‘No, for there was never a stupider person on God’s earth than you.’
‘Rowenna, do not speak to me like that, or I will strike you down.’
She pulled her dirk from her pocket and held it out. ‘Just try it, old man, and see how that works out for you.’
‘God save us. Stop,’ cried Morag, but Rowenna’s blood was up.
‘You sold me like an animal to save your skin and Bran’s. Did you sell Cecily, too? Where is she? What have you done to find her? Did that horrible man take her as punishment?’
‘I cannot talk of Sir Henry, daughter. Have mercy. My heart, oh,’ he cried, clutching his chest.
‘Tell me the truth, or I swear I will tell Jasper everything, and he will take your head.’
To Rowenna’s horror, her father started to sob. He collapsed in a heap at her feet. Morag rushed over. ‘See what you have done,’ she hissed. ‘You are sending your father to his grave.’
‘Stop fussing over the old fool. He is pretending like he always does.’ She shook Morag off and hauled Rufus to his feet. He staggered over to the table and laid his head upon it.
‘You may leave us, Morag. Go and light a fire in my chamber,’ said Rowenna.
‘I don’t take orders from you.’
‘Stay then and know all of it. Then Sir Henry can come and torture the truth out of you when this all goes bad.’
Morag’s mouth fell open, and she scuttled off. Rowenna banged the table hard with her fist, making her father jump.
‘Talk, Father. Tell me everything you know.’
‘You are a stranger to me, Rowenna, a harpy sent to plague me in my dotage.’ His red, rheumy eyes met hers. It was not due to the loss of her and Cecily. No, he only cared that Bran was lost to him.
‘Bran caused all this, didn’t he?’
‘Aye, he agreed with Murtaugh Gunn to help raid Glendenning’s cattle and slaughter them. It was to make him think one of the clans had taken against him. Sir Henry’s son, Edmund, led the raids. But it was not Bran’s fault that folk cheat at gaming. His debts were insurmountable. He had to act, so he raided your husband’s land and others.’
‘What others?’
‘Caolan Bannerman and Peyton Strachan.’
‘Why them?’
Her father shrugged. ‘Sir Henry has a bitter grudge against them and the Glendennings.’
‘But why would he? Has he ever been in Scotland before to make enemies of them, or does he do the bidding of some other clan?’
‘You just met Sir Henry. Do you think he does anyone’s bidding but his own? He makes my blood run cold, that man. And Bran has been gone for weeks. He would never abandon his father. I suspect Sir Henry has taken him and is playing with me.’
‘Perhaps.’ Rowenna could have lightened his burden and told him exactly where Bran was, but let him stew. Why should she show pity when he had none, only for himself? And Bran was safer in Jasper’s dungeon for the time being.
‘And what of Cecily, your other child?’ spat Rowenna.
Suddenly, her father looked shifty, and his eyes slid away from hers.
‘Why has she disappeared, and who is this man she was meeting on the moors?’
The colour drained from his face. ‘Meeting a man? Who?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘She never said anything to me about a suitor, never. But both Cecily and the Warden’s son disappeared at the same time. Perhaps they have run away together,’ he said hopefully. ‘Bran was as thick as thieves with the Warden’s son. When he is in his cups, he tends to brag about how bonnie you two are. Perhaps Edmund Harclaw came to see for himself.’
