Highland Devil (Murray Family #22)(9)

Murdoch's brother was mad. He was now certain of it. A subtle look at  Lachlan and Duncan told him they either knew it or had begun to suspect  it, too. All Murdoch could do was try to keep all such suspicions to  himself, not even hint at them by expression or word, and pray he could  keep all blood off his own hands. It was cowardly, he thought, but he  did not wish to be just another victim for his mad brother.

Robert reached out and curled his arm around the brunette's waist,  tugging her down onto his lap. He then nuzzled her neck and the girl  laughed, although Murdoch could see fear and disgust on her face.  Murdoch wanted to say something and must have been too obvious about it,  because Lachlan kicked his leg under the table. He went back to  studying the food he tried to choke down and wondered just how deep into  Robert's crimes Lachlan and Duncan were.

Robert soon dragged the girl off to his bedchamber and Murdoch looked at  Lachlan. "Why did ye kick me?" he asked Lachlan quietly.

Lachlan studied him and said solemnly, "I wasnae in the mood to watch one brother kill another."

Murdoch heard Duncan grunt and said, "He is mad, ye ken."

"Just keep that thought to yourself, fool," snapped Duncan.

"If ye ken it, why are ye nay stopping him?" Murdoch could not understand their loyalty to Robert.

"He will kill us without blinking," replied Lachlan.

"Without hesitation and, I suspicion, without warning," added Duncan.

Murdoch dragged his fingers through his hair. "But  …  there are three of us and only one of him."

"And, as ye said in a too loud voice, he is mad. He can also wield a  sword with far more skill than any one of us can." Lachlan pushed aside  his empty plate and picked up his tankard to have a deep drink of ale.  "Ye are younger than the lot of us by many a year, so ye dinnae ken much  of how he has always been a fierce and deadly fighter with a blade.  Sword or knife."

"Or both. The mon has a lot of blood on his hands. Tried to stop him  from running off to kill some poor farmer whom he claimed had been  insulting once and he cut up both of us," said Duncan. "Stopped only  because Da and Old William ran out and made him. That was when I  understood why Da ne'er left ye without a guard when ye were small, e'en  if it was only a woman who could send up a loud scream and alert  everyone."

"Yet he didnae protect himself weel, did he," muttered Murdoch.

"I would say nay, yet I cannae believe Robert would have aught to do  with what ails our father." Lachlan shook his head. "'Tis a mortal sin, a  heavy one, to set at his feet with nay proof."

Murdoch finished his ale and stood up. "Weel, if we dinnae do anything,  wee Mora and Andrew will be dead soon. I ken I will ne'er be able to  stomach it. Mayhap ye should decide if ye can."

Lachlan watched as Murdoch went to his bedchamber and then sighed. "I hate that I share his suspicions."

Duncan gave a short, harsh laugh. "Weel, dinnae bother donning a hair shirt o'er it. It isnae needed."

"What do ye mean?"

"I mean he has probably done just what the lad suspects. I saw the lad  listening at the door when Robert and Old William were quarreling. 'Tis  why Old William is dead. He was arguing with Robert about what ailed our  father, about how he was damned to hell's fires for trying to kill his  own father. He demanded Robert tell him what poison he used and how he  was getting it into the mon. That was when Robert killed him. Foolish  old mon. William should have seen that coming," he said softly, and  shook his head.

"Why didnae ye tell me? Tell someone?"

"It seems I have a verra strong will to live and to sleep at night. Our  brother would slip in and cut my throat if he thought I kenned it."  Duncan stared hard at Lachlan. "And heed this warning, Lachlan. If he  e'er tries to get ye to go off alone with him, find away to nay go.  Always study the danger if he tries to get ye to do something for him."

Lachlan sat quietly for a moment. "We cannae do this. I thought if we  rode with him we could keep it bloodless or stop something. We didnae  stop a thing. Poor Rona and David were smiling at us one moment, Robert  was smiling back, and then, with just a few swipes of his sword, they  were both dead and our cursed brother was still smiling."         

