“I never thought Aunt Hannah would guess it, fer all her determination tae prove ye were innocent. She was too grief stricken tae ken aught, and I took care tae protect meself from suspicion.” Hutch shook his head, a crazed look in his eyes. “I certainly didnae think anyone would realize, with the differences in the way the two laird’s died.”
“Ye said it was the same poison…”
“It was.” Hutch shrugged his shoulders. “But the first time I tried me hand at the matter, the dose was smaller. I wasnae after a laird. I was after the only other heir beyond me faither and I.”
Blake sucked in his breath against the pain. “Ye dinnae mean…”
“Aye. I was after ye. The dose I measured out was fer a boy yer size. But ye fought with yer faither, and ye never drank the poison. And afore I could get it back, yer faither drained the tankard.” Hutch shook his head. “I thought it was tae small a dose tae work on him, but then he perished, and I realized it had just taken longer.”
Blake was aware of more and more people gathering. His stomach was roiling and threatened to expel everything that he’d eaten. “But... ye warned me…”
“I couldnae have two deaths o’ poisoning inside the same keep, nae so close taegether. And I was afraid ye’d be able tae prove yer innocence if ye stayed. So I convinced ye tae run. And I used that tae convince Faither o’ yer guilt. Once I did that, ‘twas easy tae coax him tae let me hire mercenaries tae either bring ye back ferclan justice or punish ye. Although, o’ course, I told them that ye were being hunted as a kin-killer, and tae kill ye at once.”
Blake shuddered. “The men who attacked me, nae long after I left the clan…” He raised a hand to touch the long scar on his face.
“I sent them. I was angered when they lost ye tae Clan Murray.” Hutch grimaced. “Laird Murray’s nae well-liked, and I hoped that one o’ the bands I sent against him as bandits, or as raiders from a rival clan, would finish ye off. But ye were tae stubborn tae die that way.”
Blake saw the stricken look on Reyna’s face and knew where her thoughts had gone.
How many o’ the attacks Laird Murray blamed on Clan Gregor had actually been caused by Hutch’s mercenaries?
He swallowed thickly, and asked the question he knew the Elders would demand the answer to. “And what o’ yer faither?”
“He was failing in his duty tae stop ye, and he seemed well enough content after a time tae leave ye be so long as ye were nae trying tae claim yer title. Worse, Aunt Hannah was always wandering around, looking fer proof that ye were innocent.”
Hutch scowled. “I realized I had tae find another way, but there was nae chance tae dae so without more power than I had as me faither’s heir. So I decided ‘twas best if I became the laird. Afterso long he was nae expecting tae fall victim tae the same thing that felled his braither.”
Hutch shrugged again, all his politeness and amiability washed away by bitterness and pride. “I made sure tae make it painless by giving him the larger dose. Then, once I was laird, I sent ye the message, with a version o’ the truth. That his death had proved ye weren’t the killer, so ye could come home. I kent once ye returned, it’d be fair easy tae make sure ye met the same end.”
“Why?”
“Tae prevent ye from ever being in a position tae claim the clan from me.”
Blake felt like he’d been stabbed in the gut. “But... ye only had tae ask me tae cede the clan tae ye, as ye did. I already proved I wouldnae try tae take the lairdship from ye…”
Hutch scowled. “As if it matters! Ye could always change yer mind, at any time. And I couldnae risk ye discovering that one day ye truly did want tae be laird. Or that ye might become well-liked enough among the clansmen fer them tae ask ye tae claim it.”
Hutch’s expression twisted coldly with malice and spite. “The plan was tae convince ye tae cede the clan tae me, then after ye died, I’d tell yer maither and yer lass that ye’d killed yerself in despair.” He sneered. “In the worst case, I’d have defended yer pretty girl against Murray clan, and gained strong allies and more power and respect.”
His gaze slid to Reyna, and his expression made Blake want to break his jaw. “I was hoping tae comfort yer lass and convince her tae consent tae have me as her husband. Then I’d have had the alliance, and a wife, nay one the wiser.”
Blake felt as if he was in a nightmare, even worse than the ones that had plagued him after his father’s death. He felt Reyna’s hand on his arm, steadying him. He could see his mother, returning from searching for him, or drawn by the commotion, her eyes full of sorrow. He could see the mingled disgust and sympathy on the faces of the men and women around him, but it didn’t help.
Hutch. It had been Hutch all along. The one person he relied on and trusted. Hutch had killed two members of the family, made him, Reyna and his mother suffer for a decade, and tried to use the toast for family prosperity to kill him.
He swallowed thickly as another realization came to him. Hutch had confessed to being a kin-killer. He could no longer be the Laird of Clan Sinclair.
He took a deep breath and faced the elders. “Until we can get someone confirmed as Laird Sinclair tae declare his punishment, I recommend ye take me cousin and confine him.”
“I said, ye’ll nae be takin’ me anywhere.”
Before anyone could take hold of him, Hutch lunged toward Blake. A second later, he saw the sharp glitter of a blade,most likely hidden as a second plan of attack if something had happened to prevent Blake from drinking the poison.
Blake pushed Reyna into the arms of a nearby warrior and dodged Hutch’s thrust. It skimmed his shoulder, cutting cloth but barely nicking his shoulder. He put a hand up to knock away the thrust and prevent a backward swipe, and punched Hutch hard in the gut. His cousin reeled back, and Blake drew his own dirk. He drove forward.
Hutch blocked his first blow in turn, though he earned a cut on his arm. The two of them circled each other, and Blake sensed the rest of the clan forming a ring around them, allowing space for what had become an honor duel – and an execution.
Hutch attacked again. Blake defended, dodged, and watched his cousin with the same cold awareness he had used in duels during his time in Murray Clan. He slipped past one blow, knocked another aside with a ringing of clashing knife blades, and accepted a slight wound to his forearm as the price of avoiding a more dangerous strike. And with every move, he studied Hutch’s fighting style, and he learned what manner of warrior, and man, his cousin truly was.
