“I know what it’s like to be angry with your father,” Alex said, though his own father only laid a hand on him when it was well deserved, and then it was always measured. “How has your father hurt your sister?”

Alex pretended not to see the tears that started spilling down the lad’s face and took a deep breath. This was even worse than he’d first thought.

“You’re a brave lad, but ye don’t have the size or the years to handle this problem yourself,” Alex said. “When our chieftain made me keeper of Dunfaileag Castle, he made the safety of every member of our clan here on North Uist my responsibility—that includes you and your sister. Ye must tell me what the trouble is so I can do my duty.”

“I don’t know exactly,” Seamus said, fidgeting. “But he gets drunk and sends me out of the cottage. He bars the door so I can’t get back in, but I can hear my sister screaming.”

Alex’s stomach turned sour. Oh, God, there was evil in this world.

“When he lets me back in,” Seamus said, his voice barely above a whisper, “Ùna is on the bed weeping. Da tells her to keep her mouth shut, or he’ll do it again.”

The man should go straight to hell, and Alex wanted to hurry him on his journey.

“Ye did well to tell me,” Alex said, and the lad’s shoulders relaxed as if a weight had been taken from them. “I’m going to pay a visit on your father.”

“He’s gone fishing in deep waters,” Seamus said. “We don’t expect him back for a few days.”

May he drown and save me the trouble.

“The two of ye will stay at the castle until I can sort this out with your father,” Alex said. “We’ll go get Ùna and your things now.”

“I don’t know if she’ll come,” Seamus said. “Men frighten her. Best let me talk with her first.”

“I’ll bring my wife,” Alex said. “She’ll be able to persuade Ùna.”

“But ye promised ye would tell no one!” Seamus’s eyes were panicked. “Ye gave me your word.”

“All right, I won’t tell my wife just yet,” Alex said, putting his hand up to calm the lad. “Go home and talk to Ùna, and I’ll come get the two of ye after supper.”

With their father out to sea, waiting a couple of hours should make no difference.

CHAPTER 42

I must see to a matter with one of the tenants,” Alex said at the end of supper. He got up and kissed his wife’s forehead. “It shouldn’t take long, but don’t wait up.”

The wind swept over the tall grass, making it move like an amber sea, as Alex crossed through it in the growing darkness. Ahead of him, weak candlelight shone through the window of the small cottage at the edge of the sea. Sadness seemed to weigh down its sagging thatched roof.

Alex knocked on the cottage’s weathered door. When his knock was met by silence, he knocked again. “Seamus, it’s me, open up.”

Silence again. Unease settled in Alex’s gut. He gave them another moment, and then he opened the door.

Alex was a warrior, and he’d fought since he was almost as young as Seamus. And yet, he stood staring for a long moment at the chaos in the one-room cottage before he could take it in. Questions flooded his mind as his gaze traveled over the broken crockery strewn across the floor, the broken table and overturned benches, before coming to rest on the body.

Seamus’s father lay on his back in a pool of blood with a knife stuck in the middle of his chest.

The smell of burning herring finally penetrated Alex’s thoughts. As he crossed the small room to the hearth, he wrapped his shirt around his hand, then lifted the flaming pan from its hook over the fire and set it on the dirt floor. The pan hissed and smoked as he doused the flame with a jug of water that had miraculously survived the maelstrom.

Alex waved the smoke away from his face and looked about the cottage again. Mother, Mary of God, where were the children?

His heart missed a beat when he saw a still, bare foot under the edge of the bed. When he dropped to his knees amid the broken crockery, he saw a tangle of arms and legs under the bed. He prayed hard for a sign of life.

“’Tis safe to come out,” he said, speaking in a low voice. “It’s me, Alex.”

When Seamus’s head and shoulders popped out from under the bed, relief coursed through Alex’s body. He pulled Seamus out and held him on his lap as if he were a bairn Sorcha’s age.

Ùna rolled out from under the bed with a fire poker in her hand. The lass was covered in blood. When she saw Alex holding her brother, she blinked several times and then slowly dropped her arm with the poker to her side.

“I did it, not Seamus,” she said. “I killed him.”

“Ye had good cause, lass,” Alex said. “No one who knows what your father did to ye will blame ye.” Whether everyone would believe it was another question.

