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  “I did you great wrong. I admit it. You were my sister’s child. And you trusted me. But I was young. That night, when I came in from the tavern…” Emotion took hold of him again and he squeezed his eyes shut. “I was lost. My parents had refused to help me any longer. They took back their offer to allow me to continue studying art, saying I wasn’t fit. They said I should enlist, fight the French, become a man. A lass I was courting heard about it. She shut the door in my face. I was drinking.”

  “Stop!” Morrigan’s temper boiled over. She could take no more of his excuses. “Say what you did to me, to a girl not yet a woman. I want to hear you say it. What you did. You. Not your hard luck. Not your drinking. Not your failures. You.”

  Her anger sparked in the air between them, hanging like a cloud of fire.

  “Say what you did to me. The child of your dead sister. I want you to say it out loud. Admit what you did to me.”

  He threw his arm over his eyes.

  Morrigan waited. Tears of rage ran down her face, and she dashed them away. Finally, she could wait no more.

  “Coward.”

  She turned to leave, but he called after her.

  His words came, weak and rasping, slowly at first. Tears streamed down his face, staining his pillow. He broke down several times as he spoke, gasping and coughing. Morrigan waited and listened until he said out loud everything that he’d done to her that night.

  To hear it from his lips as he sobbed with shame had a calming effect on her. A blade slid out of her heart, slowly but steadily withdrawing from a painful, ever-present wound that had festered and never healed, no matter how hard she tried to ignore it.

  Once he was done talking, she turned toward the door.

  “I did you grievous wrong. But please … please forgive me,” he begged. “We’re family. Look at me. I’m dying. Give me peace in my final days.”

  Morrigan shook her head. “You robbed me of my childhood, of my innocence. You stole my belief in goodness, in love of family. I did nothing to deserve what happened. You are the one responsible for this moment. When you held me down, when you hurt me, you felt no pity, no compassion. I was not your sister’s child, your own kin. I was nothing. You took away my ability to feel pity or compassion for you.”

  Wemys gasped for air.

  “What is forgivable is a sin one person commits toward another. But I was not a person to you that night. And I cannot forgive you because I may never be whole again. I’ll never forgive you.”

  He started to say something, but a fit of coughing overtook him, and his wasted body shuddered. He reached a trembling hand for the cup by his bedside, but it was empty. He motioned toward a pitcher on the table across the room.

  Morrigan ignored him and walked out. She couldn’t bring herself to lessen his misery. Not for a single moment.

  CHAPTER 20

  AIDAN

  “All rise for Lord Ruthven.”

  The justice made his way to his seat on the elevated dais, and the courtroom settled in. Aidan looked over at the Chattan brothers, standing together in the dock. Desperate men, and the strain showed in their faces. The stakes could not be higher, and they knew it.

  Edmund Chattan was twenty-two years old. A weaver in Elgin, he was short and dark and wore a constant demeanor of unsmiling earnestness that, Aidan was certain, marked him even in the best of times. His brother George was fierce and hotheaded, quick to fight and quick to forgive. The two young men were not complicated fellows, and he knew they were more worried about their aging father than their own future.

  Still, their long period of incarceration and the first day of trial had been hard on them.

  The charges of treason were heavy. Conspiring to devise plans to subvert the Constitution. Conspiring to murder the Military Governor of the Highlands and the Lord Mayor of Elgin and a dozen other charges.

  If they were found guilty of any one of them, the punishment would be swift and brutal. Aidan overheard that the plans were to erect a scaffold on Castle Hill for the execution. The Home Office wanted the spectacle to be as public as possible. The Chattan brothers were being portrayed as monsters, and their end would be seen as righteous, swift, and final.

  Aidan knew who was directing these dramatics. Sir Rupert Burney was sitting in the front corner seat of the spectators. He and the judge, Lord Ruthven, exchanged a discreet nod of greeting. Known for his speed and lack of mercy, the judge was the scourge of the Outer Court of Session in Edinburgh. Loose in his interpretation of law, careless of justice, Ruthven rode roughshod over the rights of the innocent.

