Chapter Two

“W e must speak to my uncle.” Sencha grabbed Knox’s arm, with a hold tight. “Please, allow us to care for his wounds. It seems he must have fallen because he’s blending from both knees.”

It was true. Before he’d been able to get to the man, the guards had already bound him, and he’d fallen before reaching the horses.

“It is just scrapes. He is nae injured. Ye cannae see him yet,” he replied knowing it wasn’t at all what Sencha wanted to hear.

Her grip became tighter. “Please.”

Just then, both her aunt and mother hurried over to join them. The three sets of pleading eyes bored into him.

Making matters worse, Nala Ross, Alexander’s wife and Sencha’s closest friend came running through the great room and threw her arms around Sencha. “I just heard. I am so sorry.”

To his horror, Sencha began to cry. Tears streamed down her pretty face, and the tip of her nose turned red.

Knox wanted to hurry away, there was nothing worse than a woman crying, especially one he found beautiful. He swallowed and shifted his feet trying to decide what to do.

“Knox.” Nala’s dark brown eyes narrowed at him. “Why can they nae see him?”

“Alex will nae allow it until after he is questioned. It may be a long wait.”

When his aunt—the woman who’d raised him like her own—appeared, he wanted to sag in relief.

She gave him an understanding look. Many times this scenario had played out and she always helped with the women who were affected. Nala was newly married, but Knox was sure she’d learn in time to do the same, to help in a way that put the family at ease without interfering with what had to be done.

“Come, let us go into the sitting room and have something strong to drink while we wait.” His aunt held out her arms ushering them through to the other side of the great room and out to a room that was surrounded by windows that let in sunlight, with plenty of comfortable seating.

It wasn’t until the last skirt disappeared from sight that Knox let out a breath. The next days would be hard for the accused man’s family.

One thing he was certain about, Donald McMurray was not a killer. He’d a chance to talk to the man on the way to the keep. Other than being baffled and confused, the man was terrified of what occurred. Never once did he waver in his story of what had happened the day before. And after many years as a warrior, one thing Knox had finessed—other than his archery—was knowing when a man lied.

However, it was one thing knowing the truth, another thing altogether was proving it.

He stalked to the small room where Donald McMurray had been taken. Two guards kept vigil outside while Cynden Ross, the laird’s youngest brother, and a pair of council members were already inside.

Standing before the seated men, the confused bedraggled Donald ran his hands through his sparse hair making it stand on end as he looked about the room with obvious fear.

“I swear it. I never went to Fitz’s hut. I went to return a knife to another fisherman, then left promptly.” As he spoke his eyes darted about the small room making eye contact, not wavering other than to swallow visibly.

“I believe him,” Knox said from the doorway. When the men inside turned to him, words left him. Other than gut instinct, he had no way to prove the man’s innocence.

“Whether we believe him or not, there are witnesses to the fact that he went in the direction of the dead man’s home and returned with haste from the same,” one of the councilmen stated.

“Do ye have anything else to say?” Cynden asked Donald who shook his head.

“Ye will remain here until it is time for Alexander to decide yer fate,” the other councilmen said. “Sustenance will be brought to ye.”

With that, they walked out. Cynden looked at Knox. “I also believe he may be innocent. We will speak to the witness who came forth and then perhaps go to the village and see if others can be found.”

They went to an adjacent room, where the witness waited. The lanky older man seemed nervous, but unlike Donald, he would be leaving and returning home that day.

The man was questioned, and he confirmed seeing Donald returning from near the dead man’s hut, seeming frazzled. When more questions were asked, it became clear that the hut of the fisherman Donald claimed to have gone to, would have made him come from another direction.

Either the witness lied, or the accused man did.

The day was coming to an end, so Knox went to the great room to wait for last meal and assist where he could in dealing with those there to have matters settled by the laird.

By the time most of the people had gone, his stomach was constantly growling. Thankfully, kitchen lads hurried out with buckets of hot water and cloths and wiped the tabletops. Just after maids emerged carrying baskets of bread and platters containing meat and vegetables.

As the last meal began, the women emerged from the parlor. Sencha, her mother, and her aunt all had somber expressions as they were guided to sit at a table with the Ross women.

Knox was sure they’d barely taste the food, if they ate at all. He felt bad for Donald’s wife, the poor woman’s eyes were swollen from crying.

Sencha seemed angrier than sad, her eyes darting about the room. Just as the other women began to eat, she rose with a plate full of food. He knew what she planned and pushed back from the table.

Placing a hand on her shoulder, he stopped Sencha from going further away from her table. “Yer uncle received the same meal. There is nae need for ye to give up yer food.”