     



 

"I ken it. See it when I try to sleep, but we cannae run from it either.  That would be a sure way to die. And watch Murdoch closely. When he  tried to stop Robert from killing the lassie's goats, ye saw what he did  to the boy, and trust me in this, he hasnae forgotten and will ne'er  forgive Murdoch for interfering. He has always had a hate for the boy."

"Ye are saying that the best we can do is try to stay alive."

"Aye, and to keep that fool boy alive as he is the best of us. Robert has always been jealous of how our da treated the boy."

Lachlan signaled one of the girls to fill their tankards and then just  drank quietly with his brother, his mind so full of troubled thoughts he  suspected it would ache in the morning, if he got any sleep at all.



Mora finished scrubbing the pot Gybbon had made the porridge in as he  walked around exploring what was in the house. There was not much to  explore. It was ample comfort for a traveler and she was very glad of a  roof over her head, but she desperately wanted a bath and there was also  nothing to do as the night settled in.

As she wiped her hands dry she thought of how she should look at her  wound. She had bandaged it while on the road and it had not looked like  much more than a scratch. Yet now it ached all the time and she knew it  was because of the walking, the riding, and the horse throwing her to  the ground. She also suspected it was bleeding again.

"Do ye play chess?" Gybbon asked.

She looked at him where he stood, next to a set of shelves and holding a  board in his hand. "Aye. Why would there be a chessboard here?"

"I wouldnae doubt it was left by one of my kin or a MacFingal." He  searched through all the shelves and sighed. "I cannae see any of the  pieces needed to play, so 'tis only good for kindling or something to  cut cheese on."

She hurried to his side and took the board. It was a plain one, yet  perfectly done. "Nay, I have something we can use." She hurried over to  her bag and dug out the small box she had packed her father's chess  pieces in. "My fither loved the game," she said as she returned to his  side and handed him the box while fighting back a wave of sadness.

"Did ye even pack any clothes?" he teased, and then opened the box.

"Of course. There were so many things I had to choose carefully. If I  had brought all I wished to save, I would have needed a wagon."

"These are magnificent," he said quietly as he studied a pawn. "Shall we play then?"

"Ye can set it up and I wish to go up to the loft for a few moments."

"The pot is in the far corner," he said as he continued to look over the chess pieces.

Mora knew that she was blushing slightly as she hurried up the stairs,  and told herself that was silly since everyone had to use one at some  time. Once done with the pot, she sat on the bed, relieved to see there  were two narrow ones. There would be no awkward discussion on how to  share the bed, just a simple decision about who sleeps near the window  and who sleeps near the stairs.

She sat on the edge of the bed nearest the stairs and undid her gown,  pulling it down to her waist. That did not give her access to the wound  at her waist so she stood up and allowed it to fall further down. She  then grabbed the bottom of her shift and rolled that up until she could  see what was happening with her injury.

Untying the torn piece of her shift she had used as a bandage, one she  noticed nervously was wet with blood, she tossed it aside and looked  carefully at the wound. It looked to be a wider cut than it had and she  wondered if that was because she had fallen on it. It was possible that  she had erred by not stitching it, but her stomach had turned at the  thought of stitching herself up. She had enough trouble just seeing her  own blood leaving her body. Ripping another strip of cloth off her  shift, she carefully tied it over the wound and then dressed.

When she stood up she swayed for a moment and feared she was about to  swoon, but the feeling passed. Grabbing up the bloody rag, she intended  to slip it into her bag as she went by it. It would probably be a good  idea to mention her wound to Gybbon, but she feared he would insist they  stop and tend it, perhaps even make her take to a bed for a few days.  She had no time for that. When she was safe somewhere and had her young  brother safe beside her, then she would see to her own hurts.

She sat down across from Gybbon at the table, the chessboard between  them. He won the chance to make the first move, so she focused all her  thoughts on each move to make after that, determined to win. He was one  of those players who had to carefully think over every move while making  soft sounds to indicate all his deep thoughts. She was tempted to throw  the pawn he lingered so long over right at his head, but she was  closing in on him until he finally made the next move and won.