The Devil’s Due Boucher, Rita (ebook reader for pc TXT) 📖

the desolation of his countenance. “At least your father was not as cruel as the Countess of Sutherland. I was told that she hired armed men with dogs and set torch to the crofts of those who would not leave the Strathnaver glens.”

“Aye,” said a cracking voice, “but men and dogs woulda been costin’ his Da gold an’ the auld Laird was never a one for partin’ wi’ the blunt, milady, could he help it. The MacLean just let his people starve and suffer till they could be takin’ nae mair. Cost him not a penny piece.” A white-haired man dressed in a weather beaten plaid stepped into the lane. “So ‘tis ye comin’ back at last, young MacLean. Knew ye would, sure as the Devil mun return to Hell.”

“Indeed, Tam, I have returned. But is that just reason to put your fists to my servant?” Duncan dismounted and walked toward the old man. “He did no wrong.”

“Aye, that sorry cockerel.” Tam spat contemptuously, studious aim bringing the extirpation just short of Duncan’s boots.

“‘That sorry cockerel,’ as ye name him, is not in the habit of fighting auld men, or you would not be standin’ before me now,” Duncan said, his accent increasing as he spoke. “Besides, your quarrel is nae with him, but with The MacLean. He is here. State your grievance.”

Slowly, like wisps of a fog, people had begun to trickle outside. Kate remained on Fred’s horse, transfixed as Duncan seemed to transform before her eyes. In the courtyard of the castle, the regalia that Duncan wore had seemed almost outlandish in its brash splendor. The chieftain’s bonnet had appeared somewhat absurd with its full, rich trim; and the hose with its patterns along the bold colors of the plaid itself had seemed an assault upon the eye.

Now the garb suited Duncan, as fitting and right as the broadening burr in his speech. A shaft of sunlight broke through the clouds, making the rubies in his jeweled brooch flash bloody red against the heavy gold. He had become The MacLean, the Laird, and she could hear the murmur of angry voices as memory stirred up the ghosts of old grievances, ancient wounds and wrongs.

“Is it to lesson me, ye’ve come then?” Tam mocked, putting up his fists. “’Tis the finery of your grandda’ you are wearin’ this day, our chief’s feileadh-beag with the great bonnet and the sporran. I was but a wee laddie in those troubled days, but seein’ it now, I be recollectin’ muh Da and his pride, a distiller by trade, t’be the piper for his Laird for the True King. Tanden Triumphans, they was cryin’.”

“Triumphant at last,” Duncan translated the Jacobite motto. “Aye, so you told me, laing time ago.”

“But I did nae tell ye’ how he came back a shamed man, a broke man, my poor Da? How dare ye to dress in the MacLean sett, laddie? With the dishonor your grandfather and his son heaped on our clan’s name! Takes more than breacan triubhas to make a chieftain.” He nodded at the tartan. “There now, ‘tis said, and ‘tis ready I am to die.”

Kate could hear the crowd’s murmured undertone of approval at those brave words. There was a collective gasp as Duncan reached down into his patterned trews to pull his sgian dubh loose from its place against his calves. The small deadly blade glittered as Duncan turned the hilt outward silently offering it to Tam.

The old man’s fists dropped wearily to his sides as he stared at the weapon.

“Do ye truly have a quarrel with me, auld Tam?” Duncan asked softly, letting the knife fall to the ground. “Should I bare my throat for ye then? Would that undo what my kin hae done? For I canna return ill for good, auld man, for all that I am a bloody MacLean. I recollect a lonely young lad and a kindly man who let him tag by, for all that he was cursed spawn.”

Tam stared at the weapon in the dust between them and then turned his glistening gaze to Kate. “Why did ye nae come, milady, to see to muh lassie’s lyin’ in? With her man gone to America and only me to give her comfort the laing night through?” he asked, his voice breaking. “The bairn’s for the kirkyard and Maeve’s heart fair to broken. Why did ye nae come? Would he nae let ye come then to tend to the birthin’?”

“If I would have been summoned, I would have come,” Kate said, pained that he could believe that she would have deliberately stayed away. “And how can you speak such evil of Lord MacLean, Tam, claiming that he would keep me from your daughter in her time of need?”

“But Robbie himself’ went to fetch ye, milady. Did ye nae Robbie, lad?” Tam motioned to a young boy who stood before the shop. The lad came forward reluctantly and stood before his grandfather. “Tell the lady what ye tol’ me laddie. How ye knocked at the door and were tol’ she would nae come.”

The boy’s eyes dropped. His voice, when it finally spoke, was a shamed whisper. “There were banshees, Granda, screamin’ and yellin’ like all the hants of hell were loose. An’ then I kenned this fearsome beast, prowlin’ about the dark, the Cu Sith itself. I could nae get past it Grandda, and then a she-ghoulie started to wailin’ and I was afeard.” The lad began to sob.

There was a murmur in the crowd, a long silence which was broken finally by Tam. “‘Tis pardon I’m askin’ to ye both,” the old man said, looking at his grandson sadly. “Should hae kenned that ye were not that kind, milady, nor are ye your father, milord.” He bent and retrieved the sgian dubh, cleaning it with the fold of his plaid before holding it out to Duncan. “I wouldna blame ye were ye to use this on my throat, milord, for the insult to yourself