“Can I eat with him then?” Her eyes snapped to his. “Or will he be forced to eat alone?”

He lowered his voice in hopes her aunt wouldn’t hear. “Until he is cleared, he is a prisoner. Like ye, I dinnae care for the situation. Dinnae make it harder for him or yer aunt by asking for privileges that will nae be granted.”

For a moment he thought she’d retort. Instead, she turned away and lowered to sit. The other women around the table were silent as Sencha settled.

“Uncle Donald is having the same meal,” she relayed to the group. “There is nae need for me to bring him food. That is good to hear is it nae, Aunt?”

The sad woman nodded. “Aye, I am glad he is going to eat well.” Her reddened gaze lifted to Knox.

“He will have more than his fill, I assure ye,” Knox said.

“What was that about?” Alex asked when he lowered to sit next to his cousin.

“They are worried about the prisoner’s meal. I assured them, he ate the same as us.” Knox glanced in Sencha’s direction. “She is yer wife’s close friend. It will make things difficult.”

Alex shook his head. “Aye, I have had an earful from Nala already about the situation. We must find the truth immediately or I fear my wife will make me sleep in another room.”

“I will go to the village and fishermen’s area first thing in the morning. Can ye put off sentencing for at least one additional day?”

The dead man’s sister and her husband were there demanding justice. Fitz had been unmarried and had lived a quiet life. However not having a wife didn’t mean rules would be changed. Any kind of leniency toward Donald would look unfavorable for Alex.

“The two days stand until sunset. Unless otherwise proven innocent, he will hang.”

“We have only a man seeing walking from the direction of the huts.” Knox couldn’t keep the exasperation from his voice. “Ye cannae hang a man over that.”

“He went with a knife and returned without it. The knife was nae found at the man’s hut where he claimed to leave it.”

“The fisherman was gone; anyone could have come in and taken it.”

Alex let out a breath. “I ken, cousin. Go and find out the truth.”

Knox understood the dilemma, but there was only so much that could be accomplished in just one day. The fishermen would sometimes be gone out to sea for more than a pair of days. If someone had seen something and gone fishing unaware of what they had witnessed, there was little that could be done until they returned. If the fisherman to whom the knife belonged had come in, taken the knife back out with him, and would not return for more than two days, then it could be Donald’s fate was sealed.

“I will go now then,” Knox said standing. “It is not far to the village; the fishermen should be back from their day.”

He walked to the table where guardsmen sat and motioned to two men who were his closest friends: Hendry and Liam. “I must go to the fishermen’s huts. Come with me.”

Neither man hesitated. Both stood and followed him from the room. Liam clutched a tankard of ale and Hendry a chuck of bread topped with meat. What they’d grabbed said a lot about their personality.

His companions rarely questioned the reason why they required each other’s presence as trust in one another was firm. This time it was no different, neither seeming to mind riding in silence until past the gates.

Obviously he must have had a murderous expression because both looked to him and then exchanged glances.

Finally Hendry spoke. “Are we there to question people or beat them to death?”

Liam barked out a laugh. “By Knox’s expression—both.”

“I am nae happy to have my last meal interrupted. I am still hungry.” Knox supposed he wasn’t happy with the situation at all. Justice in the Highlands was swift and almost always fair. However, there were times like this that he hated the lack of a thorough inquiry into a crime before the accused were found either innocent or guilty.

The sun setting on the water gave it a magical effect, the soft waves seeming to be alive as the light played over them. Salty air blew across to the riders with a combination of moisture and chilliness.

As expected upon reaching the shoreline near the fishing huts, most of the fishermen were returning from a day out. Some sold fish, while others untangled nets and washed out their boats in preparation for the following morning. By their rounded backs, most were weary and ready to go home to eat and rest. They were hardworking men eking out a living from their daily toils.

Knox and his men dismounted and while Hendry and Liam went to speak to others, he made a beeline for one who’d eyed them nervously since noticing them.

“Do ye ken a man called Fitz?” Knox began as he neared the man.

The man tugged a net from his boat and shrugged. “A bit.”

“This morning before leaving to fish, did ye see him?” Knox toed the net in the man’s hands.

“He and another man were arguing when I walked past. I didnae get involved. But noticed he was nae out fishing today.”

For someone who wasn’t involved, the man gave a lot of information. “What is yer name?”

“I am called Kyle,” the man replied placing his nets into the boat and lifting a bucket. He gave Knox a pensive look. “Would the laird be interested in fish?”

