Chapter 24

24

M urdoch listened to the sound of hoofbeats and creaking wheels fading into the distance. He hadn't gone to watch his cousin and Lydia depart; he'd been afraid that if he actually saw them leaving, he wouldn't be able to maintain his resolve.

He wanted Lydia safe, and having Wilma out of the way was an unexpected benefit to his decision to dismiss his betrothed and dissolve the contract. That didn't stop him from wanting, with every fiber of being, to follow after them, wrap his arms around Lydia and refuse to let her go.

He'd done what he could to protect them both, but he wasn't sure Lydia would ever forgive him.

Still, what was done, was done. All he could do next was see if his suspicions were accurate, and decide what course of action he would take if they were.

Twenty minutes later, his cousin and uncle both entered the office. Arthur looked restless and tired. In contrast, Gordon looked troubled.

Murdoch waited until the door shut before he spoke. "What did ye find out from the village folk?"

"Nae much." Gordon shook his head, frustration etched on his face . "There was little to nay rumor of an attack coming. Until they drew weapons, everyone at the festival thought they were merely random travelers or visitors from distant villages."

"Aye. The guards said there was nay warnin' as well, as did the scouts." Murdoch folded his arms.

"An attack like that with nay warnin'? How is that even possible?" Gordon shook his head. "What's happenin' in the clan?"

"Tis a good question. Might be best to ask yer faither." Murdoch said grimly. "He kent that we'd be attacked, and when."

"How can ye say that, me Laird?" Arthur's voice was full of wounded anger. Murdoch didn't trust his offended tone for one second. "I told ye, the villagers escaped to tell us what was happening."

"I spoke to the gate guards and the watchmen, and they said nothin' of the sort occurred. Besides, the village is too far away for someone to have reached ye, reported the information, and left again."

"Me men were watching the festival. Nay one escaped." Gordon's voice was uneasy with uncertainty.

"And yet, when I arrived with Lydia and Wilma, ye asked me if we were all right. Ye had kent we'd been attacked even though it was clear nay alarm had been sounded."

Murdoch scowled at his uncle, wrapping himself in his anger to try and mask the pain of his betrayal. He knew Arthur hadn't always approved of him and the way he'd acted as laird, but he'd never thought him capable of outright betrayal of his own kin.

The words yet unspoken had to be said. "Ye planned the attack, Arthur, admit it. And do tell me, uncle, were ye behind the attack that killed me first wife and nearly me son as well?"

An attack without witnesses, no bodies left behind. Murdoch had been too distraught to pay heed to his uncle's actions or whereabouts , but it wouldn't have been hard for the older man to remove the evidence of an attack in order to cast the suspicion on him.

Looking back, so far as Murdoch knew, Arthur had never openly decried him as a murderer, but he'd never helped to silence the rumors and whispers either, and had never protested when the Elders tried to have him removed from the lairdship.

Arthur didn't answer but his silence, and the expression on his face, was answer enough. "Why?"

"I daenae ken what ye're talking about. Ye've lost yer mind."

"If I have, tis me, the gate guards and a double handful of warriors, to say nothin' of the villagers, I'll wager our captives are as ‘mad' as the rest of us."

Murdoch sharpened his tone. "Have ye nae disgraced yerself enough yet, uncle? At least preserve some shred of honor and be honest, now that ye have been caught."

Arthur stood frozen for a long moment, then did the last thing Murdoch expected. He laughed. The sound was cutting, bitter and mirthless, a hollow manic laughter, but laughter all the same.

"Honor? And what good is a life of honor nephew , when it gains ye nothin', save a life in the laird's shadow, bowin' and scrapin' to men who should be yer equals, or bowing to ye?"

Gordon stepped forward. "Faither, what are ye sayin'?"

Arthur made a derisive noise. "Daenae act as if ye dinnae ken, when I did it all for ye, Gordon."

