see that ye are unharmed by your ordeal. They will soon be returning to their home and that is where ye should be.”
“If that is what ye truly wish,” she whispered, determined not to cry in front of him even though her eyes felt full of tears. “It is what must be.”
Ilsabeth watched him walk away and knew he was taking her heart with him. She did not understand. The last time he had visited her in her prison his words had been tender, his touch even more so. Now it was like hugging a stone. She looked at Tormand, who just shrugged.
“A mon can be a fool sometimes,” Tormand said.
