Torcall was bewildered. “Would an innocent man claim a crime he didn’t commit?”
“I see,” Francis said. “As we speak, more investigations are being carried out. When we are done, we will know for sure if you are indeed a killer. If we find out that you are, I can assure you that ye will wish for death, but it will nae come. Ye will rue the day that you were born. Markmywords. Mark them.”
Torcall watched him turn around and walk out of the cell. Then it was locked again, trapping him inside.
Torcall fought to retain his sanity. Everything was happening so fast. After several minutes of closing his eyes to regain control of his emotions, he opened them. He was finding that he was no longer afraid. No. He had felt fear deep inside his bones in the past, and he knew what it felt like. It was not fear; it was anger. He was angry, and there was nothing he could do about it, which made him even angrier. He would sit and wait because that was all he could do. For the second time in his life, Torcall found himself helpless, the situation he’d sworn never to feel since the death of his parents.
* * *
Laird Francis walked into the keep with two guards flanking his sides. He walked into the room that had been readied for what he needed to do. There were a chair and a large table at the front of the room. The rest of the room was bare, save for a seat. He wanted the truth, and he would stop at nothing to get it.
He had four children of his own, and only one of them was a girl, his precious Lottie. He shivered with thoughts of what would have happened if it had been her. Rage filled him, and he struggled with his composure. He would make the clan safe for Lottie and other Lassies.
When he sat in his chair, he called to one of the guards. “Call in the man. I am ready for him now. The guard nodded and left. He returned shortly with a weary-looking Dirk.
“Milord,” Dirk acknowledged and bowed respectfully.
“Oh, save that. We are friends, are we nae?” Francis replied jollily. It was his usual tactic, disarming with friendliness. It worked on many a man, but Dirk was no fool. He knew Francis and how he acted, and so, he remained stoic.
“Have a seat,” Francis offered, and Dirk sat.
“I am very sorry about what is happening to yer family. Yer son- well nae yer son, but ye understand my words.”
Dirk’s reply was straight. “I consider Torcall as much of my son as I consider Rannoch and Tam.”
Francis nodded with an understanding “hmm, I see,” he continued, “but no one is above mistakes.”
“I am sorry, milord,” he said, interrupting him, “‘Tis a mistake when ye forget to tether yer horse, ‘tis a mistake when ye forget yer trusted dagger and take a knife. ‘Tis nae a mistake to murder three women, milord.”
“Do ye think he did it?”
Dirk didn’t skip a beat. “I ken that the boy didnae do it.”
Francis’s ears perked up. “And ye ken this how?”
“I will not bother milord by trying to explain how I ken the boy as a man in me army and as a Faither kens a son. ‘Twill be looked upon as sentiments to ye. As a soldier, ye scope out yer men. Ye ken what they can do- what tasks they cannae do. Torcall is the strongest man in me army. Yet, he ne’er battles an unarmed man. He will ne’er fight a man unfairly. If a man surrenders, he spares his life. He has ne’er shed blood unduly. I ken that he will nae do it.”
Francis nodded. “Ye speak as a Faither.”
“And as a man that Milord deemed fit to lead his army.”
“And what if he is guilty?”
“If by some magic of the fae, the boy is guilty, I will be present at his execution with a heavy heart, I will obey milord and give the executioner the order to kill him.”
Francis frowned. It was obvious that his mind games would not work with the man. “I will speak with ye again.”
Dirk bowed and walked out.
“Call in the first family,” Dirk ordered.
The guard nodded and left. He returned soon with an old man and woman. An extra seat was brought in, and they sat. Both looked weakened with grief, and it was obvious that they hadn’t recovered in the slightest from losing their daughter. They had identical grew hairs and were dressed very casually.
“I am very sorry to hear about the death of yer daughter.”
The man nodded. “Bridget was a wonderful child.”
Francis nodded sympathetically. If it were Lottie, he wouldn’t have his sanity. “To yer knowledge, did she ken Torcall?”
