Dawn on a Distant Shore
Page 183

How perfectly calm he was, Elizabeth thought. And why not? Isabel and Simon were dead, and unable to call him to account.
Carryck looked so very tired. "Is there any evidence for yer charges, Mrs. Bonner? Witnesses?"
"No doubt she'll call Walter Campbell here tae swear the truth o' it," Moncrieff said angrily.
A voice rose up, high and clear. "Simon tolt me what happened. Does that make me a witness?" Jennet seemed as tiny and unsubstantial as a fairy as she came down the hall with Robbie MacLachlan, but her voice carried true.
"Come here, Jennet," said Carryck. His tone still weary, but there was something warm in it now. "Come here, lass, and tell me what ye heard."
Jennet stopped at the end of the table, and she looked at each of them in turn. When she reached Hannah, she smiled.
"Ye've got them aa taegither finally, yer kin."
"Yes," said Hannah.
"I'm glad for ye."
Hannah left Hawkeye's side and went to stand between Jennet and Robbie.
"What did Simon tell ye, lass?" Carryck asked.
She kept her eyes fixed on the earl, as if the sight of him alone could bring this story out of her. "Simon tolt me that the factor was fou' drunk, and he foucht wi' Lady Isabel on the road tae the village, and threw her doon and hurt her. He said, "She doesna want tae marry Moncrieff." He said that muny times."
"The lad was fevered," said Moncrieff, almost dully. "In a delirium."
"He wasna fevered," Jennet replied indignantly. "He wasna, no' when he tolt me. And he swore me tae secrecy and made me put my hand on the Holy Bible, and noo I'm forsworn and must burn in hell, but I canna keep still no langer." Her voice wavered, but she pushed on, her anger rising hot now as she turned to face Moncrieff. "Simon thoucht it was his fault for no' protectin' her, and my mither thoucht it was her Isabel was runnin' from, but it was you. Ye couldna ha' the laird's dauchter and sae ye hurt her, and noo she's deid and ye'll burn in hell, too, for what ye did tae her and tae my brither."
"My lord Earl," Moncrieff said stiffly. "Can ye take the word o' a hysterical child ower my own?"
Carryck rose up to his full height. "She's my own flesh and bluid, Angus."
"She's your bastard, my lord."
Carryck said, "I've lost one dauchter. I willna lose anither. I'll marry Jean and make Jennet my heir."
Perspiration was beading on Moncrieff's upper lip and brow as he struggled for his composure. "Breadalbane will challenge ye in the courts."
"Aye. What of it?"
"My lord," said Moncrieff, his voice cracking. "Will ye gamble everythin' for a whore?"
The word seemed to echo down the hall. The color drained from Carryck's face to be replaced by a cold fury, the kind of rage that drives men to murder. Moncrieff saw it, too, and he drew in a hitching breath and let it go again as Carryck began to speak.
He said, "I find ye guilty o' rape on my dauchter. I find mysel' guilty o' puttin' my trust in a coward and a traitor. It is my punishment tae live knowin' tha' I let ye drive my dauchter awa', but ye'll hang on the morrow."
Moncrieff moved so fast that later Elizabeth would never be clear on exactly how it had all come to pass. His arm came up from his side with a glint of flashing metal and Elizabeth bent over in her chair to cover Lily, seeing Curiosity do the same with Daniel and taking with her a single glimpse of Jennet's blond head in the line of fire, with Hannah beside her. Oh, God, Hannah beside her. The men were scrambling, Nathaniel throwing himself across the table at Moncrieff but too late: the shot rang through the room and somebody screamed. Me, thought Elizabeth, I screamed. A second shot from the other end of the hall and a soft sound of surprise, a rush of breath followed by ringing silence. Elizabeth looked up from where she cowered on the floor, and she watched Angus Moncrieff fall, his throat opening like a flower, bright red petals cascading all around him.
Hannah was keening, a high, sorrowful sound. Curiosity grabbed Elizabeth's arm and pulled her to her feet to thrust Daniel at her. "Take your son," she said firmly. "Take him, now." And she climbed over Moncrieff's body--still twitching, Elizabeth saw, and drew away--in her rush toward the girls.
"Elizabeth." Nathaniel and Will together at her side, trying to lead her away. Both the babies walling, but Nathaniel whispered to them, wheest, and wheest, and then he was leading her to a chair near the door. "Come, come. Sit here. Sit down."
"Is she dead? Is Jennet dead? Is Hannah--"
He put his hands on her face. She had rarely seen him so pale, except when he was gun-shot himself.
"No," he said. "Neither of them hurt, not Jennet, not Hannah."
"But listen to her." She said this calmly, to make him hear what she could hear: Hannah's heart breaking and Hawkeye singing, very softly. A melody she knew; one she did not want to hear.
"Who?" she asked. "Whose death song?"
"Robbie's," Nathaniel said. "He stepped in front of the girls and the bullet caught him in the chest."
"But--" She looked over her shoulder at Moncrieff, curled like a newborn in his own blood. His brother had come to pray over him. He made the sign of the cross.
"Jean Hope," said Will. "It was Jean Hope who shot him."
Nathaniel said, "She took her revenge, and Isabel's. And ours, too."