Ian waited for the murmur that followed to grow quiet. Then, in a voice choked with rage, he said, “Our chieftain and his son were not slaughtered by the English.”
The blood drained from Hugh’s face, and he stared at Ian openmouthed, before he caught himself and snapped his mouth shut. The crowd was stunned into silence.
Ian stretched out his arm, pointing at Hugh, and shouted in a voice that reverberated through the hall. “I accuse you, Hugh Dubh MacDonald, of murdering our chieftain and his son at Flodden!”
The crowd was in an uproar.
Hugh tried to speak several times before he could be heard. “I fought at Flodden,” he said, clenching his fists and fixing murderous eyes on Ian. “How dare ye accuse me of the vilest crime, when I sank in Scots’ blood to my ankles, fighting, while you deserted the clan in our hour of need.”
Hugh turned and shouted to his guard, “Seize him!”
Sìleas gasped and started forward, but Beitris and Ilysa held her.
Then Tait’s voice came from the other side of the hall. “Let’s hear what Ian has to say!”
Several others followed, shouting, “Aye! Let him speak! Let him speak!”
Hugh put his hand up as if to stop his guards, though they had been slow to follow his order.
“ ’Tis easy to make accusations,” Hugh said to Ian, “with nothing to back them up.”
“But I do have proof.” Ian paused, giving everyone time to take in his words, before he said, “I ask my father, Payton MacDonald, to come forward.”
Sìleas squeezed Beitris’s and Ilysa’s hands as Payton made his way to the front of the room. Despite his limp and his graying hair, he was still a formidable man with powerful shoulders and battle scars on his face and hands. Her heart burst with pride to see father and son, fine and honorable men, standing together before their clan.
“Da,” Ian said, “can ye tell us which of our clansman fought near ye in the battle.”
“I fought on our chieftain’s left and Ragnall fought on his right, just as we always did,” his father said. “We were in the front—again, same as always.”
There was a rumble of agreement among the men, for they knew the three always fought like that.
“And who was behind ye?” Ian asked.
“This time, it was Hugh Dubh and a few of his men.”
Payton’s answer caused a murmuring in the crowd, though Hugh’s being behind the men who were killed proved nothing in itself.
“Can ye tell us how the chieftain and Ragnall were killed?”
Payton shook his head. “I didn’t see who struck the blows, but they came from behind us. I’ve puzzled on that ever since.”
The hall was so quiet that Sìleas could hear her own breathing.
“The English came at us hard, and we were fighting for our lives,” Payton said. “All the same, I don’t know how English soldiers could have gotten behind us without us knowing it.”
Ian shrugged his shoulders. “In the heat of battle, ye can’t always see.”
“But the three of us were used to fighting together. We watched each other’s backs. I can understand one of us not seeing an English soldier slip behind us—but none of us?” Payton shook his head. “No, that doesn’t seem possible.”
Several men grunted in agreement, for the three men had been known as remarkable fighters who had survived many a battle when others had not.
“The three of us were struck at almost the same moment,” Payton said. “I saw our chieftain fall forward at the same time that I heard Ragnall cry out. Before I could reach either of them, I took a blow to the back of my head.”
“In the back, from behind,” Ian repeated. “Do ye know who struck ye, da?”
Payton shook his head. “I woke up a fortnight later in bed with no leg.”
“This is proof?” Hugh interrupted, lifting his arms. “ ’Tis a shame that my brother and Ragnall were lost at Flodden, but you’re wasting our time dwelling on the past.”