"I dinnae ken, and I daenae understand what ye're meanin'. Faither…"

"All me life, livin' in the shadow of me elder brother, calling him heir, then calling him laird…as if an accident of a few minutes made him me true elder or me better! He never was, but I'd had to bow and scrape to him all the same. I'd hoped that when he died, that would give me a chance to prove me own worth. But then his wife bore him an heir, and ye lived to adulthood. Worse, he dinnae perish before ye reached an age where ye could claim the lairdship, or before ye wed a lass of yer own."

Arthur's voice was thick with bitterness and a rising edge of madness, as if his mind was fraying with every word he spoke. "Yer birth ensured I'd never be laird, especially when ye wed. I had to do somethin' if ever I or me son was to have a chance at the title we should have had from the beginning."

Arthur's eyes were filled with a hatred so bright that Murdoch was stunned he'd never witnessed it before. "I couldnae move against me brother, but I dinnae have to. And then ye…ye never loved yer wife, even after she bore ye a son. I thought an attack on the road might rid me of all three of me problems, but I was sure ye'd at least lose the brat, weak and helpless as he was. I was sure ye'd save yer wife first, for the sake of the alliance, if nae anythin' else."

Murdoch felt ill. His uncle had conspired to see Finn, his precious son, murdered. He'd suspected Arthur was trying to kill him, but never imagined that his hatred and desire for power ran so deep.

Arthur spat at him, his voice thick with venom. "I thought the contract would get ye out of me way. – I'd kent before ye even searched it out that the Knox girl was married. But ye had to go and find that little brazen wench of yers and convince her to actually allow ye to court her!"

"Why nae destroy the contract, if that was the case?"

"Because it was a way to force yer hand! I dinnae think ye'd ever have a chance of getting' any wench, nae even a tavern whore, to wed ye! Nae after I went to the effort of makin' it seem like ye killed yer first wife!"

So, his uncle had been the force behind those rumors. He must also have been the one who moved the bodies of the slain attackers, so it would appear that Murdoch had lied about bandits on the road.

Murdoch hadn't thought he could feel any more betrayed than he already had, but the way the words felt like taking a hard blow to the gut proved him wrong.

Gordon spoke before he could. "Why? Why would ye do this, faither? To plot the murder of yer own kinfolk, and one of them yer laird…how could ye ever consider such a thing?" His cousin's voice was rough with anguish as he confronted the man they'd once both looked up to.

"For ye!" Arthur's voice rose in volume, his expression wild. "For ye, and yer sister and yer children! Ye deserved better than bendin' yer knee to someone who was only yer laird by an accident of a few minutes at birth! Better than bein' always in yer cousin's shadow. With Murdoch and his son out of the way, ye could have been laird!"

"I never wanted to be laird." Gordon's jaw clenched. "I never wanted the title, nor the responsibility, just as I never wanted to wed or sire children. As laird, I'd have been expected to take a wife and continue me line, and I was never interested in doin' such a thing."

He shook his head. "And to involve a lass like Lydia, who came here in good faith…"

"Who cares about some upstart wench from a nothing clan! What does it matter if she was caught up in it! It would only have further tarnished Murdoch's reputation and make it easier to have him removed from the lairdship and exiled, if nae dead!"

Arthur's eyes gleamed with poisonous malice, like a snake about to strike. "If Murdoch died, ye could take his son as yer own bairn." Arthur snarled. "Tis nae as if the lad would remember any part of it. He'd have taken ye as faither easily enough."

Gordon looked as if he'd been slapped. "Faither, ye cannae be serious…"

"I did it for ye! For ye to have the prestige I never gained, the recognition ye deserve!" Arthur scowled. "All we need is for Murdoch to be out of the way!"

Murdoch had been watching Arthur grow ever more frenzied. He was therefore not surprised when Arthur suddenly drew a blade and lunged at him. He was shocked as Gordon stepped between them. "Faither, nay! Daenae do this!"

The two grappled briefly, then suddenly Gordon reeled backward and slumped against the wall. A red stain bloomed on the upper part of his shirt.

