Page 61 of Bride of Mist
“Shall we continue then…m’lady?”
She nodded.
Meanwhile, he’d try to work out what had happened at Kirkoswald. For the first time, he hoped itwasn’tthe doing of the mac Girics, after all. Then there would be no reason for him to visit vengeance upon the mac Giric clan. And no reason for the Rivenloch warriors to bother about declaring war on mac Darragh.
After they started down the path, he reminded her, “What else do ye need to know about the fire?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Did anyone in Kirkoswald have an enemy?”
“What do ye mean?”
“Were there any disputes over land or property? Quarrels with neighboring villages? Insults? Feuds? Matters of honor?”
He shook his head. The villagers of Kirkoswald were too busy keeping their children from starving to concern themselves with neighboring villages.
She clasped her fingers and pressed them against her lips, thinking.
“Kirkoswald is under the protection of your clan?”
“Aye,” he croaked. At least Kirkoswald wassupposedto be protected by his clan. And guilt over his failure wedged like a stone in his belly.
“So any assault on the village is an assault on your clan.”
“In a way, aye.”
“So ’tis possible Kirkoswald was attacked as a way to wound Darragh.”
Destroying the villagewouldhave an effect on the clan. Gaufrid depended on goods and crops from Kirkoswald. Without them, the Darragh coffers would suffer.
“Does your clan have enemies?” she asked.
He arched a cynical brow. “What clan does not?”
“Any who would resort to this kind of treachery?”
“Butchery of innocents? Nay, none.”
“You’re sure of that?”
“Our enemies reive coos and brawl o’er lasses.” He clenched his jaw. “They don’t burn people alive in churches.”
She nodded and gazed pensively at the path. “That kind of cruelty… It seems more targeted. More personal. What about your brother?”
“Gaufrid?”
“Aye. Does he have any foes?”
Dougal furrowed his brows. Whowasn’tGaufrid’s foe?
But if anyone wanted to hurt Gaufrid, it wouldn’t be by killing the villagers of Kirkoswald. Except for the loss of revenue, Gaufrid would suffer no grief over their murder. He probably couldn’t name a single one of the victims.
Victims who had worked from dawn to dusk to fill his coffers.
Victims who had slaved to pay for the laird’s protection.
Victims who had died, screaming for his help.
He choked back the painful knot in his throat. There was no point in telling her all that. It would only muddy the waters.
