Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

A ihan was in the kitchen when she heard the scream from upstairs. She raced into the front hall and met Mac at the bottom of the stairs, drawn from his study by the scream and now ongoing bellowing sobs emanating from upstairs.

“Fook! It’s Callum!” he said, bolting up the stairs. She followed him to Callum’s room, which was to the right of the stairs. Mac pushed the door fully open to reveal Callum on his knees in the middle of the floor, bits of burnt paper in his hands. The boy’s face was blotched red and white, his freckles standing out sharply and his eyes red and streaming tears.

“What the devil is the matter, Cal, are ye hurt?” asked Mac, going to his son and checking his hands for burns. Aihan held back a bit, watching, her heart beating heavily and quite wrenched by the boy’s distress.

“My sketchbook!” he said between sobs, holding out the burnt fragments. The outlines of drawings could be seen between the charred bits.

“How the hell did that happen?” asked Mac grimly.

“R-Rory!” sobbed Callum. “L-look!” He held out a scrap of paper on which was scrawled, in bold uneven letters, “REVENGE.”

Mac took the piece of paper and frowned at it.

“It’s fer the e-escutcheon!” sobbed Callum, wiping his face with one sooty hand and smearing charcoal on his cheeks.

“Aye, I realise that,” said Mac slowly.

“I said was s-sorry. I th-thought he’d forgiven me.” Callum gulped, and Mac handed him a handkerchief.

“I told him I’d punished ye for that. But ye’ve brought it on yerself, lad. Ye shouldnae touched the bluidy escutcheon!” Mac’s voice was rough, but not harsh.

It made Callum sob harder. “I had drawings of M-Mama in that book!” he wailed.

Mac’s face twisted at that, and he put a hand on Cam’s shoulder and squeezed. “I’m right sorry, lad. And surprised he would have destroyed them.”

Callum continued to sob, and Mac threw Aihan an anguished look. It was clear he didn’t know how to deal with the boy’s tears. She dropped to her knees beside the boy and put her arms round him, wondering if he would shake her off. But he didn’t. Instead, he subsided into her embrace and let her stroke his red hair, soft and curly like his father’s.

Mac rose and said gruffly, “I’ll go speak to Rory, Cal. But ye’ve got to stop this war between ye.” He left the room, and Callum snuffled into the handkerchief.

It took Col some time to find Rory, as he’d had the sense to make himself scarce. But he eventually ran him to earth playing cricket on the village green with the local lads. Rory was at the crease with bat in hand and ready to receive a ball from Toby MacPherson when he saw Col and, flinging the bat aside, took to his heels and ran.

Swearing under his breath, Col took off after the lad, hoping he could catch the little sod before he got away from him, because he was fairly certain his son could outrun him if he got enough of a head start. Fortunately, Col’s legs were longer, and he caught up with Rory as he tried to duck down an alley. Catching the boy by the jacket, he hauled Rory round and pushed him up against the wall.

“Not—so fast,” he puffed, holding the boy still while he caught his breath. Rory wriggled and almost got away. “Calm yourself, Lad, hold still. Running will not fix the problem. Ye’ll have to come home eventually and face me. May as well do it now.”

Rory, presumably seeing the sense in that, subsided and stared at the pavement.

“Well, what have ye got to say for yerself?” prompted Col, staring at the bent dark head. Rory was the spit of his uncle Alex, taking after his mother, and would be a handsome man when he was grown. It wouldn’t be long before the lasses started noticing, and he started noticing them, if he hadn’t already. And that would bring a whole other raft of trouble in its wake.

“It was fer the escutcheon! He shouldnae touched it!”

“Aye, I gathered that. I told ye I’d punished him for it. Ye had nae business to take the law into yer own hands, lad.”

Rory remained silent at that. His fists clenching and his mouth compressing.

“Ye didnae think my punishment was sufficient?”

“Nae! A belting’s nothing! I wanted to hurt him like the little bastard hurt me!” Rory raised his head, and his brown eyes blazed at him.

“He’s nae a bastard, ye’ll not insult yer mother so!” snapped Col.

Rory flushed at that and muttered something that might have been an apology.

“Ye ken, he had drawings of yer mother in that book?” asked Col grimly.

Rory nodded, not looking at him.

“Ye destroyed it anyway?” asked Col, incredulous.

Rory remained silent a moment, and then he sagged against the wall. “I took them out and destroyed the rest!”

Col was conscious of a wave of relief. Callum was an accomplished artist, and his drawings of Cat were lovely. The notion of them being destroyed had wrenched at his heart. To say nothing of the notion of Rory being the agent of that destruction.

“What did ye do with them?”

“Hid them.”

“Where?”

Rory compressed his lips.

“I said where, Rory?”

“He’ll not have them back; he doesn’t deserve them! Not after what he did to the escutcheon!”

“Tell me where.” Col’s voice dropped warningly.

“I shan’t tell ye and ye cannae make me!” said Rory and, ducking under Col’s arm, he took off down the alley.

Col debated whether to chase him and decided against it. He’d come home eventually, he had nowhere else to go. Col would deal with him then.

