“Francis!” the clan chief cautioned. Then he turned to Torcall. “Do ye nae fear death?”
Torcall laughed bitterly. “Fear death?” he laughed again. “For days, I have been locked in here. Up until then, I have been a soldier in yer army. I am a man used to war and valor, and ye have kept me in here like a rat. Me name and that of me late parents, and me aunt and uncle who raised me have been dragged in the filth, and ye expect that I fear death?” he laughed again. “Nay, Milord. I long for death. Death is better than imprisonment.”
The clan chief stared at the young man, confused.
“He tries to play games of the mind with ye, Milord,” his brother cautioned.
“Play mind games?” the young man boomed. “I have nae need to do that. Ye will kill me either way. It only unnerves ye that I do nae fear the worst ye can do to me!”
“Ye insolent bastard!” Francis cried and turned to his brother. “Will ye let him insult ye in yer own lands, brother?”
“Have ye nae fear, boy?”
Brazenly, Torcall lifted his eyes to his clan chief. “And why should I?”
“I see that ye show not an ounce of remorse. Yer heart is hard as stone, and ye do nae regret the blood ye shed. Aye, ye are right. Surely, ye will be put to death, but that is nae all. Before all who still love ye, I will parade ye. Yer aunt and yer uncle whose hearts break even more will watch ye just before ye are killed.” And with that, the clan chief swept out of the room with his brother behind him.
“Can ye imagine the insolence?” Francis spat out. They walked together to the chief’s office.
“He shows no remorse,” the clan chief shook his head. “A waste of a good man.”
Francis nodded. “We shall have a feast after he is killed,” Francis suggested. “Ye may give out gifts to the families who have lost their daughter’s. It wouldnae bring them back, but it would, indeed, aid them.”
The clan chief was pleased by the ideas. “Yer children will be present and will mine. Ye wife and mine will sit at the high table with the parents and the rest of their children. It will nae soothe their aches, but for that night, maybe…” the Chief sighed.
When they were seated, he sighed again. “I cannae imagine their sorrow. If me son were to be lost on the field of battle, I would grieve, and the honor would be little consolation.”
“That is because he is yer heir.”
The Chief shook his head. “Nay. Lottie, yer youngest and yer only girl. She is nae yer heir. Would ye imagine her demise?”
Francis shook his head with a scowl forming. “I see yer point.”
“Ye should let us arrange a marriage between Lottie and one of our neighbor’s heirs or even chiefs.”
Francis scowled again. “I will. When she is nineteen. And then, I will pick the best of men for her.”
“Eighteen is old enough,” the Chief said with a knowing smile. He knew his brother would never agree. He seemed to think his daughter a child. He also seemed to think that he was in the best position to select a husband for her.
“And ye, when will ye call Ash away from over the seas? His place is here.”
“I will let the young man travel. He will soon enough be tied home. Let him sow his wild oats.”
“We sure did that,” Francis laughed.
The brief laughter only took their minds of Torcall for a bit. When their thoughts settled back on him, the Chief sighed deeply.
“Prepare to parade the murderer. Spread the word first. He will be tried in the market square.”
Francis smiled and left. The proud boy would get what was his. They would let the villagers stone him with rotting food. He would like to see how proud he would be after that.
The boy was an embodiment of everything evil. He was proud and lied perfectly well. Even worse, he had not chosen to prey on men who could defend themselves. The coward had chosen women. He would get what was his, and Francis would make sure of it.
* * *
Like a lamb led to slaughter, Ceana walked out of her home. She was wearing a plain old dress like a person in mourning. When her mother saw her, she pretended as though she hadn’t.
“Scott awaits ye outside.”