  It was Lord Ruthven who was brought in to see that “justice” was done when young Hardie and Baird were duped into marching to the Carron Iron Works to seize weapons there. After a quick trial at Stirling, the two men were executed.

  Aidan knew the judge well from skirmishes they’d had previously in Edinburgh. He was not just merciless; he was a fawning tool of the Crown. The man had been maneuvering for years for a position on the High Court of Judiciary. Hanging these men—after finishing the case with an eloquent final address to the jury—would serve him well. He had no more thought of fairness for a defendant than a butcher had for a side of old mutton.

  As far as Aidan was concerned, there were only two monsters present in this courtroom, and one of them was presiding over this sham of a trial. The other, Sir Rupert Burney, sat wearing the alert look of a fox about to devour a hen he’d made off with. And he was not about to let this prize get away.

  Lord Ruthven peered over his spectacles at his courtroom. Everyone was in place. Two journalists from government-supporting newspapers were in attendance, as they had been the first day of the trial.

  Ruthven turned his attention to Aidan, gesturing for him to stand. “Before we begin today, Mr. Grant, I’m warning you that I’ll not put up with your disruptions and the verbal gymnastics with which you clearly attempted to confuse the jury. Neither will this trial be used as a platform for your radical views. This is a court of law, sir. I insist that your addresses be pertinent to the grave matter your clients have been charged with. Do I make myself clear?”

  Aidan scoffed, making certain his disdain was evident. “Since you appear to have brought your schoolmaster’s rod to court with you this morning, Your Lordship, let me remind you that my duty here is not to sit by and allow my clients to be given short shrift by the prosecution nor anyone else … sir.”

  Yesterday, the groundwork for this mockery of justice had been established. After the jury was seated and the charges explained, the prosecution had made a daylong presentation of irrelevant argument, fabricated evidence, falsified documents and letters, and hearsay testimony sworn to by lying witnesses who’d obviously been coached and paid for their perjury. Aidan had spent most of the time on his feet, objecting and arguing with both the judge and the prosecutor. Once, when he’d caught his opponent directing the most condescending of smirks toward him, he’d been sorely tempted to drag the barrister over the table and thrash him. Instead, Aidan had to be satisfied with simply crushing him with a verbal assault that left the man ashen and humiliated.

  “If you are suggesting, sir…” Ruthven sputtered angrily. “If you are suggesting that this court is interested in anything but the even-handed dispensation of justice, then your defense of these men shows a warped bias that will not be tolerated.”

  “My lord, I have not even begun my defense, so I question such an expressed judgment of ‘warped bias’ on the part of the court.”

  “Take care, Mr. Grant. Your attitude is veering dangerously close to contempt of this court. You are treading on exceptionally thin ice.”

  “Pray understand, my lord, that when it comes to contempt, I make a clear distinction between the court and the individuals present.”

  Aidan thought for a moment that, judging from the scarlet color of Lord Ruthven’s face, his judicial wig might burst into flames. He was treading close to the line, but Aidan knew exactly where that line was located. If he
nudged a bit over it, he was willing to take the risk. Arrogant bullies like Ruthven needed to be kept off-balance, even in their own court.

  Especially in their own court.

  While the judge was still searching for the correct words of admonishment, Aidan gestured toward the wide-eyed jury and the prosecutor, who was staring stony-faced at the table before him.

  “If Your Lordship wishes,” Aidan said calmly, “I am prepared to begin my defense.”

  Hardly happy with the exchange, Lord Ruthven glared at him for a full minute before nodding curtly. “Proceed.”

  Aidan looked casually at the notes he had spread on the table. At the back of the courtroom, the door opened, and two men entered, carrying satchels. He turned and gestured to the chairs reserved for the press.

  “See here,” the judge snapped. “Who are you?”

  “Journalists, my lord,” Aidan replied.

  “I’m not addressing you,” Ruthven stormed, turning his attention to the newcomers. “Whom do you represent?”

  “The Edinburgh Review, Your Lordship,” one replied.

  “The Scotsman, my lord,” said the other.

  The judge scowled at them before glancing at Sir Rupert.

