Oh God, what was happening? Had Angus indeed lied to them about her brother’s death? Or was this some other secret treachery against her husband?
Her stomach churned with a rapid infusion of frustration and anger. She did not like being kept in the dark. “Tell me what is happening here,” she demanded to know. “What are your intentions?”
Onora strode forward and took hold of her hand. “Come and sit down, Gwendolen. Listen to what your brother has to say.”
“I don’t want to sit,” she tersely replied. “I want to stand.”
Onora and Murdoch exchanged another concerned look, and Gwendolen’s anger swelled like a blazing inferno in her belly. “You told me that we could not trust Angus,” she said to her mother. “Why did you say that? Did he truly lie to us? Or was thatyourlie?”
Onora paused. “It’s complicated.”
“Mother, what have you done?”
“You may as well lay it all out in the open,” Murdoch helpfully offered, “and let her choose for herself.”
“Laywhatout in the open?” Gwendolen asked. “Tell me what is happening here.”
Onora sat down on a wooden chair and sighed with defeat. “The man who allegedly witnessed Murdoch’s death,” she said, “was paid handsomely to…” She paused. “Tomanipulatethe truth for us. Murdoch was never ill. He has been in France for quite some time, and more recently in Spain. But he’s been home for almost a month now,” she added. “He returned not long after your wedding.”
Gwendolen regarded her brother with surprise. “You’ve been here all this time? Why did you not show yourself? I was worried about you.”
“Because I had to determine the lay of the land, so to speak. I needed to know what sort of enemy I was facing. Angus is…” He hesitated.
“He iswhat?” Gwendolen demanded.
“You know it yourself, Gwen. They say he is invincible. I could hardly come marching in here on my own and go to battle with him. He can’t be beaten. He cannot be killed.”
“He’s a man, just like you,” she argued, though it was not entirely true. Angus was like no other man.
But he was not invincible. He was human in every way.
“Were you responsible for the attempt on his life?” she asked, recalling that horrific night in her bedchamber. “Did you send that clansman to kill him in his sleep?”
“Aye, but that was no ordinary clansman. I sent a skilled Spanish assassin, and evenhecould not do what needed to be done.”
She turned to her mother. “Did you assist him in this? Were you the one who provided the key?” Her blood was racing through her veins like shooting flames of hatred.
Onora lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry, Gwendolen, but Murdoch is my son. I had to choose.”
Gwendolen regarded her brother and spoke with a dark and bitter loathing. “So what is your plan now?”
“There can only be one way for the great Lion to die,” he explained. “By the noose—so that is exactly how it will occur.”
“Where did you hear this?”
“From the oracle.”
Gwendolen backed away in horror. “No, this is all wrong. You are misguided. Tell him, Mother. Tell him that Raonaid is mad.”
Onora rose to her feet. “Murdoch, stop this, please. You are making it worse. Tell her about James Edward and the uprising. Tell her what you have been doing in France and Spain.”
“James Edward?” Gwendolen repeated. “The Pretender to the throne of England? Are you involved in another Jacobite uprising?” Their silence confirmed her suspicions. “But we are not Jacobites,” she argued. “This castle was awarded to Father because he was a Hanoverian. He supported the Union of Great Britain.”
Her brother paced about the room. “That was Father, not me, and the Union has never been less popular, Gwen. Even those Scots who once supported King George are bitter toward the London government. We need our own parliament here in Scotland and our own Scottish King to lead us—and now is the time to strike. It is almost certain that England will go to war with Spain before the year is out. If that occurs, the Spanish King will send ships and support us in a full attack.”
Onora broke in. “King James has promised your brother a dukedom if he succeeds in leading a Scottish rebellion. Imagine that, Gwendolen. Your brother—a duke.”
“But we are not Jacobites,” she repeated in disbelief, “and James Edward is not our king.”
