Page 31 of Highlander’s Devious Ally

Jock was feeling very sorry for himself. He ached all over, and his jaw felt as though it were on fire. Ailith had begged Lyall to allow him a little milk of the poppy to relieve his suffering, but he had refused, pointing out that her hands were still scabbed from her attempt to escape from him. She detested him, but she could not bear to think of any creature suffering, not even Jock. However, Lyall’s decision was final.

Jock had seen Ailith once, when she came in with Lyall, but he could not speak to her and she did not talk to him either, merely stared at him with naked hatred in her eyes for the ten minutes she was there. This was the woman he had lusted after body and soul, but there was no way he could have her now; she was as out of reach as the stars in the sky. For a fleeting moment he had felt regret as he watched her graceful form and lovely face, but she had been the cause of his downfall and he would never forgive her.

All he had to eat was a thin vegetable soup which he somehow managed to strain through his teeth, and a cup of milk. He was not allowed to eat any solid food at all, so he was always hungry and permanently dirty, since Lyall would not allow him to wash.

“He will suffer as you suffered for a week, Ailie,” Lyall said grimly. “And I hope he enjoys it as much as you did.”

They were all sitting at the breakfast table the day after Findly had been their guest for dinner.

“Mister Galloway,” Lyall said heavily, “I am going to the dungeons. Do you want to come with me?”

Matthew shot up from his chair. “Indeed I do!” he said ferociously. “I have never wanted anything more!”

He was ahead of Lyall as they left the dining room, and preceded him down the stairs too, until they came to the gates of the dungeon. Lyall stopped him there.

“I want you to calm down,” he said quietly. “You do not want him to see how upset you are, so be the better man and be dignified. Understand?”

“I hope I can do it,” Matthew replied, sighing. “If I cannot I will walk away.”

“Good man,” Lyall patted his shoulder.

Lyall need not have worried about Matthew Galloway, because when he saw Jock he did not rant or roar or even rattle the cell bars. He laughed, and laughed and laughed at the ragged figure in front of him. He laughed until tears were running down his cheeks and his stomach was sore. When he stopped, he wiped his eyes and pointed at Jock. “And this is the man I chose for my daughter,” he said, shaking his head. “I will apologize to her again. I must have been out of my wits.”

Jock looked back at him in mute frustration. He would love to have defended himself with his fists, but that was now impossible, and all he could do now was glare at Matthew in impotent rage.

Just then, Findlay came in, hand in hand with a handsome dark woman, who looked so like him it was obvious that they were related. She was wearing a severe black dress, as if she were in mourning.“Lyall, Mister Galloway, this is my sister Marion,” he said, smiling. “Lyall, I hope you don’t mind me inviting her without my permission, but she has something to tell us.”

“Not at all,” Lyall smiled confused and surprised. He bowed and kissed her hand. “How can I help you, Mistress?”

Marion looked past Lyall to Jock, whose face was a mask of terror. “Have you worked it out yet M'Laird?” she asked as if she was talking to a child. “Daft Finn and Madam Marion are twin sister and brother, born from the same womb at the same time.” She held up a ledger bound in black leather. “In here are all Laird Jock’s secrets, gentlemen, all the bribes, blackmails, extortions which he told me over the years. He gave me the information freely, but he had no idea I had written it down.”

Lyall was puzzled. “But if you did not torture him, how did you get it?” he asked. “He would not just tell you.”

“Hmmm…” Marion thought for a moment. “When I say I did not torture him it is not exactly true. I did inflict pain, and Jock likes pain, but only from women, and only on his own terms. So I introduced myself to him one night in a ceilidh and told him I had heard of his peculiar likes. Word about things like that leaks out.

“From then on he has paid me to inflict pain on him. I have never touched him with anything other than this,” she announced, producing a riding crop, “and I have never allowed him to lay a hand on me. I became his confidante, and he trusted me, which will be his undoing. He liked bragging about his nets as much as he liked performing them.” For a moment Lyall saw the discuss on her face.

“He killed my brother, and now I will kill him.” She handed the book to Lyall. “Now I must be going M'Laird, but you will find everything you need to destroy that man here. And take this.” She handed him the riding crop. “I will not be needing it again. Goodbye.”

She turned to go, but Lyall caught her arm. “Will you not stay for dinner and tell us more?” he asked. Marion McBlain fascinated him, and he knew that she would fascinate Ailie too.

“You have the book,” she reminded him. “You need no more.”

“Where are you going?” he asked, frowning. He wanted her to stay, not because he was attracted to her in any way, but because he could see the deep mind behind the dark eyes, and the thought of talking to her fascinated him.

“Back to the convent of Saint Ursula, M'Laird,” she replied, smiling at the shock on his face. “My name is Sister Agatha. Now I must go or I will miss Mass. Goodbye.”

“I will see her into the carriage and come back,” Findlay said. “I expect you have a lot of questions.”

“Hundreds,” Lyall said. And he did not mean only about Jock. Findlay had a sister? How many more secrets did he hide. They were a strange family indeed.

At that moment he realised she had probably become a nun after Ranald’s death. So Findlay had lost his sister too because of Jock. He could now underhand a little better why Findlay hated him so much. His brother’s murder had really ripped his family apart and left him with no purpose in life.

He took a deep breath, opened the book and began to read. First his eyes widened, then his face turned to a stony mask of anger. There, in Marion’s strong, bold script was the date of every crime Jock had ever committed, from blackmail to bribery to fraud, extortion, and even rape. He had apparently only killed once—Ranald—but the rest of his crimes numbered in the hundreds, and some of them had been committed against people he knew and admired.

“Well, Jock,” Lyall said, his tone deliberately casual, “I think I will allow you to bathe again, for your life is going to be a very short one and we may as well make you smell better for the rest of your days. I will also give you a Bible, so that you can read it and repent.”

Jock growled but could not say a word, so he sat fuming silently. Matthew had said little, but watched and decided that he should thank Lyall for saving Ailith from a fate worse than death.