Her uncle couldn’t speak. Reuben’s knife was still pressed against his throat.
Meanwhile, Talia stepped forward. She didn’t meet Hamish eye to eye as her husband did, but she leaned over him, her mouth twisted in disgust. “Ye were married to Annie when Iseabail’s mother disappeared. How could ye be promised to Iseabail?”
Hamish grinned. “But I wasn’t married long, was I?”
Nausea roiled in Iseabail’s belly. She held it back by force of will. She would not disgrace herself or her parents by being ill. She would stand and face their murderers, and she would use every ounce of whatever magic she had to see that they paid.
When she could finally speak, her words came out dripping with acid. “This is the good man for me, Uncle?” she taunted, her tone heavy with sarcasm. “The one who is better than any other clansman here?”
She stepped backwards, her eyes burning with unshed tears. “I have the answer to my question,” she rasped. “I shall leave it up to the clan to decide what to do.”
She nodded at Reuben, who stepped away as well. He and his men closed in around Iseabail, ready in case they were needed, but she knew they wouldn’t be. It didn’t matter if her uncle had done good things for the clan. Thanks to him, the market had flourished. Indeed, he appeared as a generally benevolent laird except for when he lost his temper.
But the murder of their laird was too much for the clan to stomach. Two dead women was bad enough, but her father’s death tipped the balance.
Fergus took the clan’s vote. Man after man nodded his consent, and none cared that her uncle kept screaming, “Lies! Lies!” Indeed, when it was time, Ciaran slit her uncle’s throat as much to gain silence from the screeching as anything else.
A single slice done in full view of the clan, and her troubles were ended. She could scarce believe it, though the stench of blood nearly undid her.
Next came Hamish’s turn. The clan regarded him with heavy eyes, but no man moved to harm him. Indeed, Hamish straightened his filthy clothes and glared them all back.
“You swore!” he said. “You swore no one would touch me. I told you everything. I confessed it all.”
“Aye,” Fergus agreed. “And no man will harm ye.”
So it was that Annie’s mother did the deed. She stabbed him from behind as he looked at the men. And as she cut him, she muttered, “I wish to God I had done this years ago.”
Hamish died with a gasp and a sputter.
Last to be judged were Fergus’s other men. There was no proof of a crime other than incompetence, and so they were banished, their names stricken from the Spalding clan. In an act of mercy, they were allowed to keep their horses, but their weapons were forfeit to Reuben’s men who had so easily defeated them.
Jonathan held up the heavy sword with a grin and said, “’Tis a fine weapon to start my own collection.”
So it was done. All in a single day, just as Reuben had promised. Her head was swimming from the suddenness of it all. After a lifetime lived in fear, it was over. Her parents were avenged, and she was safe from retribution. Only one question left to answer.
Who now would lead the clan?
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Magnificent!” Reuben murmuredas he mounted one of Fergus’s horses. He wasn’t referring to that creature, but to Iseabail who rode ahead of him to the castle.
She couldn’t hear him, of course. She was too far in front, sitting on her uncle’s white stallion with her head held high and her body held seemingly still despite the movement of the horse. “Seemingly still” because he knew just how difficult it was to sit so regally on a horse. She was, in fact, so attuned to the animal that she appeared statuesque even when the creature labored up and around the terrain.
Other adjectives came to mind. She was regal, intuitive, smart, and brave. So damned brave to face down an uncle who had murdered her parents and abused her trust. And yet as he watched her move steadily toward a truly impressive castle, his thoughts were on her heart.
Was it broken? Her last blood kin was now dead. She’d learned the truth of her parents’ deaths, and now she might or might not have the leadership of the clan. She was the blood heir, of course, but she was also a woman. He had no idea how the Scots picked their successors, and he didn’t want to betray his ignorance by asking. He didn’t care if everyone thought him an ignorant Sassenach, but he didn’t want that to reflect badly upon Iseabail. So he kept his mouth shut and directed his men to stay as quiet as possible while the Spalding clan did whatever it was going to do.
But oh, it was hard to stay back from her. It was hard to admire her from a distance and know that she might now be wracked with heartbreak, and he could not give her the smallest support. He contemplated riding forward. In truth, he was directly behind her and could easily speed up enough to touch her. But she had declared that the clan would eat at the castle, then had started to walk toward the structure, leaving the disposal of the bodies to the men.
It was Talia who had brought her the stallion and Reuben who had urged her to claim it. That was the extent of their exchange, though he had hoped for more. He could see that she was barely keeping herself together, so he hadn’t pushed. Then he’d rocked back on his heels and watched her sit her horse with more poise than the Queen of England.
It had taken him a few minutes to see that Fergus was directing his clansman with a competent hand, then he’d whispered his instructions to his men before taking one of their horses to follow Iseabail. By the time he caught up to her, though, she was suffused by such regal presence that he felt it would damage her consequence for him to speak to her.
So he hung back far enough to watch and admire, while inside he wondered if she needed him anymore.
As soon as they arrived at the castle, two stable boys ran out to manage the horses. They were wide-eyed at seeing her, but they didn’t speak until she addressed them. They nodded, then scampered away while she slowly dismounted, then turned to look at the castle.
That’s where he caught up to her. He stepped up beside her and took a moment to absorb the sheer size of her home. It was a fortress meant to defend against invaders. It came complete with an outer fence, a raised metal gate, and a huge courtyard, not to mention four towers and who knew what else inside. He’d never been in a castle before, and the sheer size of it stole his breath. All his relations could live comfortably inside that thing and still have room for their friends. Indeed, all it seemed to lack in his mind was a moat, but the cliff on which it sat was intimidating enough.