Turning for home, he walked slowly back to the house, wondering what the hell he was going to do with the pair of them. Entering the house, he went up the stairs to Callum’s room where he found the boy sitting on the bed with Aihan; they both had their heads bent over a book.

Callum stiffened at the sight of him and said, a shade defensively, “I was showing Aihan my journal. It has sketches in it as well. I suppose I’m lucky he didn’t take that too!”

“Aye, ye’d’ best keep yer door locked in future.”

“I do. He got in through the window.” Callum nodded to the casement widow behind him.

Col rubbed his face tiredly. “He didnae destroy yer portraits of yer mam. He took them out before he burned the rest.”

Callum swallowed and blinked. “Where are they?”

“I dinnae ken, lad, but I’ll find out.” He paused and went on, “This stops here, Callum. Nae more retaliation. Ye ken?”

Callum looked at him, and his eyes slid away. “Ye’ll nae punish him like ye did me, will ye? He’s yer favourite.”

Col frowned. “Nae, lad, he’s not. Ye’re both my sons and I love ye equally. But I ken ye’re different. That doesnae mean I love ye less.”

“Grandpa said I was like Uncle Merlow, a Jessie!”

“Aye, well, yer grandfather was wrong. Yer Uncle Merlow is a fine man, and if ye’re like him that’s a grand thing. Something to be proud of.” God, he wished Merlow had stayed longer. His influence and example might have helped the lads, especially Callum.

He went on, “Ye’ll leave the punishing to me, ken?”

Callum pursed his lips.

“Callum?”

He nodded, but his eyes slid away as he did it, and Col had a queasy feeling in his gut. Callum’s genuine anguish earlier had cut deep. If Rory had intended to cause maximum pain to his little brother, he’d succeeded.

“Ye want to help me make dinner?” asked Aihan, distracting the boy. “I need someone to read the receipt out for me.”

Callum looked up. “What are ye making?”

“Forfar bridie.”

“My favourite!” Callum grinned at her. “Can we have carrageen moss fer dessert?”

“If we have the ingredients,” said Aihan, rising. Callum jumped up and followed her. She glanced at Col and nodded to him slightly, as if to say I have this. You deal with Rory .

Col was grateful, but it didn’t help his dilemma over Rory. It was fast approaching the point where he wouldn’t be able to control him at all. In fact, he wondered if they were past that point already. I’ve lost my boy’s respect. How have I got to this point? And what the hell can I do to mend it?

In many ways, it was natural that Callum should think he favoured Rory over him, because he understood Rory better. But the truth was, Rory rubbed him the wrong way far more than Callum did. They were too alike. And he was actually harder on Rory, because he instinctively felt that he could take it, that he would in fact not respond to a more coddling manner. But he wondered if he’d gone too far with Rory. Or is it down to my father’s influence on the boy?

He had frequently disagreed with his father’s approach to parenting. His views on the reivers were a case in point, but the fact was, there were long stretches where he’d abandoned the boys to his father’s and Fergus’s care and lost himself in a black fog of despair and the bottom of a whisky bottle. The two years following Cat’s death were a blur to him, and by the time he’d emerged from the fog, a lot of the damage was done.

He went out to the stable because there was a hole in the roof that needed mending, and he’d been putting off fixing it. Doing something with his hands helped him to think. In the process of replacing the thatch, it occurred to him that this was the sort of task he ought to involve Rory in. But generally, whenever he asked Rory to do anything, it became a tussle of wills, and he had to force him to do it.

Aihan found him an hour later with a piece of plum cake and a cup of tea. He climbed down the ladder at sight of her.

“Thank ye, lass.”

She sat down on a hay bale beside him while he ate the cake, sipping her own tea.

“Callum still in the kitchen?” he asked.

“Aye, he cutting out pastry rounds for pasties.”

“Thank ye for what ye did there,” he said, waving the piece of cake.

She shook her head. “He in pain. Such pain. It hurt.”

“Aye,” Col winced at the memory of Callum’s anguish.

“The boys have no shīfù.” she said.

“Shīfù?”

“Teacher. How they learn?”

“A tutor, you mean?” Col sighed. “Cat taught them their letters and I taught them some basic arithmetic. Then they attended the local school for a bit. But when Cat died— I’m not sure what happened, but they stopped going at some point. I don’t remember. My father was never a great advocate of education, he thought it addled the brain. Or maybe it was just because of what happened with Merlow, I don’t know.

“Callum reads a lot, I guess he’s kind of continued his own education from my library. But you’re right; I should organise a tutor for him, he would benefit from that. Rory—he needs something else. I should be teaching him about the tenants and the Estate. It will be his one day. The truth is, I’ve neglected both of them.” He rubbed his face, guilt stabbing him in the gut.

“Not too late,” Aihan said, squeezing his hand.

“You think so?” Col grimaced. “I think it might be with Rory. I don’t know how to reach him.”

“You figure it out,” Aihan said, rising and gathering up his plate and empty mug.

“Thank ye, Hana.” He grabbed her hand and kissed it. She smiled at him and touched his cheek. Rising on tiptoe, she kissed it and went back to the house, leaving him feeling insensibly better.