  “Is there a problem, my lord?” Aidan asked innocently. He knew perfectly well the problem. They were independent publications, highly critical of Parliament and Crown policies in Scotland.

  Before Ruthven could respond, the door opened again, and two more men appeared and made their way toward the press section.

  The judge sat back in his chair, his gaze following them as if they were pheasants fluttering into range.

  “And you two,” he snapped. “Journalists?”

  “Aye, my lord,” they answered in unison.

  “The Manchester Observer.”

  “The Times of London, Your Lordship.”

  Ruthven swung his killing stare to Aidan. “Your work, I presume.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean, sir. But freedom of the press is one of bulwarks upon which our society exists. Even though certain branches of our current government see fit to manipulate and place restraints on our newspapers, the traditions of our noble land pertaining to such a valuable and venerable institution—”

  “Enough! I need no lecture from you, Mr. Grant.”

  The judge adjusted his gown and, resting his elbows on the table, shot a look at Sir Rupert over his clasped hands. He was not difficult to read. Ruthven was trying to see how this could be turned to his own advantage.

  When the judge spoke again, he suddenly sounded like a gracious host.

  “This court welcomes the members of the press who have come so far to bear witness to the justice of our system, and who will undoubtedly report the fair and impartial treatment that these defendants receive. And you may quote me, gentlemen.”

  “If I may proceed then, Your Lordship.”

  “The court is looking forward to hearing your defense, Mr. Grant.”

  Aidan gestured to the bailiff. “I’d like to call Robert Wemys to the stand.”

  At the back of the courtroom, the door opened, and the bailiff called for the witness.

  A low rumble of murmur and whispered questions swept through the gallery. The pitch and volume rose, and Aidan didn’t need to turn around to know that Sebastian had entered, supporting Wemys.

  “I believe this witness will shed a great deal of light on this case, my lord, as well as a number of other cases.”

  Aidan looked up in time to see Sir Rupert Burney quietly whispering directions into the ear of a clerk, who immediately slipped out of the courtroom.

  Lord Ruthven was staring at the spymaster, unsure of what threat this witness presented, but astute enough to realize that a problem had arisen.

  Aidan watched as Sir Rupert’s eyes slid expressively from the judge toward the press section.

  Sebastian and Wemys reached the defense table. The journey to Inverness had taken its toll on the dying man. His face was grey, his breathing shallow and forced. His body seemed to have collapsed in on itself, and his clothing hung loosely from his bony shoulders. Sebastian leaned him against the defense table.

  “Brace yourself, Wemys,” Aidan whispered. “This is the moment in which you redeem your entire miserable life.”

  “If that were only so,” he rasped.

  Across the aisle, the prosecutor looked on blankly, unaware of who Wemys was but clearly unconcerned by the appearance of the surprise witness.

  On the far side of the gallery, the motioning of Sir Rupert’s hand toward the door of the judge’s chambers was discreet but effective. Rising calmly, as if he’d just remembered another engagement, he sauntered out of the courtroom. But as he left, Sir Rupert directed a momentary and deadly glance at Aidan.

  “The court will take a brief recess,” the judge announced, standing and hurrying from the courtroom before anyone could move.

  Aidan helped lower Wemys into a chair at the defense table. Minutes ticked by.

  The audience in the gallery was growing louder, and the clearly bewildered members of the jury were glancing at the judge’s door, wondering what was causing the delay. In the dock, the faces of the Chattan brothers showed their confusion.

  Searc Mackintosh was sitting toward the back with the shipowner Captain Kenedy and another man that Aidan didn’t know. Searc’s bristly eyebrows were darting around the courtroom, taking in everything.

  Finally, the door of the judge’s chambers opened, and Lord Ruthven reappeared, looking like he’d been struck by lightning. He staggered to his chair and sat down heavily. Silence fell like a blanket over the room. Every eye was on him. He looked vaguely at the members of the press and pushed a stack of papers around on his table. Gathering himself, he was all business when he finally addressed the prosecutor.

