Lachlan had expected to hear of the bairn’s death by morning. But it lived.
As did the girl.
He didn’t care for the worry that it put on Penny’s face. Not in the least.
His wife was too soft. Too hopeful in the face of something Lachlan had seen all too many times.
The babe was… It was far too small.
And he knew full well that good intentions would not keep a child alive. Nor hopes or prayers or dreams. For if they could, his mother would have kept all of her children, and perhaps she would have lived.
If she would’ve but had more to live for.
She’d had one son and that son had failed her.
And he had tried…
He saw that soft, cherubic face in his mind again.
Not one of his brothers or sisters.
The bairn that he’d found near a battlefield while in the army, badly injured near his dead mother, a peasant girl, from the look of things, who had been brutalised by French soldiers.
He had tried.
And Lachlan had profited from saving a peer, but he had to ask God, had to ask whoever might listen, with a quiet rage in his heart, why a dissolute, titled man might survive grave injuries, but an innocent child hadn’t been able to overcome them. He could still remember the little boy’s whole body being bright with heat. When he had been certain the injuries would not take him, and the fever had.
He had been at war for six years by then. And he had seen atrocities that left scars on his soul.
But he understood why Penny had saved all those small creatures at her estate.
Because sometimes it was those small things that made you hope. They made the world feel bearable. That little boy…
Saving him had become the most important thing in the world to Lachlan.
And he had failed.
That failure stayed with him. And it also taught him better than to hope when there was little to hope in.
The world didn’t care.
Perhaps God was too busy to trouble himself with the very small, even when they were innocent.
But this morning in the castle, the bairn lived.
Still, he knew better than to trust in it.
He could understand why it was a necessity for the girl and child to stay here. They could not be moved. Not in their state.
‘Her father will kill her,’ Penny said when they took breakfast.
‘I will not allow it,’ Lachlan said.
‘I thought you could not control what a man did in his own home.’
She brought his own words back to him and they shamed him. Her blue eyes were level and unyielding. He had known his wife was strong, but she’d demonstrated that strength in new ways every day. She was becoming Scottish. Part of the clan.
‘I will not allow harm to come to them,’ he repeated.
* * *
The days passed and the babe continued to live. Mary grew in strength.
It was time to decide what to do about them.
But along with Mary’s healing, his wife had changed.
She was quiet more often. Sometimes she simply sat near him. She would touch him, her head on his shoulder, her hand on his thigh.
He did not know what to make of the change. Neither did he dislike it.
She was doing a great deal of caring for the babe. It seemed to him the mother only took him for feedings, otherwise Penny had taken to carrying the child around.
Yes, it was time to discuss finding a permanent home for the girl and her child.
He understood that she couldn’t go home—the issue of Dugan McLaren was one he was going to have to solve. But first Mary needed to be cared for.
She would be protected in the castle, that was true. But perhaps he could find placement for her in another clan, though the matter of her attacker troubled him.
She had said she didn’t know him, which made him suspect it had been someone from a different clan.
He believed that to be the case, right up until she was beginning to move about the castle and she passed into the great hall while his men were present.
Her eyes locked with Callum’s and he saw fear there. Utter terror. Her face went white and she stumbled back.
Then she collected herself and walked quickly back towards the stairs that would take her to her bedroom.
Lachlan said nothing. But he watched the face of the man for a good while, trying to read it. Trying to see evidence of what he suspected written there. Guilt. Fear. Something.
The man remained blank. That began to arouse suspicion in Lachlan above all else.
For what man would pretend the woman had not fled from him in fear?
One who did not want it noticed.
One who wanted to be able to deny that he was the reason why.
* * *
When Lachlan saw Penny later, he approached the subject directly.
‘Has she said to you who her attacker might be? Or has she stuck with the story that it was a stranger?’
‘She’s never mentioned it again.’
‘I suspect Callum.’
‘But Callum is… He’s your cousin.’
