“Aye.” Hamish held his gaze. “What ye daenae ken is what Malcolm’s faither did before the rebellion. Before any of it. He went to a man’s holdin’ in the night. Killed him and his wife. Took the land and everythin’ on it. And left their infant son at a Laird’s doorstep, because a dead man has no claim and a baby cannae speak for himself.”
Alasdair said nothing.
“That Laird was yer father.”
The wind moved through the heather, and neither of them spoke.
“Hamish?” Alasdair had been following the thread of the story well enough, but now, he was confused.
“That infant was me.”
Alasdair stood very still. He looked at Hamish, and his closest friend looked back at him and waited, letting him have the moment to comprehend.
“Say that again,” Alasdair said.
“The man Malcolm’s faither killed in the night,” Hamish said. “Those were me parents. The holdin’ he took was mine by birth. And then yer faither took me in, nae kennin’ any of it, nae kennin’ where I’d come from or what had been done to get me to his doorstep.” His jaw was tight. “I found this out tonight. Ina hollow in the hills. From three cold men who’ve been waitin’ years for Malcolm to come good on whatever he promised them.”
Alasdair put his hands on the back of his neck and looked at the sky for a moment.
“The Lairdship Malcolm wants…” he said.
“Was never his to claim,” Hamish finished. “And it was never yers to give me, because ye didnae ken ye had it. It was mine already. His father stole it. Yers took it back without kennin’ where it came from. And Malcolm grew up kennin’ only one half of the story, that yer family executed his faither. Thinkin’ it was injustice. Buildin’ it into a grievance he could spend thirty years sharpenin’ in the dark while sittin’ at yer table and smilin’.”
“How long has he kent the truth?” Alasdair said.
“The men in the hollow didnae say. Long enough to plan this.”
A silence. The heather moved around them in the wind.
“The fire,” Alasdair said.
“He needed me out of the castle before I could follow any thread back to him. And he needed the castle in chaos. Needed people runnin’ and shoutin’ and nae watchin’ where he went.”
“And every warnin’ he gave in council about Isobel.” Alasdair’s jaw was tight. “Every seed of doubt about her family, about Lowland loyalties, about the marriage being a weakness. I thought he was bein’ cautious. But he was buildin’ a record.” He looked at Hamish. “If somethin’ happened to her, the story already existed. The Lowland bride brought trouble with her. The agreement between me and her family was never sound. And if she disappeared and I was left without a wife and an heir…”
“The Lairdship reverts,” Hamish said. “His claim through the old line. Everythin’ absorbed quietly before anyone thinks to ask the right questions.”
“And me claim was built on land that was already stolen,” Alasdair said. He said it quietly to himself as much as to Hamish.
“Aye.”
Another silence.
“We’ll deal with that,” Alasdair said. “After.”
“Aye,” Hamish agreed. “After.”
“How long has she been out here?”
“Close to two hours. Maybe more.”
Alasdair looked east at the darkness.
“There’s blood on the stone by the passage door,” he said. “She hit him with somethin’ before he got her out.”
“Seems like somethin’ yer bride might do,” Hamish said simply.
“I’m going after them.”