“Who was Fitz arguing with?” Knox asked ignoring the man’s question.

The man shrugged looking around as if somehow the answer was among the other men there. “A man from the village. I believe he is called Donald.”

Knox’s stomach sank. “What did they argue about?”

This time the man seemed annoyed. “How am I to ken? I was just walking past.”

The man started to walk away, but Knox stopped him. “Be at the keep first thing in the morning. Ye must speak to the council about this.”

Kyle’s eyes widened. “Why? I didnae see more than the argument.”

“Because I insist.” Knox met the man’s gaze noting Kyle’s eyes darting away, not meeting his. “If ye are nae there, I will send guards to fetch ye.”

The pungent smell of rotted fish, which the fishermen used for bait, lingered as Knox made his way past a pair of boats to another man who still staring out at the water. When he neared, the man looked to him with a mournful expression.

“Is it true?” he asked. “Fitz is dead? Was killed?”

Knox nodded. “Aye, this morning. Stabbed to death.”

The man visibly flinched. “Poor sod. I will miss ’im.”

“Ye were friends then?”

By the man’s sad smile, it was obvious he reminisced. “Of sorts. Had good banter most mornings and sometimes we fished near one another to keep each other company. Ye see, neither he nor I have close family.” The man left the sentence hanging, seeming to be lost in thought once again.

“Did Fitz confide to ye about any feuds with anyone?” Knox studied the older man, his mourning so obvious it was tangible. “I understand ye. It is hard to lose a friend.”

The man lifted his gaze to Knox, seeming to shrink, his shoulders sagging. “I am called Hugh. He slid a look in Kyle’s direction. I dinnae ken anything about this morning. I went out earlier than usual as I wanted to return early to go to town. I am just now returning from town to prepare for tomorrow. It is where I heard about poor Fitz.” Hugh’s voice cracked as he finished.

Knox waited to allow the man to regain his composure.

Finally, Hugh continued, “Fitz was arguing with someone, perhaps two days past. I could nae hear but saw him and the other man shove each other. The man Fitz argued with had his back to me. I cannae tell ye who it was. I was too far out to see clearly. My eyesight is nae what it was. The only reason I knew one of the men was Fitz was because once he boarded his boat, he came near me as he passed.”

“Can ye tell me at least if the man he spoke to was tall or short?” Knox prodded.

Hugh’s brow creased. “Not short. The man he argued with was taller than him.”

After informing Hugh that he must come to the keep the following morning, Knox, Hendry and Liam decided to ride through the village on the way back.

“The only thing I found out was that Fitz kept to himself mostly,” Hendry stated. “His only close friend was the man ye spoke to, Hugh.”

“Aye, I gathered that,” Knox replied. “He claimed to have seen Fitz having a heated discussion with a taller man two days prior. That will nae help much, but at least we ken he had another argument two days prior to his murder and the man was tall. So it could be it was the same person he argued with the day he was killed.”

Hendry shook his head. “It is unfortunate that Kyle claims it was Donald who was with Fitz on the actual day.”

They neared the tavern and Knox motioned to the others. “I must eat something. I am quite hungry.”

The tavern was a sharp contrast to the shoreline. Lanterns on multiple surfaces gave the interior a cheery feel. A fiddler sat atop a stool in one corner, playing a lively tune that seemed to entwine with the hum of conversations. There was a smoky haze from the fire in the hearth that added to the charm. The smell of burning wood mixed with the aroma of whatever was being cooked over the fire.

Finding a table just inside the door, Knox and his men sat and were promptly seen to by a buxom young lass whose gaze moved to each of them with a playful smile on her lips.

“What would the handsome gents wish for on this fine night?”

They ordered ales and Knox a bowl of stew.

The food was flavorful. Combined with the pretty woman who brought it along with delicious crusty bread, he was glad to have stopped.

When he stood to leave, he wandered over to speak to the barkeep.

“Oy, Angus. Have ye heard anything new about the killing?” Knox asked keeping a neutral expression.

The barkeep was in his forties, with bright red hair and beard. He’d inherited the tavern from his father and was well-liked.

He stroked the beard thoughtfully before replying. “Everyone’s talking about it. Making things up as they go along. I didnae ken Fitz that well, he rarely stopped by. His cousin, Kyle, stops by a bit more. They never got along, so rarely were here at the same time.”

Interesting that Kyle had not mentioned they were cousins and had even alluded to not knowing Fitz well. He’d have to ask the man more questions in the morning.

It was evening by the time Knox, Liam, and Hendry returned to the keep. There was still activity in the great room as people had remained after the last meal. Some for the hearings the following day. Others out of curiosity to see what would happen to the prisoner.

