‘Aye, its clans are constantly seething against each other, and some lairds cast greedy eyes to these lands looking for easy pickings. Perhaps they have finally stopped squabbling enough amongst themselves to make a grab for what is ours. And Callum, there is worse. Two of the dead men were Gordons.’
‘Are you in earnest?’
‘Aye. I have been to Machrie many times and grew up roaming around my Uncle Dunbar’s lands. I got to know many faces over the years, and I am certain those corpses were Gordons.’
‘Yet your uncle denies any association with the Baron or any blame in the thieving of cattle and sheep, the extorting of monies and the assault of women.’
‘Of course, he does,’ said Bryce. ‘If we accuse him before the magistrate, my uncle will say the men out there were renegades, thrown out of Clan Gordon many months ago for petty crimes - poaching, thievery and so on.’
‘And you would do that, Bryce, accuse your own uncle?’
‘If my uncle is on this path, then rest assured it is not mine to follow just because we are blood. And aye, I would accuse him, but not on this evidence alone, no. ‘Tis not enough. But his hand moves in this. I feel it. Those fools were not wearing clan tartan, but for them to be in league with these villains has a whiff of treachery about it, which I cannot ignore.’
‘And Dunbar Gordon has not suffered the same losses as our other friends,’ said Callum. ‘Indeed, his enemies have been hit harder than he has – the Erskines, the McTaggarts.’
Callum sighed. He had a wife hovering on the cusp of death, and he did not want to think about Dunbar Gordon’s plotting nor whoever was abetting him. ‘Is it not a strange truth that a man who is a trusted friend to some in this county can be a back-stabbing foe to others? I have long suspected that there was a rich hand moving these devilish puppets in their murdering, thieving dance, and now we know.’
‘I agree,’ said Bryce. ‘Dunbar and maybe some others are in this together. They weaken their enemies and grow fatter while hiding behind their castle walls and reputations.’
‘Aye, for they are too cowardly to strike out in the open.’
‘We were lucky to have caught so many of them all at once,’ said Bryce. ‘Apparently, the Baron always made sure there were never too many of his gang in one place at one time.’
‘So why were they all here?’
‘They were here to kill you, Callum. And though he has gone north, for now, I think the Baron will rebuild his strength and return to plague us once more.’
The physician emerged from the cottage, wiping bloody hands on a cloth. ‘It was a single shot and most probably from some distance away. That took some of the power out of it, and the soft lead flattened against her breastbone. I am confident that I have extracted all of it along with any foreign matter. ‘Twas in deep though. You will know if she is clear of suppuration in a day or two. I would not move her until then.’
‘Can we not take her by cart to more fitting accommodation?’ said Callum.
‘Jolt the poor lass along rutted paths? Are you run mad? She will only bleed more and hasten her end. No, she must remain in this…this charnel house. Bring a feather bed to her if it vexes you so. If she starts a fever, she is in peril, and her fate lies with God. I have done all I can and wish to be paid for my trouble and go on my way.’
‘No, you are not going anywhere,’ said Callum towering over the pompous little man. ‘You will be amply rewarded for your trouble, and you are staying as long as I say so.’
The man puffed up his chest. ‘I need some air,’ he growled and stomped away.
Callum rushed inside and stared down at Tara, feeling Bryce’s heavy hand on his shoulder. ‘She will recover. I am sure of it, my friend.’
‘I cannot contemplate the alternative.’
‘Aye, ‘tis clear you love her, and she loves you.’
Callum turned to him and frowned.
‘She took a musket shot for you, Callum. I think that means love, don’t you?’ said Bryce.
Callum let the words sink into his heart, swelling it with love for Tara. ‘If she dies, Bryce, it will be the end of me.’
Chapter Thirty
Her eyes would not open, for her eyelids were heavy as lead. There were muffled voices around her, just fragments of conversation and the faint cheery sound of birds chirping. But there was also pain, so much pain. Tara tried to move a little, but bolts of agony shot through her shoulder, so she lay still, waiting for them to abate. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she saw a thatched roof and cobwebbed beams. The light coming in through an open door was blinding, making her squint.
There was a scraping noise, and someone shouted, ‘Master, come quick,’ and then silence. With horror, Tara realised she was still in her fetid prison. Was Stalker coming for her now? She had to get away. Her heart raced, and she rose onto her elbows to get to her feet, but the room started spinning.
Suddenly, he was there, holding her against his broad chest. Not Stalker, not more horror, but Callum and safety. He had always been safety. Tara clutched onto him, relief flooding her heart and making her sob against his chest.
‘I thought it was Stalker. I thought he was coming for me,’ she cried.