Page 21 of Highlander’s Wrath

“Once more, I tell ye to go away,” he said through gritted teeth. “Ye ken naught about the circumstances.”

Coira rolled her eyes heavenward. “Oh, please. I know enough about blood feuds from my father’s stories on the subject. If it’s not some chieftain who tries to usurp land not belonging to him, it’s a greedy landowner raiding farmsteads when their own cattle grow scarce. It’s petty, and you should be above such nonsense.”

A ghastly quiet fell over the courtyard at these careless words. The men froze as they waited for his lairdship’s reaction.

It was quick to come and did not disappoint those who had been waiting for flames and fire.

“The Farquharson’s son ran off with me mither, ye scornful wench! How well balanced d’ye think yer opinions would be if ye had no idea whence yer mither had gone? How was she faring? Whether she was alive or dead!? There was no blood feud between the Barclays and Farquharsons until that man eloped with me faither’s wife. Or d’ye think we should have sat back and smiled beatifically on the dogs after the deed was done?”

Coira was shocked. All she could do was stand in the courtyard with her mouth open, watching Hamish as he stood threateningly over her, blasting his words into her face like a forceful storm. She found it difficult to speak; a hard lump seemed to strangle the words stuck in her throat.

“I-I did not know...I-I did not understand.”

Not caring how she appeared to the men standing around her, Coira began to weep. His anger was so brutal, she felt weakened by his wrath.

Colban ran into the courtyard and flung his arms around her skirts, shouting up at his father, “Leave her alone! She only wants the men to live, Faither. Madam is a good lady. She’s made me bedchamber all warm an’ cozy, and-and given me her brithers’ toy soldiers made of wood...and-and ye made her cry!”

At these words, Colban also burst into tears, his wails filling the yard and bouncing off the tall stone walls.

The sound of the small child’s sobbing gave Coira the strength to speak. After wiping her hand across her streaming eyes, she cried out, “I do not care for your good opinion of me. All I care about is the murder of these men. They were obeying orders, not acting on some whim. If Father Abercromby were here, he would tell you not to allow the sins of the father to descend on you. If your father was sinned against by his neighbor’s son, then the story should have ended with his death and not willingly continued by you!” Emboldened by Laird Barclay’s silence, Coira continued, “And if I’m any judge of character, I would say this: What did your father do to his wife that caused her to run into another man’s arms for comfort?”

Any reply his lairdship attempted to make would have been drowned out by the noise Colban was making. The little boy was crying most pitifully, hard enough to make some of the soldiers move toward the child, their arms outstretched, making soothing sounds at him.

Coira picked Colban up, and he calmed down.

“Me faither was shot at from a copse of trees. He died...and I never kent who did it,” Laird Barclay said in a more rational-sounding voice.

Coira sniffed. “I have no trouble in offering you the answer. He was killed because he blamed the clan for his wife’s elopement and sought to destroy them all. I’ve never heard of such a futile Maypole dance; around and around until the last man is standing.”

The groom came running back into the courtyard with the ax in his hand. When Laird Barclay saw him, he waved the man away.

“You have made the right decision, Laird,” Coira said.

“Och, anything to make ye quiet, woman,” he growled, and then, turning abruptly and leaving her standing alone, he went to order the prisoners to be taken to the dungeons.