“I would die of shame if anyone knew,” Ùna said. “I don’t want anyone to know what he did. Not ever.”

Ùna had started shaking, and Alex did not have the heart to cause the lass any more suffering. He took a deep breath as it became clear what he would have to do.

“If you and your brother can pretend that none of this happened,” he said, “then no one need know that ye killed your father or why.”

Both of them nodded. Keeping secrets about what happened in this house was not new to them.

“I’ll take his body out to sea in his boat,” Alex said. “Fishermen are lost all the time. When he fails to return home in a week or two, folks will assume he drowned.”

Seamus and Ùna looked at Alex as if he were the second coming.

“Can ye clean up here while I’m gone?”

“Aye,” the girl said.

“Seamus, I’ll need a rope and a shovel,” Alex said, as he took off his boots. “Bring them down to the boat.”

Alex hefted the body over his shoulder and carried it down to the boat, which he found on the beach just below the cottage. Their father had kept the boat in such poor repair that none of the fishermen would be surprised when it washed up on shore with a hole in it. A body with a knife wound, however, could be a problem. Alex grunted as he lifted a heavy rock onto the boat.

Seamus came out of the darkness and put the shovel and rope in the boat.

“I’ll be back in a few hours.” Alex squeezed the lad’s shoulders. They felt frail and bony beneath his hands. “It will be all right.”

After sailing down the coast a bit, Alex took the boat straight out to sea for a mile or more. He tied the stone to the body and dumped them both over the side. Damned if he’d say a prayer for the man.

After ramming a hole in the boat with the shovel, Alex dove over the side. He was a strong swimmer, so the worst part of the long swim was the cold. Still, it seemed to take forever to reach shore. When he did, he was so cold he was shaking. He was barefoot and soaking wet, but he warmed up as he made the long walk back by starlight.

By the time he reached the cottage, the sky had the gray cast of predawn. Thankfully, the children—though Ùna was seventeen, Alex could not help thinking of her as a child—had a good fire going. Alex stood before it to dry his clothes as long as he dared.

“Ye did a good job cleaning up,” he said, as he put his boots on.

“I burned what I was wearing,” Ùna said.

“Good. Now get some rest.” They were both too pale and had dark circles under their eyes. “I’ll come back to check on ye tomorrow.”

Alex was exhausted when he returned to the castle just as dawn was breaking. The guards at the gate were men who had come with him from Skye. He suspected they might think he had been in some woman’s bed, as in former days, but he could not very well tell them he’d spent the night disposing of a body at sea—and he was too damned tired to think of a better explanation. He would set them straight in the morning.

Praise be to the saints that Glynis was a sound sleeper. All the same, before easing the bedchamber door open Alex took off his boots and then set them down carefully just inside the door. After hanging his damp clothes over a stool, Alex slipped under the bedclothes and wrapped himself around Glynis. After the hellish night, peacefulness settled over him, as it always did when he fell asleep with his wife in his arms.

*  *  *

Glynis lay on her side watching the pink dawn sky through the narrow window. Her husband’s arm felt heavy slung across her ribs. With every breath she took, the weight seemed to grow heavier and heavier until she felt as if she were wheezing. But she knew it was not his arm, but the weight on her heart that made it so hard to breathe.

She told herself not to rush to judgment. There could be a dozen reasons why Alex crept into bed with the dawn. And yet, she could think of only one. It throbbed in her head. Another woman, another woman.

She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed. Please, God, don’t let it be true.

If Alex had planned to meet a lover, that would explain why he was distracted all through supper last night. And then there was his vague explanation about needing to visit a tenant, something he never did in the evening. And his parting words: Don’t wait up.

Alex was sleeping like the dead—or like a man who had spent the night sating himself.

Glynis could not lie here a moment longer waiting for Alex to wake up and tell her where he’d been all night. When she threw off the bedclothes and sat up, the first thing she saw was his boots. Alex had stood them neatly by the door instead of tossing them on the floor by the bed as he always did.

Her husband had taken pains not to wake her when he came in.

Glynis was so upset that the thought of breakfast made her ill. After grabbing an oatcake for her pocket from the kitchen, she headed out for a walk on the beach. She bid good day to the men on guard as she started through the gate, then she stopped.