Page 23 of Highlander’s Devious Ally

When he woke, his head was throbbing with pain, and as he tried to sit up, a sharp needle of it went through his head, but he persevered and looked around for Ranald. He was only a few yards away, lying face down on the dirt, motionless. When Findlay saw Ranald he knew at once he was dead, although there was not a mark on his body.

Findlay checked the pulse at his throat just to be sure, then shook him vigorously for a moment, trying to bring life back into the body that would never breathe again. He picked up Ranald’s hand and held it against his face, weeping bitterly till he had no tears left. It was only then that he noticed that Sheba was missing, then he knew who had killed his beloved brother, and a black, bitter rage filled him. A moment later this was confirmed as he saw a piece of cloth under Ranald’s body and as he pulled it out he saw part of the crest of the McCauley clan, which the guards carried whenever they were accompanying the Laird.

Pain overtook him. He felt like destroying everything he saw before him. Life had no meaning.

It was then that he swore his revenge.

13

Planning and Execution

Lyall had never seen such hate in a man’s face before. Findlay was weeping tears of rage, and was thumping one fist into the palm of the other as though he were punching Jock’s face. Lyall put his hand on Findlay’s to still his motions, but he swiped it away, and Lyall concluded that it was something he did when he thought about Ranald’s death.

“I hate him with every fiber of my being,” Findlay hissed, “and I spent the first weeks after Ranald died fantasizing about ways to torture and kill him. I hardly ate, hardly slept. I nearly made myself ill. My uncle and aunt were very concerned about me, till one day I realized that I was killing myself, and that would mean that Jock McCauley had killed both the McBlain brothers and our name would die. I had sworn revenge, and now I was going to get it.”

“How did you get him to take you in?” Lyall asked.

“I followed him every chance that I could,” he replied, “and I gradually came to know what kind of person he likes, does not like, who is worthwhile currying favors from, and who he can use. He uses people as informants and spies, and as menials. He picks up waifs and strays like me and makes them do dirty jobs just so they have something to eat, or so you would think. The truth is he loves to bully people.

“I got into his household by acting like a simpleton begging by the side of the road for something to eat, and he pretended to take pity on me. It was all I could do to keep it up, because M'Laird was riding Sheba, Ranald’s horse, and I would happily have beaten him to a pulp if I could. But I must be a good actor, for he took me into his service.” Findlay paused for a moment, apparently thinking, then he laughed in a gloating fashion. “Because I am apparently so dense, there are many things that I can do which no one thinks I am capable of.”

“Such as?” Lyall asked, intrigued.

“I put antimony in his wine one evening,” he replied, smiling. “Not enough to kill him, but enough to keep him in the privy for a week! Nobody ever suspects me of anything, although I know they pity me. I am treated like a pet.”

“Why do you not just kill him?” Lyall asked, puzzled. “You could have done it easily.”

“I will, but first I want to ruin him,” Lyall resumed the angry motion of his hands again. “I will show everyone what an evil black-hearted monster he is. Men like him have to be exposed.”

“What do you intend to do?” Lyall asked.

“Wait and see,” Findlay said grimly.

They sat talking for a while, each telling the story of their lives and their hopes for the future. Findlay had a fund of stories about Ranald, and it was evident that his brother’s death had left a void in Findlay’s life that could only be filled by the death of Jock McCauley. At the same time, both were aware that a bond had formed between them. Whatever happened in the future, a friendship had been forged.

Just before the sun rose, while there was still only a sliver of light on the horizon, they prepared to leave so that Findlay would not be missed. In the early morning, his first duty was to empty the servants’ chamber pots.

“There is one thing I must tell you,” Findlay said heavily. “You must be prepared to get your forces ready to free Ailith this afternoon.”

Lyall looked at Findlay’s grim face and felt as if a boulder had settled in his stomach. “Why?” he asked, dreading the answer.

“Because Laird Jock is not the only one with spies,” Findlay replied enigmatically. “Something is being planned for today—all the signs are there. There are preparations being made for a feast in the castle. I have heard nothing for certain, but I strongly suspect that he is going to take Ailith and force her to marry him, and the food is for the marriage feast.”

Lyall felt a surge of anger so strong that he could hardly contain it. He gave an almighty roar that was half pain and half rage before Findlay gripped his upper arms.

“Concentrate on mustering your men,” he advised. “I will join you later. Now go!”

“Thank you,” Lyall replied, grasping the other man’s hand. Then he frowned, puzzled. “You could have said this a while ago. Why did you wait so long to tell me?”

“You still have enough time to go and get your men,” Findlay replied, then he sighed. “I just wanted to talk for a while to someone who did not speak to me like an idiot.”

Ailith’s hands were so painful that she could go on no longer. She had used a little of her precious drinking water to wash them, but unless the earth suddenly gave way she doubted if she could dig her way out before she starved to death.

She had made a gap of just over a foot wide under the edge of the stones, but she knew that soon she would have to dig them out without the guards seeing her. They were heavy and she was weak from hunger, fatigue, and pain.

She sighed. Perhaps she should give in and marry Jock; perhaps he would not be too bad a husband. Then she shook her head, for she knew that it was her despair speaking. If Jock tried to take her by force she would find some way to kill herself, she vowed, because being married to him would be like a living death anyway. She lay back on the mattress and closed her eyes, then fell into an exhausted stupor. She no longer cared what happened to her. Jock had broken her at last.

At that moment, her prospective bridegroom was on his way to see Ailith with twelve of his best men and a priest. Jock was dressed in his best kilt and had a standard bearer on each side of him bearing the crest of his clan, and twelve of his best men, fully armed. He could hardly wait; he was feeling gleeful, triumphant, and full of lust, because tonight Ailith was going to be his, even if she fought, because he was going to tie her to the bed.