Page 44 of Taming the Highland Misfits
“No—no!” Alec cried. “ I will tell ye! Dinnae hurt him!”
Isla was looking on, alarmed. She had seen Finley using his fists, and that had been awe-inspiring, but this was terrifying. She doubted that he would have carried out his threat again, but the fact that he had done it before was enough to scare the hell out of both father and son. Neither wanted to be on the wrong side of Finley’s fists again.
Alec nodded, resigned. “Can ye loosen my hands a wee bit?” he asked, looking up at Isla, who was clearly a softer touch than he was.
Isla hesitated for a moment, then undid the rope just enough so that both men could wiggle their fingers and stretch their hands a bit. “I will tighten them again at the slightest sign of a lie,” she said sternly.
“Talk.” Finley said baldly.
Alec took a deep breath. “If I had killed your mother I would have told ye by now,” he admitted. “But I didnae, an’ neither did Iain. He was too wee in those days anyway. But she didnae die o’ somethin’ natural. She was murdered.” He hesitated.
Finley dreaded what he would hear next, but he knew he had to find out the truth. “Go on,” he urged impatiently.
“One night she was alone behind the bar, cleanin’ up,” he began, then took a deep breath. “Robert Thomson came in. He had just won a game o’ cards wi’ some o’ his rich pals an’ was in a good mood.
Ye have tae remember that after his wife died, he wanted Agnes. He lusted after her for years an’ even said tae me he wanted tae marry her. I pointed out that she was married tae somebody else, but he told me that was a problem that he could take care o’ quite easily. I think he meant he would murder your father.” He nodded towards Finley. “That night he offered Agnes ten shillins’ tae have -” He glanced at Isla, who had turned milk white. “Tae—er—sleep wi’ him.”
Finley’s eyes widened with shock. Ten shillings would have fed and clothed his family for a few months, but he knew his mother. She would never have stooped so low as to sell her body for any price.
“But she said no,” Alec went on. “So he went behind the bar an’ hit her, thinkin’ tae make her submit tae him. Instead, he knocked her over an’ she hit her head on a clay pitcher. One o’ the bits o’ clay pierced the side o’ her head an’ she died.”
Isla’s knees gave way and she slumped onto the floor, the shock having been too much for her. She sat, breathing heavily for a moment, then looked up at Finley again and raised her hand. “I’m fine,” she said. “Go on.”
Finley nodded and looked back at Alec. “Why have I never heard o’ this?” he demanded.
Alec cowered back against the pillar and raised his knees up in front of him, screwing his eyes shut. “I didnae tell ye because—because…” He trailed off, seemingly unable to go on.
“Because?” Finley demanded loudly.
“Because I helped Thomson tae cover up the truth,” Alec confessed. He pulled his knees up even closer to his head, and pushed his head down as far as he could to cover his face, obviously expecting a blow from Finley’s fist. Finley took a handful of Alec’s hair and pulled his head upright again.
“Why?” Once more, Finley’s voice had once more become low and menacing. “What did you get out o’ this bargain?”
“He promised tae make Isla marry my Iain,” Alec said reluctantly, looking at the floor. “I knew she would be good for my businesses. She is pretty an’ -” He got no further.
“What?” Isla’s head jerked upright as a bolt of fury hit her. She jumped to her feet, and this time her legs carried her over to Alec Crawford without any effort at all. She no longer felt weak. She felt such rage that she could cheerfully have beaten the hated man within an inch of his life. “You mean I was going to be offered as—as—a commodity to be bartered? Like livestock?”
Alec said nothing, but nodded his head slowly, and to Isla’s eyes he looked ashamed, except that she did not believe he was capable of shame. No, perhaps the expression was one of self-pity. As she stared at him, she began to feel nauseous; this was not a human being; the creature sitting on the floor was a beast without any kind of conscience. Even now, she was quite sure that he would try to come up with some excuses in a feeble attempt to squirm out of his guilt.
However, what had hit her hardest was the news about the father. She had not been surprised to hear that he had attacked Agnes—after all, he had done it to Maura and probably other women too. Yet to use his own daughter like a bargaining chip was plumbing the depths of wickedness. This was evil, the likes of which she had not thought him capable. He was a narcissist, someone who would do anything to have his own wishes gratified without any thought to the welfare of others; even Alec Crawford was a better father.
She could not make up her mind which emotion was worse—her rage, or her sorrow. Even in this moment when she despised him more than she could ever have thought possible, she was sad that he had come to this when he could have been such a good man. Indeed, glimpses of goodness had shown through in him from time to time, but they were few and far between.
Finley was so angry that he could not sit still, but paced up and down from one end of the big room to the other, dodging around the beer barrels and occasionally knocking one over. He was not doing it because he was clumsy, however. It gave him a great deal of vicious satisfaction to see one of them burst open and spill its contents all over the floor.
He was pushing his hands through his hair in a fever of fury, but he was not able to quench the fire inside himself. This excuse for a man had known what had happened to his mother for years, and had used the secret to manipulate him, instead of telling him and giving him some peace of mind. If Alec Crawford had shared the information with him, Finley would not have embarked on a life of crime, and he would have seen justice served on Robert Thomson. Yet something else was more important than all of those things; he would have been able to grieve properly.
All this time Isla had been standing quietly, waiting for Finley to calm down, even though she had her own storm raging inside her. She was aware of his emotional turmoil, but felt that for both their sakes it was better to let him get his anger out of his system at that moment. She could deal with her own later.
At last, unable to stand still any longer, Isla went to pour them a cup of ale from the pitcher on a table by the door. Fortunately, there was just enough left for them to enjoy a full cup each. As Isla held the cup out, Finley was still striding across the floor, but he stopped when he saw her, and the fire went out of his eyes.
It occurred to him suddenly that he was not the only one suffering because of this news. Isla had just found out that her father was a murderer, and this must have raised a question in her own mind; if he had killed Finley’s mother, could he have killed Isla’s too? The thought chilled him suddenly. How many deaths had Robert Thomson been responsible for?
He took the ale from her hands, and as their fingers touched, Finley suddenly felt a little calmer. He knew that although Isla was as furious as he was, she would never allow him to kill either of the Crawfords. She was not violent; she did not have the heart for it, so as long as he was with her they were safe, and so was he—from himself.
“Thank ye, Isla,” he murmured as he took a sip of the ale. “Are ye a’ right? This is just as much o’ a shock tae ye as it is tae me.” He looked down at her anxiously.
Isla attempted a smile, but only succeeded in lifting the corners of her mouth a little. “I want to see these men punished of course,” she began, but her brows descended into a fierce frown as she thought of her father. “But they are the least of my worries. More than anything else, I want justice to be done on my father. He may have been blackmailed by Crawford, but he would never have been in that situation had he not killed your mother.
