“Oh no,” Sinjun said quickly. “Colin has come to rescue you from me. I would have given you over to the Royal Navy and let you swab decks until you reformed or got kicked overboard and drowned, but Colin wouldn’t allow it.”
“You don’t look very comfortable, Robbie,” Colin said, stroking his jaw. MacPherson lunged forward, but only three feet. He was pulled to an ignominious halt by the chains.
“Get these things off me,” he said, panting with rage.
“In good time,” Colin said. “First I’d like to talk to you. A pity there are no chairs, Joan. You’re looking just a bit white around your jawline. Sit on the packed dirt and lean back against the wall. That’s right. Now, Robbie, you and I will discuss things.”
“You bloody murderer! There’s nothing to discuss! Go ahead and kill me. Aye, you do that, you murdering sod. My men will destroy Vere Castle and all your lands. Go ahead!”
“Why?”
“What the hell do you mean, why? You killed my sister. You killed poor Dingle.”
“Oh no, Dingle was killed by another of your own men. As it happens, my son, Philip, witnessed the whole thing. It was a fight about a woman, naturally. Alfie killed him.”
Robert MacPherson shook his head and said in disgust, “That damned chit! I told them—” He broke off and jerked forward once more against the chains. They held firm. “All right, I will give you that one. Still, you murdered my sister.”
Sinjun opened her mouth, then closed it. This was up to Colin, and she realized that it was important that she keep still. MacPherson must know now that she loved her husband to distraction, must believe she’d lie for him without hesitation, all true naturally. It was difficult, but she kept quiet, and watched.
“Your sister died nearly eight months ago. Why didn’t you act immediately against me?”
“I didn’t believe you’d killed her then. My father was certain you were innocent and I believed him. But then I found out the truth.”
“Ah,” said Colin. “The truth. Could you tell me the source of this truth?”
MacPherson looked suddenly crafty. “Why should I? I have no reason to doubt the source. My father wouldn’t either if he had an unconfused thought left in his pathetic brain.”
“Your father was quite clear in his thinking the last time I visited him,” Colin said. “Go back to Edinburgh and tell him. See if he agrees with you. My guess is that he will laugh at you. I think you’re afraid to tell him, Robbie, afraid of his scorn at your damned credulity. Well? Answer me. No? I will tell you something else. I believe you prefer skulking about in the shadows, hiring your bully boys. I believe you prefer claiming your father is brain-soft and that is only because he won’t agree with you about me. Thus, you want to toss him out with the rubbish. Tell him, Robbie. He’s the MacPherson laird. He’s your father. Trust him, for God’s sake. Now, who told you I killed your sister?”
“I won’t tell you.”
“Then how can I allow you to leave here? I don’t wish to die, nor do I wish to have to worry all the time about Joan’s safety and my children’s safety.”
MacPherson looked at the chafed flesh on his wrists. Chained to the bloody wall like a damned criminal, and all by that ridiculous little chit who sat on the floor, watching him with her wide blue eyes. She’d tricked him; she’d made a fool of him. He pulled his eyes away from her. He stared at Colin Kinross, a man he’d known all his life, a man who was tall and lean and trustworthy, with a man’s strong features, not pretty as he was, a man women adored and sought out. The man Fiona had loved despite her insane jealousy. No one doubted Colin’s virility; oh yes, he’d heard the silly girls giggling about him, his endowments, his skills as a lover. No one questioned that he was less than a man. He felt the jealousy grind into him and looked away. He said, his voice low, “If I promise I won’t attempt to harm either this girl here or your children, will
you release me? Good God, man, Philip and Dahling are my nephew and niece! They’re Fiona’s children; I wouldn’t hurt them.”
“No, I believe that would be beyond even you, Robbie. However, that leaves Joan. She is my wife. She also has this unfortunate habit of trying to save me all the time. It’s appealing when it isn’t enraging.”
“She should be beaten. She’s only a bloody woman.”
“I daresay you wouldn’t feel that way were she always on the lookout to keep you safe. Who told you I killed Fiona?”
“I won’t harm her, damn you!”
“But you will keep trying to hurt Colin, won’t you?” Sinjun was on her feet now. She felt no charitable leanings toward MacPherson. Were it up to her, she’d leave him chained here until he rotted.
Colin saw her feelings on her face and grinned at her. He said, “Sit down, Joan. Keep out of this.”
She subsided, but her brain was working furiously. Who had accused Colin of murder? Aunt Arleth? That seemed a distinct possibility. With him dead, she could do as she pleased. But it made no sense, not really. Aunt Arleth much appreciated the money Sinjun’s dowry had brought to the laird. If I were dead, she would rejoice, Sinjun thought, but Colin? What if Aunt Arleth did hate him enough to want him dead, because she somehow believed he was responsible for his brother’s death? Sinjun felt a headache begin to pound at her over her right temple. It was too much, all of it.
Colin jumped as a log rolled off, scattering embers out onto the hearth. He was pulled abruptly back from his memories of the afternoon with MacPherson. He hugged his wife closer as she said, nestling closer as she kissed her husband’s throat yet again, “Do you believe him, Colin?” She kissed him again. He tasted warm and salty and utterly wonderful. She could kiss him until she cocked up her toes.
“I don’t wish to speak of him anymore tonight.”
“But you let him go! I’m frightened!”
“You’ll be safe. He swore on his father’s name.”