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

The old man’s sincerity touched him deeply and the words resonated.

Nor are ye your father.

Duncan took the knife and bent to return it to its place within his stocking. As he regarded the old kilt, he thought of the history woven in those threads of black, red, green and white, the MacLean pattern from beyond memory. All of his life he had been told that the sett of his life had been fixed years before he had been born, the warp in a loom with a curse running through the weft of his existence. Perhaps the time had come to become the weaver, to assume control of the thread of his days.

Duncan looked at the boy, weeping openly now, standing alone before the condemnation of kin and kith. He went and touched him on the shoulder. “Nae laddie,” he said loudly, so that all could hear. “Dinna fash yourself, for in a way, it was myself that kept ye from the door. ‘My own cries ye kenned last night.”

Only Kate saw the telltale tightening of Duncan’s jaw and understood its source. He was opening his wounds to them, revealing some of the pain and humiliation that he had tried so desperately to hide.

“‘Tis the dreams,” Duncan told them all, “fearsome dreams that come like the bean sith in the night. After those visions of banshees, I canna sleep, so I walk, prowl about like a deamhan myself in the night. Ye need not be shamed boy that ye were affrighted. At such times, I fear myself in all my bloody blackness. I say ‘tis nae fault in ye, boy.” Duncan encompassed everyone in his gaze demanding forgiveness for the child’s understandable error, but instead of the pity that he had dreaded he saw something entirely unexpected and it gave him the courage to continue.

“I ask ye all for your pardon. For too many years, the Lairds of Eilean Kirk have enriched themselves and let the clan suffer, left debts unpaid and taken much . . . but given naught.” Duncan’s look touched each one of those careworn faces, hardened by time and disappointment. “‘Tis my intent to make a start at setting matters right. My father’s debts will be paid, though at present, I nae have the wherewithal to do so, but ‘pon my oath every crofter or tacksman will be recompensed for what was taken by force and trickery. Till ye prosper again, there will be nae rent or share asked.”

A ragged cheer went up. “The curse is nae mair. The curse is nae mair.”

“Nay,” Tam’s voice boomed above the din, “‘Tis nae passed yet. Recall ye what the Prince did say?

‘Thus he spake, our Prince sae bold,

When MacLean places honor before his gold.

When the silent find words t’ speak

and MacLean his vengeance willna seek.

Then this bane shall lifted be,

When the blind MacLean shall truly see.’” The old man recited, like an ancient bard. “Seems to me, that our new laird may have honor, but there is nae much gold,” he added humorously.

There was laughter from the crowd.

“But he’s willin’ to try,” one hopeful voice piped up.

“Aye, so he is,” Tam agreed warmly, putting a hand on Duncan’s shoulder and drawing him into a hearty embrace. “The MacLean, I say, The MacLean!”

Duncan felt their eyes upon him, judging him. He wanted to tell them not to hope, that until now, he had never truly considered their needs, his obligations to them. He was bound to disappoint their expectations. Yet, though he was unworthy, they thrust their faith upon him, shackling him with every touch of a hand. Every tentative smile became another link in the chain that bound him. Slowly, the crowd took up the chant that Tam had begun, until the name that Duncan had hated rang in his ears. “MacLean! MacLean!” But for the first time in his life, there was no derision. It was defiance of the past, a wish for the future.

Never before had Kate seen a man so utterly dumbfounded. The people of Strathkirk crowded around Duncan, shaking his hand, hailing him with warmth that melted his icy reserve. A bewildered smile lit every crag and corner of that powerful face as they surrounded him, welcoming their chieftain home at last. She had feared for him, she realized, but luckily that anxiety had been for naught. Certainly, he had no need of her now. She slipped off of Fred’s horse. But before she could make her way behind the crowd, Tam noticed her and quieted the din with a wave of his hand.

“Do ye forgive me, milady, for doubtin’ ye, milady?” he asked.

“As Duncan said, there is naught to forgive,” Kate said guiltily. “In fact, it is I who should be asking pardon as well . . .” She knew that she ought to end the deception, to tell them all that she was not Duncan’s lady. But as she looked around her she saw joy and smiles on faces that had never before held a hint of happiness. This was not the time for such truth telling. “My daughter too, had a nightmare last night. She was likely the one that your grandson feared as a she-ghoulie.”

“There is nae a one among us who has nae cried out in the night, man, woman nor child, milady, milord,” Tam said including them both in his consoling look. “And even had ye come, milady, she was a seven month babe, come too fast and sickly, nae Laing for the world. I would though that my daughter had the comfort of yer hand and yer healin’.”

“She can have it still, if she wishes,” Kate said.

“MacLean and his lady!” Other voices took up the cheer and it echoed behind her as Kate hurried away to expiate her crime of fraud as best she could.

. . .

Time was running short. The doctors were shaking their heads even as they presented bills and false hopes. Vesey had allowed his wife the luxury of a small rally,