In his study away from all the noise, Alexander waited to hear what they’d found out. As Knox, Hendry, and Liam described their conversations, the laird listened intently.

“It seems we have more questions than answers,” Alexander said. “The morning will hopefully bring clarity.” He didn’t sound convinced.

Knox stood. “If nothing else is required, I will stop to see Donald and then go to find my bed.” Leaving the office, he strolled through the great room, noting that Sencha and her relatives were not about. They’d probably gone to bed, planning to get up early and be present for whatever came next.

The short corridor to where Donald was kept was lit by a single sconce on the wall opposite the door. Knox waited for the guard to unlock it, and he stepped inside.

Seeming to have shrunk from his already small size, the older man sat in a chair by a small window. He looked up at Knox with hopeful eyes. “Any news?”

Knox sat on one of the other chairs and stretched. He was weary to his bones. “Do ye ken a mall called Kyle?”

Donald frowned and after a moment shook his head. “I do, but not well. He is another fisherman.”

“He claims to have seen ye and Fitz arguing this morning.”

“Then he lies,” Donald stated emphatically. “I never saw or spoke to Fitz this morning. I saw no one at the fishing huts. Even when I looked to the shoreline, most of the boats were already gone.”

The man let out a weary sigh. “I told all this to his lairdship’s brother this morning. I only went to drop the knife off at a man called Guiles’s hut. I’d hoped to catch him before he left so he would hold back fish for me and bring it by my house. Ye see, he goes out for two or three days at a time.”

It was the same thing Donald had said since that morning, his story not changing, his stance not wavering.

Knox believed Sencha’s uncle, but he had to find more proof. Hopefully the next day would bring new possibilities.

As he neared the stairwell to head up to his bedchamber on the second floor, a woman leaned out from a vestibule behind the stairs and motioned to him.

It was Anni. The pretty village girl had come earlier that day with her father, who wished to meet with Alexander.

“Knox,” she whispered upon him walking up. “Ye look weary.”

“I am,” he admitted. “What are ye doing here?”

She bit her bottom lip and looked up at him with round eyes. “I saw ye walking toward the kitchens. Knowing ye’d returned, I came here in hopes of a private moment.”

Her intent was obvious, and Knox wanted to groan in annoyance that he was much too tired to do more than stand.

Anni reached up and slid a finger down the side of his face, her gaze lingering on his lips.

Knox leaned forward. “I wish I could give ye some time, but I am quite tired tonight.” Just as he was about to lean closer to press a kiss to her lips, a voice sounded from the stairs.

“Where did I leave my shawl,” an exasperated Sencha whispered. Moments later, she appeared and hurried past toward the parlor not seeing them.

“I best go,” Knox said and hurriedly pressed a chaste kiss to Anni’s cheek. Before she could say anything more, he walked around to the stairs and up to the second floor.

“Knox?” Sencha caught up with him as he got to his bedchamber door.

He turned surprised to find her out and about. She’d brushed her hair down and had wrapped her shawl around what looked to be her nightshift.

“Uh… aye?” He managed to drag his gaze to her face.

“Thank ye for all ye did today.” It was dim in the corridor, but he could make out her face clearly. She looked on the brink of tears.

“There is nae need to thank me. I dinnae believe yer uncle killed that man, and I will do my best to prove it.”

Pressing a hand to his chest, she closed her eyes and nodded. “We dinnae ken what would happen if ye didnae help us.”

It was interesting that the simple touch was like a bolt of lightning, awareness traveling through his body. If not for sheer willpower, he would have covered her hand with his to keep her from moving it.

“The morning will bring clarity. It is what I hope,” he said in a hoarse tone.

She managed a weak smile, pulling her hand away. Knox felt the absence immediately. “Sencha.”

Tears threatened to spill from her beautiful eyes when they lifted to meet his. Then to his astonishment, Sencha threw herself against him, her arms around his middle, face shoved into the crook of his neck when he leaned forward to hug her back. “My uncle didnae do this. What will happen if he is hung? I cannae even think of it,” her muffled words pierced him.

There was nothing he could say, instead he held her tightly wishing with all his might that there was a way to take her pain from her.

“Have faith, the truth will come out,” Knox managed, unable to think of what else to say.

“I should allow ye to get some rest.” Sencha moved away, her cheeks flushed, and the tip of her nose reddened.

Despite his weariness, he wanted to remain with her, holding her.

When she rounded him to walk past to where she shared a room with her mother and aunt, he turned to follow her progress.