  “I must say that I am appalled, sir, by the shoddy preparation of this case. In fact, it has become abundantly clear that evidence of wrongdoing on the part of these two weavers has been tragically exaggerated.” He straightened his judicial wig and then shook his head. “I’ll not allow these proceedings to continue. Edmund Chattan. George Chattan. The charges against you are dismissed. You are free to go. Bailiff, release the jury. Court is adjourned. God save the King.”

  Everyone in the courtroom watched in silent disbelief as Lord Ruthven rose and scuttled off. No one moved for a long moment. Then, suddenly, the courtroom erupted in shocked cries.

  Aidan turned to Sebastian. “Sir Rupert was willing to surrender the field, rather than have Wemys’s testimony go into the record.”

  “That worked out well,” Sebastian responded.

  Friends surrounded the two weavers, whose faces showed that they still didn’t believe they were free.

  Aidan drew Sebastian aside. “Take care of our prize witness. Sir Rupert’s men may take a run at him before you get ten paces from the Tolbooth. Get him to Searc’s house. I’ll send these distinguished members of the press after you. We don’t want them to think they traveled all this way for nothing.”

  “I’ll make sure they hear what Wemys has to say.” Sebastian took hold of Aidan’s arm. “Take care, big brother. You made a deadly enemy today.”

  Suddenly, the roar of a crowd outside could be heard.

  “What’s that?” Aidan asked.

  “I believe your public has just learned the outcome of the trial,” his brother said wryly. “You’re a celebrity now, God help us.”

  CHAPTER 21

  MORRIGAN

  Morrigan had wanted to go to Inverness and watch the trial, but everyone had been adamantly against it. Isabella and Cinaed knew all about her brush with Sir Rupert.

  Now, Aidan Grant was a hero across the Highlands, and soon his fame would spread throughout Scotland. He was the brilliant barrister who had cleverly bested Sir Rupert Burney and the most brutal judge in all of Britain in one trial. The Chattan brothers were free and had returned to Elgin to a hero’s welcome.

  Aidan’s name would soon be
in every newspaper from Inverness to London. The same journalists who’d interviewed Wemys were also going to print the court proceedings. They were planning to publish additional articles about the government’s underhanded methods of coercion and entrapment. One of the reporters told Sebastian that a Glasgow printer was publishing a pamphlet about a spy there named Alexander Richmond. Now, to be sure, there would be more. And in every publication Aidan was to be proclaimed as a champion of the people.

  Even though she admired Aidan’s accomplishment, now that he’d returned, Morrigan kept her distance from him. Since the night of the Samhain celebrations, she’d avoided speaking to him. She was careful that they wouldn’t be caught alone.

  It hurt her that their lives had to be like this, but she knew it would be less painful in the long run. Aidan was leaving for Edinburgh, and Morrigan didn’t know when he’d be back. She didn’t know if they’d ever see each other again. And even if they did, she had her doubts that their friendship would survive what happened on the night of Samhain.

  It was only a kiss, she kept telling herself. One that she’d ended in panic. But there was more to it, more going on between them. She couldn’t quiet her emotions, didn’t know how to stop thinking of him. The affection she carried for this man had no future, but Morrigan didn’t know how to push him from her heart and close the door.

  At dawn on the day he was to leave, she fled her room and went out to the training yard. The sky was steel grey and threatened rain. It didn’t matter. She needed to let out her frustrations, and the battered pell took another beating from her. Every attack, however, every blow—right and left, slash and kick and stab—only managed to trigger another memory of him. No matter how hard she hit, no matter how breathless and light-headed she became from the exertion, she couldn’t push Aidan’s face from her thoughts.

  Every look they exchanged was charged with meaning. She would never forget their fight in the alleyway. Or the way he came after her the first day he arrived at Dalmigavie. Or the morning when the two of them sparred with dirks and she again blackened his eye. His cleverness enchanted her. His wit at Barn Hill caught her off guard. He never forgot a conversation. Every word she said to him came back on her. Morrigan was never as well read as Maisie, or as accomplished as Isabella, but Aidan made her feel smart. Capable. He challenged her to think beyond the training yard.