‘He is. And one of my detractors. Certainly no supporter of yours. The way his eyes follow women around the room troubled me. And I find I’ve a concern about what he’s done to Mary.’
‘Lachlan…’
‘I will not allow it.’
‘Perhaps we should help her escape.’
‘No,’ he said, his voice hard. ‘He will face justice. If it is true, then he will face justice.’
Accompanied by Penny, he went into the bedroom that Mary and the babe occupied. She was holding the child, her expression blank.
‘The man,’ Lachlan said without preamble. ‘The one who got you with child. Was it Callum MacKenzie?’
‘I told you,’ she said, looking away, ‘I didn’t know him.’
‘The fear on your face when that man was in the great hall says otherwise, lass.’
Mary’s face went mulish. ‘It is best for myself and the bairn if it’s a secret.’
‘Why?’
‘I do not have to explain to you how it is for a woman,’ she said, looking every inch a child and not a woman at all. ‘There is no help for me. My own father would kill me. My mother blames my own actions.’
‘And I do not,’ Lachlan said. ‘You and the bairn are under my protection. And I do not allow rape to happen within my clan.’
‘He’s too powerful…’
‘I am The MacKenzie,’ Lachlan said. ‘There is none more powerful than I. Was my cousin, Callum MacKenzie, the man?’
‘I…’
‘He was,’ Lachlan said.
‘He will kill me,’ she said, her voice hushed. ‘And the baby.’
‘He will not,’ Lachlan said. ‘For dead men can do nothing.’
There was no justice in the world, none but that which Lachlan would bring about himself. There was a snake in the midst of his men and he would not allow that to continue. He would not allow it to go on. He would allow for none of this.
He was Laird. And he would see justice done.
* * *
Penny was frozen with terror for all the hours that Lachlan was away.
She had no idea what her husband intended to do. But she feared, not only for his safety, but for his soul.
When he returned, a great shout was heard out in the courtyard.
All of his men were assembled and he had Callum MacKenzie walking in front of him.
Penny ran outside. ‘Lachlan,’ she said. ‘What is it you intend to do?’
‘I will make an example of this man,’ Lachlan said.
It was then she realised that half the village had trailed into the courtyard.
‘This man,’ he said, pointing at Callum with his broadsword. ‘This man used his strength against a woman. A child. He forced himself on her. I will not allow this to continue. This will not be tolerated. Not while I am The MacKenzie. For this is not the reign of Angus Bain. Your pleasure is not your master. I am your master.’
‘You cannot do this,’ Callum said.
‘My word is law,’ Lachlan said. ‘I can do what I please.’
‘A trial…’ Graham said.
‘It is not necessary. Especially among my men, among the gentry, I will discipline as I see fit.’
‘You bastard,’ Callum spat. ‘You prize the life of some bitch over a man who shares your own blood?’
‘I prize justice.’
‘This isn’t justice,’ Paden said. ‘It is an execution.’
‘Laird, surely…’ Even William, the boy Lachlan had brought back with him from war, looked at Lachlan with uncertainty.
That seemed to spur Lachlan on. ‘Surely an example will be set and you will all know—I do not grant mercy. Not in these matters. If a woman or child is harmed here, the man responsible will be held accountable.’
‘Lachlan,’ Penny said, rushing forward. ‘What do you intend to do?’
‘Listen to your Sassenach. Even she doesn’t want you to do this,’ Callum said. ‘This is not the way of things.’
‘The way of things is wrong,’ Lachlan said. ‘At least under the hand of my father.’
‘Lachlan,’ Penny said.
He turned to her, his expression fierce. And he lowered his voice. ‘You would have him live? He would do the same to you as soon as look at you, all men like him would. You would have this dog continue to use women as he sees fit?’
‘No,’ she said softly. ‘But surely…’
‘We keep him in the dungeon for the rest of his life?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘But your soul…’
Something flashed in his eyes. Shock. ‘No one has ever paid a care for my soul, Penny. I was a soldier for ten years, there is more blood on my hands and blackness in my heart than you could fathom. It is too late for me.’
