Page 43 of The Wild Rose of Kilgannon (Kilgannon #2)

SIXTEEN

I struggled with it for days. What an impossible thing for DeBroun to have done.

What a brainless thing for me to have done, to have written to the court.

And what should I do now? If I told Will or Randolph or Uncle Harry, they would be outraged and feel they had to act, and I could not risk that.

DeBroun was still one of the judges on Alex’s case, no matter what else he was.

What had I set in motion by writing that letter?

Dear God, what had I done? If I did nothing, then DeBroun thought we had some sort of agreement.

If I made him aware of my antipathy, Alex would suffer.

If I let him think I would one day accept his proposition, would it help or hurt Alex?

I knew I could not tell Louisa without her telling Randolph.

Uncle Harry’s reaction I could not begin to guess.

Where was Angus? But no, it was out of the question to think of telling any of the Kilgannon men.

I wish Will were here , I thought, but reconsidered at once.

Will would be outraged as well and he had his own problems just now.

He had written to tell us that Betty was very ill at Grafton with fever and lethargy.

He was very worried, for Betty did not care how she looked, which meant that she must be very ill indeed.

I had written that of course he should stay with Betty.

Louisa offered to go to them, but Will wrote that she should stay with me for now. Was there no end to our troubles?

Gilbey was allowed to see Alex daily again, but he said only that Alex had been sequestered and no one, not even DeBroun, had come to see him. I sent messages of my love and reassurances that we were well. They rang hollow even as I wrote them, and Alex’s just as empty when I read his.

The morning the trial began I woke before daybreak.

In a weak moment I considered not going, but the thought that Alex would arrive in the courtroom and not find me drove me out of bed.

And Uncle Harry had been adamant that I be there.

All of London would be watching to see if Mary Lowell MacGannon supported her husband, he’d said, and if I stayed home all of London would assume that I had forsaken him.

I had agreed. But now, on this chill morning, I stood at the window staring into the street, trying to convince myself that this was real. Where was Angus?

I felt very alone. I had agreed to the coaxing and sent the boys to Mountgarden, despite their arguments, but my heart sank as I’d watched their coach drive away, both boys, and the dogs, hanging out the windows.

Selfishly I wished them here now, to cheer me with their optimism and clamor, but was glad they would be spared this final misery.

I moved as though in a nightmare, aware of the smallest things and numb at the same time.

I could not have said what clothes I wore nor what day of the week it was.

The butter on my knife seemed to glow bright yellow in the dim dining room, but I could not hear him easily when Randolph spoke to me.

“Mary, dear, I said that Angus has arrived. Shall he join us?”

I nodded. Of course Angus should join us for breakfast. It would be rude to leave him standing in the foyer and he should eat , I thought foggily, as though it were of vast importance that Angus be well fed on this of all mornings.

And then Angus stood in the doorway and I gasped, halfway out of my seat.

For just a moment, with him standing there, dressed in Highland clothing, his blond hair pulled back, I’d thought it was Alex and my heart had taken a wild leap.

Just as quickly I knew my mistake and could feel the color drain from my face.

“Angus,” I said, meeting him halfway across the room. I embraced him, feeling how rigid his body was.

“Mary,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “I couldna let ye go alone.” He released me and looked at my uncle. “I mean no insult, sir,” Angus said to Randolph, “but I would have Mary have a Highland guard with her. My men are waiting outside.”

Randolph nodded. “I expected you, Angus. I am bringing several of my men as well. I’ve ordered two coaches.”

We rolled through the streets of London, tucked safely in Randolph’s coaches.

The streets were clogged with people, and the street vendors called out their wares as the crowds passed on their way to this latest amusement.

I tried not think of Alex’s trial being of no more importance than something to discuss over a mug of ale, but I knew that was all it would ever be to most of these people.

For a moment I hated them, the ones for whom Alex’s trial was only a diversion.

Angus sat opposite me, silent and withdrawn.

When I asked him where Matthew and Gilbey were, he looked at me without expression. “They’ll be there,” he said.

