16
THE PRICE OF TREACHERY
From atop his horse, Campbell studied the MacKenzie Castle. He was wholly unimpressed with the dilapidated state of things, but he wasn't surprised. Vines had overtaken the entire eastern wall, eating into the stones and covering more than half of the windows. Shingles were cracked or missing entirely. The courtyard wasn't in much better condition, though it likely seemed worse due to the muddied state.
Just as he had made it into the courtyard, the rain had let up. That did nothing for the cold that had seeped into his skin. Campbell was miserable, there were no two ways about it. Between the ache in his bones and the pain in his leg, he was ready to get inside and down half a bottle of whiskey. The amber liquid would make him forget his pain and the cold, and then he would be able to sleep. The sooner he got this over with, the better.
“Laird Campbell,” MacKenzie greeted from the steps of the castle. “What an unexpected surprise.”
“It would nae be a surprise if it was expected,” he retorted dryly.
MacKenzie chuckled and shifted his feet, not quite meeting Campbell's gaze.
“I see ye have nae forgotten our deal.”
MacKenzie got several confused glances from his son and council, making Campbell grin.
“Ye will have to excuse me,” Campbell called out as two of his advisors helped him down from the saddle while a third offered him a crutch to hobble on, “I am nae quite myself today.”
“I have nae forgotten about ye, Campbell. As agreed, ye are always welcome here. It seems as though ye have been gravely wounded. What happened to the rest of yer leg?”
Campbell growled, irritated that the man didn't have enough common sense not to ask such pestering questions. MacKenzie wasn't in the position to be sly and coy. He had no right to make any kind of insinuations.
Stumbling forward, Campbell ignored MacKenzie and his foolish question. He would much rather answer the one everyone who had been listening was silently asking. A quick look around and Campbell was satisfied that there were enough soldiers in the courtyard, his own and MacKenzie's, to bear witness to MacKenzie's sins. And Campbell was all too happy to bring them to light.
“I am sure many of ye are confused about my presence here. It seems as though yer Laird has nae been forthright and honest with ye for quite some time.”
“Campbell, ye dinnae have to do this,” MacKenzie pleaded in a frenetic whisper.
“Ye see, this is nae my first trip to these lands. I made one many years ago in an effort to learn the truth of some rumors I had heard.”
“We can sort out another deal, Campbell. Please. I will give ye whatever ye want.”
As fast as his crutches allowed him, Campbell whirled around to where Laird MacKenzie now stood, a few steps into the courtyard. He lowered his voice into a menacing whisper that only the Laird could hear.
“Kneel then.”
“What?” MacKenzie asked, clearly confounded by the demand.
“Father, what is going on?”
“Ye said ye would give me whatever I want. I want ye to kneel. Declare that ye surrender yer lands and yer people to me. That is the price of my silence.”
MacKenzie opened and shut his mouth once, twice, then three times, frantically looking around.
“I cannae do that,” he finally answered.
Campbell shrugged, already annoyed with how long things were taking.
“Then ye leave me nay choice.”
He turned back to the courtyard, where dozens of pairs of eyes were on him.
“Ye see,” he called out to the crowd once more, “yer preciousLaird MacKenzie,” he mocked, “has betrayed ye all. Years ago, he made a deal to get more land. A deal with the English!”
Cries of outrage sounded from the MacKenzies.
“He is a traitor and deserves to be punished for his crimes!”