‘Someone else…’
‘This is my clan. Why would I pass the spilling of blood on to another man? You would have me put this on someone else’s head?’ Penny stood back, her heart hammering.
She knew she couldn’t stop him.
Callum had raped Mary. Got her with child. The girl had nearly died. And even now she had nowhere to go because of what he’d done. But it pained her, this heavy weight that her husband must carry.
And she didn’t want it. Not for him.
She wanted to spare him.
That horrible look in his eye, dead and determined, all emotion gone… It was much like the way she had trained herself to be before she had found a way to open herself up. Before she had found a way to weep.
His heart was scarred over and it was carrying him now. This man who understood this concept of justice, but never mercy.
And where was the mercy deserved for a man like him?
It wasn’t Callum that she worried for.
It was Lachlan.
For Lachlan was the one who had to live with all this blood, all this pain. But the man had been at war for ten years and she knew he saw this differently.
‘Go inside,’ he said.
‘No,’ she said.
‘There is no reason to expose you to this. Go inside.’
‘Lachlan…’
And she felt that if it were his duty to rid the world of the man, then she must bear witness to it as his wife.
‘I said leave,’ he said.
Callum was down on the ground, his position that of a man defeated. But then, when he looked up at Lachlan, there was spite in his eyes. ‘It’s that Sassenach that you’ve brought to us. She’s made you soft. For what is a woman for but a man’s cock? If a woman’s going to wander around offering it, why shouldn’t I take it?’
‘She did not offer,’ Lachlan said. ‘Do you deny that?’
‘Since when does it matter?’
‘Since I am Laird.’
‘An Englishwoman’s dog,’ he spat.
Then he moved towards Penny. Penny tried to move back, but Callum had retrieved a sword from the ground and was barrelling towards her.
The rest happened in the space of a breath.
Lachlan moved faster and raised his broadsword. Brought it down in one fluid movement.
Penny looked away, her heart nearly exploding through her chest as she heard the sickening slice of blade through flesh. The sound of the man’s head separating from his shoulders.
Her heart was thundering so hard she could scarcely breathe. Lachlan’s strong arms were around her then, holding her from falling on to the ground. Keeping her from collapse.
‘William,’ he barked. ‘Deal with the body.’
‘Yes, Laird,’ William said.
Penny was shaking, trembling.
‘I told you to go inside,’ Lachlan said. Holding her arm, he propelled her on with him, into the castle.
Her heart was throbbing in her chest, her emotions tangled together. She didn’t know what she felt. She touched his shoulder and he turned to face her when they were inside the great hall.
Blood was splattered over his bare chest, up to his neck. It reminded her then of when he’d come back and found her in the castle after delivering the baby. Stained with the evidence of life. Of what…of what had to happen whether it was easy or good or not.
He had protected her. Saved her.
He had been determined to protect Mary. He had not been intent on executing Callum to prove his strength or might. It had been to put a stop to harm because the man was unrepentant. Saw no sin in his actions.
She was perversely grateful, however, that he had made a move for her. For it made Lachlan’s actions those of a soldier in battle and not an executioner.
‘I would have felt no guilt for it,’ he said, his tone hard.
‘I know,’ she said, her chest squeezing tight. ‘But I would have cared that you’d had to do it. I would have wept for you.’
‘No one weeps for me.’
‘I will.’
‘There is no justice but what you make, lass. The world doesn’t right these injustices. You must do it yourself with steel. My father did not protect this clan. He did not protect his wife. And I… I have seen things end badly. I have no great faith in the world to right its wrongs on its own. Nor do I labour under the delusion that I can always prevent it with my own strength. This, this I could do. Do not waste your sadness on me.’