“Is Gilbey with Alex?”

He nodded. “He was earlier this morning, for a bit. But they werena allowed to be alone. Alex says he’s ready.”

As we drew at last to the curb and I stepped from the coach, Angus and several men surrounded me, to my surprise Duncan among them. He winked at me as he offered his hand for my descent.

“We’re here, Mary,” he said, sounding for a moment like the Duncan I remembered from happier times. “And we’ll be with ye throughout the trial. Never ye fear that ye’ll be unprotected.”

“I am not worried about myself, Duncan,” I whispered and he nodded, but there was no time to speak further.

I raised my chin as I heard the cries of recognition around me. Some were speaking kindly, but I was called a traitor and a whore by others. The men pressed tightly around Louisa and me as we followed Angus and Randolph in a phalanx to the door.

Westminster Hall. Sir William Wallace had been condemned within these walls.

Charles Stuart, once King of England, had been tried here and beheaded a stone’s throw away.

Sir Thomas More, Guy Fawkes, Perkin Warbeck, and the Duke of Somerset had received sentences of death in this room; Edward II and Richard II were deposed here.

I wished I did not know my history. I needed no reminders of what happened when the Crown of England was challenged.

I paused at the top of the stairs before descending into the hall itself, taking in the sight before me.

The massive room had been transformed since my last visit, a large section set aside for the public.

The stone walls were glowing with light from the many chandeliers, and far overhead the carvings of dark hammered wood cast shadows on the spaces behind.

The benches for the public were raised and separated by a railing from the floor of the courtroom, and behind the railing, facing the audience, was the dais where the judges sat.

To the left and right were lower and smaller daises, with three tiers of benches cushioned in deep burgundy velvet.

Above the judges’ dais was a large wooden screen, decorated with a relief of blind Justice holding the scales.

Blind justice indeed, I thought. Not with this trial. It was a travesty, a sham. A spectacle.

It was as public as Robert had said it would be.

The crowds pressed against the doors outside, and the anteroom was filled with those hoping to get a seat.

Inside the hall the benches were full, although the trial was not scheduled to begin for over an hour.

I was grateful to sink down between Angus and Louisa and pleased to note the Duchess in the row behind me as she patted my shoulder and whispered encouragement.

But I was not afraid. I was angry. Angry that they had chosen to make an example of Alex, angry at Malcolm and the MacDonald, at the Earl of Mar and James Stewart, and Robert, and DeBroun.

And Alex. Angry that there would be no one to raise a cry of outrage for him and no one to stop this farce.

I knew they would find him guilty and that they would then sentence him to die.

Part of me still hoped for a miracle, but I would be here, miracle or no.

I put my hands in my lap and concentrated on the carving on the railings while around me the elite of London discussed Alex’s chances of living as though it were a horse race.

I tried not to see those I knew pass in the aisles before me, searching for good seats.

Janice and Jonathan Wumple pretended not to see me, which meant they had to ignore the Duchess as well.

Small price to pay for letting the world know they had no connection to me, I thought, and groaned inwardly as more faces from my past went by.

Rowena deBurghesse hung on Edmund Bartlett’s arm.

She did not have to pretend not to see me as she simpered up into Edmund’s face.

And Rowena, whose only talent as far as I could tell was gossip, would spread the fate of this day all over London. They were all here , I thought.

We waited in silence until a voice droned from the floor that the proceedings would begin and asked us to rise.

There was no one yet to see on the floor, then a side door opened and several men in uniform stepped into the hall.

Following closely behind them were men in dark robes, the barristers, I discovered.

They filled the benches on each side of the floor.

The five judges filed in slowly from a door behind the dais, their robes gleaming satin and their wigs starkly white against the dark wood.

It was difficult to tell what they looked like in the robes and wigs, but they were of varying ages.

Edgar DeBroun sat to the left of the middle judge, his dark eyes scanning the crowd until he found me.

He nodded almost imperceptibly and I turned my eyes away.