Page 58 of The Wild Rose of Kilgannon (Kilgannon #2)

TWENTY-THREE

I dropped the cup. And I must have looked as though I was about to faint, for Malcolm took my arm. I cringed away from his touch, backed into the chair I’d been sitting in, and sat down with a thump as I stared at him. Alex’s brother smiled. The cup rolled on the floor, all of us ignoring it.

“Mistress MacGannon, your brother-in-law has come to give you his condolences,” Lord Webster said as he sat slowly on the chair opposite me. “I assume you two will wish to comfort each other.”

I hardly noticed the judge’s words, nor did I look at him. I was watching Malcolm. The year had not been kind to him. He was heavier and his face, although still handsome, was more florid now, his eyes piggish in the folds around them. He reached a hand to me and I turned my head aside.

“Mary,” Malcolm said in a wheedling tone as he sat in the chair beside me. “I am sorry about Alex. We must heal the wounds now. It’s time to reunite.”

I did not trust myself to answer.

“MacGannon has applied to be your stepsons’ guardian,” said the judge, shifting in his chair to look at us both .

“No,” I said, my voice wavering. “No. I am their mother.”

Malcolm shook his head and spoke as one would to a child. “Yer no’ their mother. Their mother is dead.”

“I am the only mother they have. And I am their guardian.”

“They are my blood, Mary, not yers.” Malcolm’s tone was patronizing.

I leapt up, ready to leave the room, but Malcolm beat me to the door, blocking my passage.

I met his eyes. “They are my blood, Mary,” he said again in a much different tone.

“And now that Kilgannon has passed to Ian, he will need a man to guide him.” I stepped back from him.

Malcolm slowly smiled and my rage exploded.

“No!” I cried. “No.” I drew myself as tall as I could.

“Ian has not inherited Kilgannon. Alex is not dead, despite your best efforts. Over and over, Malcolm, you tried to kill him, and when you could not manage it yourself you got the English to do your dirty work. Well, you swine, you failed again. Alex is not dead.”

Malcolm’s smile widened. “Oh, but he is.”

Lord Webster spoke from his chair, his brittle voice carrying easily. “Your husband is dead, madam.”

“Dead, Mary.” Malcolm smiled into my eyes. “Alex is dead. Dead. Yer a widow. And Ian has inherited.”

I shook my head. “Bring me proof.” I whirled to face the judge.

“You don’t have proof, do you? I knew it.

Alex is not dead.” I turned back to Malcolm.

“Even if it were true, Ian would inherit nothing. Kilgannon is forfeited with all of the rest of Alex’s property, or have you forgotten that?

” Malcolm watched through narrowed eyes.

If he did not know of the Scottish court’s ruling, I thought, I would not be the one to tell him.

“Even if you cleared all the obstacles, it would be Ian who inherited, not you.”

“I will be his guardian, Mary,” Malcolm said.

“Not while I live.”

“As ye wish,” he said coldly. “That can be arranged.”

“No doubt,” I said, my voice low with hatred. “And how long would you let Ian live? How long would it be until you removed him and then Jamie?” I glanced over my shoulder at the judge. “He will kill them both just to get the land. And you will be responsible.”

Malcolm moved away from me with distaste. “What a horrible thing to say. I would never harm them, Mary.”

“Oh?” I glared at him. “Just as you would never harm their father? No, Malcolm, you will have to kill me before I allow you to be their guardian, and if I’m dead, Matthew will kill you.

And if he’s dead, Gilbey will do it. Or Thomas.

Or Dougall. Or wee Donald. A lot of people hate you for what you did. ”

“Ye dinna understand …”

“Oh, but you’re wrong, Malcolm. I understand only too well.

We all understand.” He raised a hand as though to strike me and I glared at him, aware that the judge had moved to stand behind me.

“Go ahead, Malcolm,” I said. “It has never been difficult in the past for you to hit women. Or is it different with an audience?”

Malcolm lowered his hand. “Yer distraught, Mary. I’ll return when ye can talk sensibly.”

“No,” I said, meeting the anger I saw in his eyes with my own. “Don’t come back. You are dead to me, Malcolm. Dead.”

“As is Alex,” he sneered.

“No.” I turned to the judge, who watched both of us without expression. “Either you know he’s not dead or you fear he’s not.”