Something twisted inside her then. And she felt…new. Looking at him, she didn’t worry for his soul, not at that moment, because this was a man who knew his conviction. He was a man who would give his all to protect those who were weaker than himself.
A man who would protect her with everything he was.
He was not a man who would lock her away because she cried. He was not a man who would ever harm the innocent. The vulnerable.
A man with all the strength in the world, all the power, and he would use it justly.
She trusted that. Deep within herself she trusted it.
‘You need to wash,’ she said.
She took his hand in hers and he followed. Which she knew was a choice, because he did not have to be led anywhere by her. ‘The Laird needs to bathe,’ she said.
* * *
With great speed, the staff had seen to preparing the water for him.
It was set out in the centre of their room and she took care in taking his clothes off his body, washing him clean of any blood.
‘Thank you,’ she said softly, as she sat next to the tub. ‘Thank you for protecting us.’
‘’Tis justice,’ he said.
‘You know many men would not see it as such. They would not consider what he’d done a great crime.’
He looked at her. ‘My mother despaired of her life. There was no escape. There was nothing for her. I would not have my people live in such desperation. Men…physically we are stronger than women. Where is the victory in overpowering one who could never fight back? It is a coward who takes joy in oppressing those weaker than himself. If a man wants to fight, if he craves violence, then he should find an opponent who might just as easily kill him.’
‘When you were at war…’
‘The brutality we saw, committed not just on the battlefield. There was a woman…’ He hesitated slightly before pressing on. ‘She was long gone from this world by the time my men found her. I will not tell you what she looked like.’ His voice was rough, laden with the horror of what he’d seen and she could understand, then, why the death of a man who’d committed crimes against a woman would never linger in him for a moment. For this…this ate away at his soul. ‘I have seen a great many atrocities, lass, and very few things are grim enough to cause me to lose sleep. But that… My dreams are haunted by that.’
She moved her hand slowly over his chest, to soothe. He put his hand over hers and she looked down at his scarred knuckles. ‘It is not the bodies of dead men I see in my mind. It will not be Callum’s lifeless body that lingers with me in my dying day. It will be the pain of girls like Mary. Of my mother. Of that nameless woman. It will be the weakness of men who should have been strong. And all the ways in which I was too late to stop it.’
‘But you stopped it,’ Penny said. ‘You did.’
‘The gesture coming a bit too late as we have a sickly girl in the room next to ours, with a bairn that may or may not survive.’
‘He gets stronger every day.’
‘You can never put your trust in these things, lass. Trust me. Now I do not wish to speak of these things any more.’
‘Would you like supper?’ she asked.
‘Aye,’ he said.
There was some great satisfaction in taking care of him this way and she wasn’t certain where it came from.
But maybe it was just that same thing that had driven her to care for wounded creatures. It made her feel as though she mattered.
She might not be able to mete out justice in quite the way Lachlan did. But she was his wife. The Laird’s lady. She was part of the clan. And she felt that, deeply, for the first time. In full support of her husband and the decision he had made today, hard and unyielding though it had been.
It was a statement. And they had come back to the clan under grave circumstances. And it meant that they could not tread lightly. He could not.
Even against his own blood.
She had supper brought up to their room and they ate together. They didn’t need to talk.
But her connection with him felt strong. They didn’t need to be touching. He didn’t need to be inside her. She didn’t need to chatter endlessly. She could simply sit and be near him.
A revelation.
She felt very suddenly inside herself. In a life that was hers.
A castle that felt like hers.
With a man who felt like hers.
This place was harsh. And it was different than anything she had ever been exposed to. It forced her to be stronger. It forced her to be different.
At the same time, time with Lachlan forced her to be fragile as well. To open up deep, compassionate places within her own heart.
Her interactions with Mary and her baby touched her in that way as well.
For the first time in her life, her world felt big. More than that, she felt powerful within it.
It was a gift, a change that she had never expected.
‘Are you quite ready for bed, my Laird?’
‘Past ready.’
And she went to him gladly.