Ceana said nothing. “He could have tried.”
“Nay, Ceana. Many are angry, and they are looking to peg the blame on someone. ‘Tis Torcall that is unfortunate. Ye must promise me something, Ceana.”
Curiously, she looked at him.
“Promise me that ye will nae try to say what ye and yer Faither saw. It will backfire, and yer family may suffer a similar fate. ‘Tis too late for that now.”
“So ye say that I should let Torcall die?”
Dirk shook his head. “What ye do nae understand is that ye have nae power here. Ye are nae letting him die by holding yer tongue. Ye are saving yer family. There is naught ye can do,” he said in a pain-filled voice. “They will kill Torcall.”
Ceana said nothing more. The words were true. No matter how much she wished, they weren’t. The clan had already tagged him as guilty. There would be nothing to save him. Silent tears of defeat rolled from her eyes. She and Torcall would never again live in the clan—not even as friends. The weight of the realization struck her full force, and she keeled over. The world was spinning around her.
“Nay,” she lifted her head. “ye are wrong.”
“Ceana—”
“Nay,” she stood and interrupted him. Tears were streaming down her face. “If he dies, I die. That is a promise.”
“Ye are foolish, girl. Is it love that makes ye do this? Everyone can see how ye crave his attention.”
Ceana felt the blow of his words and smiled in pain. “Nae. ‘Tis love that makes me miss him. ‘Tis love that makes me crave his smile and his presence. But ‘tis nae love that makes me fight for an innocent man. It doesn’t matter who it is. Does yer heart not beat fast when ye think that he will nae breathe anymore? The pain, agony, and anger he must feel. Torcall is a selfless man. It was that selflessness that did this to him. I will nae let him face this fate.”
Ceana walked to her horse, mounted, and rode away without saying a word more.
* * *
Francis pulled the chains off the door himself. It was later in the evening, and he had just one more message for the murderer. “I didnae come to have a dialogue with ye,” he said. “Rather, ye should ken that the time for ye to take our deal grows shorter. Ye have been declared guilty by the Clan Chief, and yer punishment has been decided. All that stands between ye and death is a day and hour.
As he expected, the young man continued to stare at the floor without replying to any of his words.
In anger, Francis walked out of the cell. He was done for the day and needed a rest. Outside the cell rooms stood a young man.
“I have tried to reach ye for the whole day, sire.”
The sun had left the sky, and Francis was in haste to make it back to his chamber. The day had been a tasking one, and he craved a warm meal and rest.
“And who are ye?” he asked the man.
“I am Tam, cousin to Torcall.”
“How can I be of assistance to you?”
“There is a piece of information that everyone has failed to mention to ye.”
That was enough to pique his interest. “And what might that be?” he asked.
“No one has mentioned to ye that me cousin often goes into fits of rage.”
“What do ye mean by fits of rage?”
“He goes off into a trance of sorts, sire. His only intent at that point is to cause harm.”
“Is there any proof or any witness of this?”
“Most times, he controls it, but if ye want someone who has experienced it firsthand, ye will need to speak to Thomas, son of the weaver.”
“And what will Thomas be able to tell me,” he asked.