“We believe that he is dead, madam,” said Judge Webster.

“Until I see his body he is alive to me. If he were not, you would release me.”

“You seem to forget that your husband’s kinsmen hold DeBroun.”

“They do not.”

“Ah, at last, the subject I came to discuss. Pray be seated again, madam. You will not be leaving this room until we address this.” I did not move, nor speak.

Lord Webster glanced at Malcolm before turning back to me.

“I have brought your brother-in-law here because you are a very stubborn woman and I am trying to have you tell me what you know. I am considering appointing MacGannon as guardian of your stepsons since their father is presumed dead.” I was silent.

The judge nodded. “Very well. That is exactly what I will do. I will transfer you to the Tower and I will appoint Malcolm MacGannon guardian of your stepsons and your baby since they will have become wards of the court. Then we will all wait for Edgar DeBroun to return.” I met his eyes. I believed him.

“If you tell me what you know,” Webster said, “I will reconsider the guardianship.” I nodded and when he led me back to the chair I went willingly. He sat next to me. Malcolm stayed at the door. “Madam,” said the judge, demanding my attention, “tell me what you know about DeBroun’s captivity.”

“DeBroun is not being held captive,” I said. “He has gone.”

“Gone? ”

“Gone.”

Lord Webster studied me. “How do you know this?”

“I saw him before I left London.” That much at least was true.

“And where is he now?”

“I don’t know. Truly, I don’t. I hope he’s in hell.”

“Are the MacGannons holding him?”

“No. The MacGannons have gone back to Scotland. DeBroun is being held by no one.”

The judge considered me with pursed lips. “Why have the MacGannons gone to Scotland, madam?”

“It is their home. They could do nothing here.”

“Are they coming back?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. I have heard nothing.”

“If I release you, what will you do?”

“Go to Mountgarden. Raise my children. My brother will help.”

Malcolm spoke from the door. “As they are helping ye the now, Mary? Perhaps Robert will help as well?”

“Malcolm,” I said, “unlike you, I will never betray Alex.”

Malcolm laughed unkindly. “Who does yer child look like?”

Lord Webster rose and walked stiffly to the door, then turned to me. “Madam, remember that you are alive only because I choose to keep you so. I will return with the proof of your husband’s death.” He went through the door without a backward glance.

When the door closed Malcolm came to stand over me. “And what about Angus, Mary?” Malcolm asked quietly. “If Matthew and Gilbey will avenge ye, what about Angus? Where is Angus? ”

I looked up at him. “We do not speak these days,” I said and watched Malcolm’s pleasure in my answer. How I hated him.

“Don’t fight me, Mary. I am the one with the power here.”

“You are dead to me, Malcolm,” I said and turned my back. Eventually he left me alone and after a while I heard the coach drive away and the house become quiet again.

Locked in my room, I wrapped my arms around myself and went over it again and again.

Webster was still not convinced that the MacGannons did not hold DeBroun.

And Alex had to be alive. He had to be. I prayed for his safety.

And the boys’. Until today I had thought we were in danger, not them, and I had never imagined I could be put in the Tower.

I had no doubt that Webster would do just that if it suited him, but I had no way to warn Will of Webster’s plan.

The judge’s men would arrive at Mountgarden without warning and tear Ian and Jamie away from my brother.

I looked at my baby and his nurse with something close to panic and tried not to think about Malcolm as guardian of my sons.

We were left alone for the rest of that day, and when the woman brought our breakfast the next morning I did not even look at her.

The door closed behind her and Henrietta attacked the food with energy while I listlessly watched her eat.

And then I saw it. Under the plate was a small square of paper.

Leaning forward without a word, I drew the paper out from under the plate while Henrietta sat and watched, her fork midway to her mouth.

It was no more than four inches across, a scrap of dirty paper, and it had fit neatly under the plate.

There were no words written on it but it lifted my heart and I smiled as I looked at it and showed Henrietta.

The pattern of my wedding ring was drawn in intricate detail, each twist of the design clearly delineated.

And in the center of the paper was the rose, the twin of the one on my ring.

“Alex drew this,” I said and then stopped.

I turned the paper over. There was no signature, no sign of the artist. I pressed it to my heart.

Alex, my love , I prayed, tell me you are alive.

Tell me this is from you . The drawing was silent but my answer could wait.

Someone knew where I was. We were not alone.