"Gordon…" Arthur's voice broke, grief mingling with the madness in his eyes. "Ye bastard, ye've forced me to kill me son!"

He lunged at Murdoch once more, but Murdoch was ready, his dirk drawn in favor of fighting in the closer quarters. He grappled with his uncle, adjusting his balance easily as Arthur strove to push him backward.

Arthur was strong, his madness and grief giving him even greater strength, but he was still no match for Murdoch. His insanity-driven attacks were straightforward, powered by brute strength alone.

Blades clanged and locked together, then wrenched apart violently as they attacked, parried, and retreated. Murdoch dodged some blows, struck aside others and watched for some sign that his uncle would regain his sanity.

He wanted to spare his uncle if he could, but he feared that Arthur was beyond saving. He was too maddened by rage, grief and guilt. Too lost in his bitterness.

And what, really, would he be sparing Arthur for? It was not as if leaving him alive would truly be any sort of mercy.

By law, a clansman who attacked his laird or endangered the life of the laird and heir would be executed or exiled. And if ever his first wife's clan discovered Arthur was responsible for the death of his wife and the violence of the months that followed, they would not show him Murdoch's kindness.

The realization was a grim one, but it was enough to make Murdoch cease holding back. He parried, then used his free hand to seize his uncle's blade and slam it down against the desk. Arthur gasped in pain, his grip loosening. Murdoch took the opening and slid his own blade up under Arthur's ribs and into his heart. He twisted the blade, and Arthur coughed and choked as blood spurted from the gaping wound.

Within seconds the blood flow had slowed and Arthur's last breath shuddered from his lungs as he collapsed and died.

Murdoch lay his uncle's body on the stone floor. He'd have to decide later how he would handle his uncle's burial. Or rather, that would be something Gordon needed to decide, if he was well enough to do so.

The sudden realization made him sheath his blade and hurry to his cousin's side. Gordon's breathing was shallow, a deep gash in his shoulder, but he was not dying. Murdoch helped him stand upright and slung Gordon's unwounded arm across his shoulder.

His cousin was barely conscious, but he still managed a soft word. "Faither?"

"I'm sorry. I had to kill him." Murdoch kept his voice as low and kind as he could.

"Sorry." Gordon looked stricken. "I dinnae…"

"Ye dinnae have any part of this. Ye've nothin' to apologize for." Murdoch guided his cousin into his rooms and helped him to the bed. He removed Gordon's sash and shirt to look at the wound, then sent a serving lass for Irinia, the castle's resident healer, while he gathered some rags and water to clean and staunch the injury

"Over?" Gordon's tentative question broke the silence.

"I daenae ken, but I think so. I cannae imagine there were many folks involved in the scheme. Otherwise, I'd have kent somethin' was going on much sooner."

That fact that he hadn't known would haunt him. Murdock had never suspected that Arthur held so much anger and resentment inside, nor that he would ever betray him. He felt he should have seen the signs of his uncle's bitterness and done something to prevent it from going this far. There had to have been some way to keep his uncle from succumbing to his own madness.

But it was too late for that. Too late to do anything but continue with his task of upholding his lairdship.

Gordon's hand tightened on his arm. ‘Ly-di-a?"

The word was like a knife to Murdoch's belly. He swallowed hard. "I…I lost her."

Gordon looked as though he wanted to say something else, but he was barely conscious. A knock on the door announced Evina's arrival and Murdoch stepped away to let the healer do her work.

His tracks took him to Lydia's rooms and he went inside. He didn't know what he expected, perhaps a parting note or some other sign of her recent departure. But her things were gone. The only thing remaining was a single tome.

Murdoch moved forward to lift the book from the bedside table. The ache in his heart intensified when he read the cover. It was the book he'd bought for her the day before.

She'd been there less than a fortnight, and yet she'd left a mark on his spirit as deep and as real as the book he held in his hands. And because of him, she was as distant as the lands from which the stories had originated.