“And, at first, it did seem that me work in His name had done even more good than I’d hoped. Some o’ the other bastard MacDonalds who had their own cottages and did no’ share the meal had up and fled in fear o’ God’s wrath when they heard tell o’ so many dying. Of those who remained, some were murdered by reivers or other clans, but all fled eventually, either through death or on their own feet. O’ course some came to MacKay, and I kept a close eye on them, killin’ any who showed signs o’ lustin’ and such. Real careful like though,” she assured her. “An accident here, an accident there.”
Claray closed her eyes briefly as she thought of those poor people, and then Mhairi clucked with disgust and said, “I’ve passed twenty-two years thinkin’ I’d done well, then one fine mornin’ the MacKay and his wife rode out with their daughter and a hundred men. No one kenned what was happening except that a messenger had come from the Buchanans.”
She sighed unhappily. “And then two soldiers returned. They were exhausted, they were. Had ridden night and day to bring us the news that Bryson MacDonald yet lived. That he’d survived that night and had been smuggled out to Sinclair to live under a different name to keep him safe until he was an adult and could claim Deagh Fhortan and rebuild it to its former glory. They said all MacDonalds who wished to join him should pack up and be ready to go when we got word that they were passin’ MacKay.
“Well,” she said grimly. “I kenned then that I had to come finish me work. God would no’ look kindly on me did I no’ complete it. So, I packed up me things and left with the others when two more soldiers arrived to tell us ’twas time to go. And here we are,” she said with a pleasant smile. “I’ll kill ye, and then him, and then me work’ll be done.
“At least, I think ’twill be done,” Mhairi added with an uncertain frown. “I do wonder if I should no’ kill the remaining MacDonalds too with another dose o’ poison to the wine and ale just to be sure I’m really finished.” She pondered that briefly, and then muttered, “I’ll have to think on that. I’ve still a little time. So long as I do it ere anyone learns the two o’ ye are dead, it should work fine.”
Claray stared at her with bewilderment. “But ye’re a MacDonald too. How could ye kill yer entire clan like this?”
“I’m no’ a MacDonald,” she snapped, suddenly furious again. “I was a Douglas. I just married a MacDonald. I thought him a fine man at the time, hardworkin’ and kind. But the bastard was as evil as everyone else here. Makin’ me enjoy the beddin’ and imperilin’ me immortal soul,” she said with disgust. “Riddin’ the earth o’ him and all the other carnal animals here was the only way to redeem meself and me son in God’s eyes.”
“Yer son?” Claray asked with surprise.
“Aye. I was with child when I started the purge o’ MacDonalds. I did no’ ken until a little after. At first, I thought to kill the bairn the moment he was born, but I could no’ do it. I’ve raised him good and proper since though, puttin’ the fear o’ God in him. Between that and finishin’ me work here I hope to save both our souls.”
Claray sank back in the chair with a small sigh as she thought of the hell this woman must have put her son through with her “putting the fear o’ God in him.” What would that include from a woman who was running about murdering unsuspecting MacDonalds who were unfortunate enough to choose MacKay for their temporary home and who she deemed sinners? Claray was also more than a little distressed to recognize part of herself in the woman. She had worried for her soul because she’d enjoyed the bedding too. But where she’d accepted that it must be all right because she’d vowed to obey Conall and he’d ordered her to enjoy it, this woman had . . . well, she’d lost her mind as far as Claray could tell. Mhairi believed that enjoying the bedding was a sin that would see her soul in hell, but that killing so many innocent people would redeem her. It was madness.
“Now,” Mhairi muttered, straightening to approach her, knife in hand. “Sadly, because I did no’ eradicate the blight as I’d originally thought, he’s managed to infect ye with his corruption and lustful ways. And I’m sorry fer that lass. I truly am. But ye’ve surely suffered enough, and ’tis time I put ye out o’ yer misery.”
Claray’s eyes widened with horror when the woman raised the knife overhead. When Mhairi started to plunge it downward, she instinctively threw her weight to the side, trying to get out of the way.
Chapter 25
“Nightshade?” Conall echoed with dismay.
“Aye,” Allistair said miserably. “I’m sorry, m’laird. I do no’ ken how it got into Stubborn Bastard’s stall. I mean, someone must ha’e put it in there, but I ha’e been here all day and I do no’ ken how it was put in without me seein’. And I do no’ ken how long ’twas in with him ere I noticed.”
Conall waved that away and asked the question he thought more important at the moment. “Did he eat any o’ it?”
Allistair peered into the stall and shook his head sadly. “I do no’ ken.”
Conall wanted to ask if there was anything the man did ken, but bit back his temper, and stared at Stubborn Bastard unhappily.
“Nightshade’ll kill a horse as sure as it does people,” Roderick said in a solemn rumble.
“Aye,” Payton agreed. “And I’m thinkin’ Claray would be fair distraught if she lost her horse.”
Conall ran a hand wearily through his hair, knowing everything they said was true.
“Do ye think we should tell Lady Claray?” Allistair asked reluctantly. “I mean, we do no’ even ken if he ate any. Mayhap he did no’, and ’twill be fine,” he said hopefully.
“Mayhap,” Conall muttered, hoping that would be the case. He was not eager to be the bearer of these particular tidings to Claray. She loved the big, dumb horse, and would most like blame him for having the beast moved to a stall and out of the way of the men working. He’d insisted on it after Stubborn Bastard had taken a bite out of one of the men’s arses when he’d got in the way of the horse following Claray. She hadn’t been pleased at his being locked up in a stall, but had understood. That understanding would go out the window though if the great beast died.
“Christ!” he muttered with disgust. “Nightshade. Why the hell would anyone want to kill the horse?”
“Ye mean aside from the poor bastard he bit?” Roderick asked dryly.
Conall grimaced at the words.
“M’laird?” Allistair queried. “Do we ha’e to tell her?”
“I’m thinkin’ ye probably should.”
Conall turned sharply at those apologetic words to see Hamish standing at the entrance to the stables, his concerned gaze on Stubborn Bastard. Obviously, he’d been standing there long enough to understand what was happening.
After a hesitation, Conall shook his head. “There’s no sense upsettin’ her when it may no’ be necessary.”
“Aye. He may no’ have even eaten any of the nightshade,” Allistair pointed out with a desperation Conall understood. The stable master adored Claray for both her skill with animals, and for insisting they build a room onto the stables for him to sleep in. She was a goddess in the stable master’s eyes and he did not want to disappoint her any more than Conall did.