He signaled the men poised at the sides of the wagon. Everything after that seemed to happen in slow motion. The wagon wheels rocked slightly before releasing and turning fully. In seconds, MacMakon hanged and a woman wailed. But an ugly murmur of “Campbell” also echoed in the crowd. Logen ignored it all and waited until the body stopped kicking and hung limp. Then he turned to the crowd gathered to watch their laird’s justice.
“I have done as I promised and brought the architect of this clan’s misery and his murderous associates to the punishment they deserved. I have pardoned those of ye who fell under his influence but did not join him in taking lives. Let this be the end of the conspiracy.” He scanned the faces before him, some pale and tear-stained, others, not jubilant, but smiling. Relieved that it was over? “The laws of the clan will be respected as long as I remain laird. Succession will be decided as it was before Flodden.” For once, the choking anguish of the memories that name evoked failed to rise in him. Aye, this day’s events had surely numbed him. “No’ by conspiracy and assassination—or Campbell interference—but by the will of the clan. If any think to follow MacMakon’s example and work with Campbells bent on taking MacDugall land, look ye at him now and ask yerself if yer ambition is worth that fate. If it’s worth the tears of the widows and children of the men he had murdered.” Logen paused, gathering his resolve. “We were injured by Flodden.” Again, he paused, tensing against the expected anguish that did not come. “But the nearly mortal damage was done by those within the clan who allowed ambition to rule them. Those days are done. Let this be the end of them.”
Coira stood at the back of the crowd, pale and with a sheen of sweat on her face, but still on her feet. After sacrificing herself for the sake of the lass, most the clan had opened to her and now accepted her. While she met with more friendly greetings and fewer hostile moods, large crowds still troubled her. The tension surrounding this day’s events must be excruciating. He had ordered her to stay in the keep, but she’d insisted on being here. The rest of the clan would bear witness. So she must as well, or she would lose what ground she’d gained with her detractors. Logen had no argument for that.
And she would warn him if someone tried to start trouble. At Coira’s nod, Logen moved into the crowd and made his way through its midst. He knew a dirk, hell, an eating knife in the throat, could kill him. A week ago, this would have been a foolish risk. But today, when Coira’s nod assured him she sensed no murderous moods, he took at worst a calculated risk.
Entering the crowd, moving among them, might be a simple gesture, but it was far from casually done. Logen had to demonstrate trust in his people if he expected them to trust him, especially after they just witnessed three men being hanged on his order. He kept his pace measured and his expression solemn. Even if this put an end to the clan’s troubles, it was no time for smiles and friendly greetings. People moved aside and allowed him to pass. He took his time walking down the hill from the Dule tree toward the keep, in silence.
But then a murmur started up in the rustle of people moving along behind him. A voice shouted, “MacDugall!” In seconds, others took up the cry until the vale echoed with it. “MacDugall!”
Only then did the cleansing rain begin to fall.
****
Coira didn’t like Logen’s mood. Dark clouds, blood-soaked boggy ground, lightning and thunder, all those images came to mind when she neared him. He’d been quiet in the days since the hangings, interacting with the clan as he must and calmly accepting their thanks and congratulations—along with the recriminations of those few closest to the conspirators. But Coira could sense his deep, dark unhappiness.
It worried her. She had experienced that sort of desolating sadness herself, and it grieved her to see Logen suffering from it. Especially now, when he had rid the clan of the murderous thugs who’d terrorized it for years. He should be pleased to have succeeded and survived when others had failed and died. He finally had men around him whom he could trust and the open support of his people.
What plagued him so?
She made her way to his solar just as the sun touched the horizon. As she expected, Logen sat at the table, staring out the window at the gathering gloom. She closed the door behind her and latched it. She wanted no interruptions.
Logen barely glanced her way as she took one of the chairs and moved it directly into his line of sight. Only when she blocked his view of the window did his focus come back from the far distance to settle on her.
“Ye are grieving,” she announced without preamble. “Why?”
She felt a flash of annoyance run down his limbs and watched his hands clench in his lap. Annoyance, she supposed, was preferable to deep, dark depression, so she went with it. “I’m not leaving until ye tell me why.”
He rubbed a hand over his unshaven jaw. “Not being able to hide anything from ye does have its disadvantages.”
His voice was gravelly from disuse, but it heartened Coira he responded to her at all.
“Get used to it. Is this about the hangings? The guard, Andrew, who died in the woods? Or both?”
Logen sighed and sat forward, placing his elbows on the table and running his hands through his tangled hair as he bent his head.
She had no doubt he knew her well enough to know she would persist. He might as well answer or she would sit here with him until he did.
“Both.”
“Tell me.”
“I havena killed a man since Flodden.” He kept his gaze averted. “I thought I had the horror locked away, but it all came back after the hangings.”
“Ye did what had to be done. Ye had the right of it.”
He lifted his head and met her gaze. “Aye. But that doesna make it any easier. Absolution from the priest hasna helped. Seeing to the welfare of the dead men’s families hasna either. I dinna ken what to do to make amends for all the death and dying.”
“Ye werena responsible for Flodden. Nor for these men. They chose their own path. Their own fate, by their actions.”
“But I had a hand in all of it.”
“Someone had to. Ye were strong enough to see to the welfare of the clan.” She glanced at the window just as the last sliver of the sun’s disk slipped into the sea. “This is a gloomy time of day. Ye shouldna be alone.”
She moved behind him and rested her hands on his shoulders. Instantly, his torment crashed over her like a storm-tossed wave. She slipped down, drowning in it, but she let it consume her and used its power against it. It seemed to take hours, but might have been only moments before she felt Logen’s shoulders drop beneath her hands and heard him sigh.
“How do ye do that? Ye soothe me and take away the worst of the pain.”
