“Now, now.” Malcolm pressed his knee harder into the lad’s back. “We shall have none of that.”
He unrolled the documents, and a brief glance confirme d they were the ones he sought.
Confident he had captured their traitor, he rolled up the papers and tucked them away in his own inner coat pocket. He flipped the lad to his back, grabbed a handful of the front of his shirt, and lifted him until he balanced on the tips of his toes. Malcolm shifted until the moonlight shined on the turncoat’s face, and he got his first look at their traitor.
“Angus?” Betrayal tingled across Malcolm’s skin like the sting of embers from a fire. Angus worked for him.
The lad hung his head briefly, then lifted it to look toward the top of the knoll separating him from his supposed salvation.
“Ye will find no help there.” He gave him a quick shake to regain his attention. “What the hell were ye thinking, lad?”
“I was thinking that this war needs to come to an end.” His tone was defiant as he spat out the words.
“By giving our information to the enemy?” Malcolm pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head in disbelief. “But, why? Why would ye do such a thing?”
“Too many have died.”
“Your treachery has contributed to that.
Angus threw his shoulders back in a sudden burst of confidence.
“Ye havena any idea of what ’tis like to no’ have e’erything ye need,” he sneered. “To want naught but to see your family thrive.”
“Ye traded our secrets for coin?” Malcolm could not keep the disgust and disappointment from his voice.
The lad refused to look him in the eye.
Angus had always seemed eager to help. Eager to please, and to get them whatever they needed. Now Malcolm understood why. Because the more he could put himself into the areas of conversation, the more information he could garner to sell out his country.
Of all the people they had working with them, Angus was the very last person he would have thought would betray their country. Malcolm had taken the lad under his wing and had vowed to himself to ensure Angus returned to his family, alive and well, after the war.
“Did ye really think this would end the war?” He patted the chest of his coat, above where the documents were concealed.“And if so, what of your family that ye are doing this for? If we dinna win the war, what do ye think will come of your family then?” He sighed and shook his head. “Give me your wrists, Angus.”
After securing him with the leather strap he’d used for the documents, Malcolm wrapped his long fingers around the boy’s upper arm. As he led them back to their encampment, he was filled with dread at the fate awaiting young Angus.
His actions were indefensible. And even if Malcolm did speak up on his behalf—which he would not—naught would change. The treachery was too deep and too much information had been sold, putting them at a dangerous disadvantage against Napoleon’s forces and costing lives. Lives of people Malcolm had considered friends.
Two days later, he watched as Angus was hanged from a noose for his crimes.
Malcolm’s job was done. He had accomplished the task he’d been given. But his heart was heavy with regret for the life Angus would never have, and his soul was blackened by a betrayal he would not soon forget.
