Page 38 of The Iron Earl

Domnall picked up the fork on Lachlan’s plate and ate the last bite of his pie. “He’s one of the men that caused the fire that killed his older brother.”

Her eyes went wide. “Lachlan has a brother—had a brother?”

“He did,” Domnall said. “Jacob—he was a fine man, rest his soul.”

“Was the fire at Vinehill?”

“No, not near it. Lachlan’s sister, Sloane—ye met her at Wolfbridge Castle, I presume?”

Evalyn nodded.

“Her companion, Torrie—also a third cousin—had learned her family’s home on Swallowford lands—a wee bit north of Vinehill lands—was being cleared. Sloane and Jacob went with her to stop it.”

“Cleared? What does that mean?”

“It means atrocities in the wrong hands.” Domnall’s grip tightened around the fork and he jabbed it into the wood of the table. “It means all the farmers’ cottages and lands are razed—the people forced out of their homes, their houses destroyed—so that some English bastards can set the land to pasture for their blasted sheep.”

“The people are forced out? But why does no one stop them?”

“They can’t. Not by any rights of the common man. Much of the land in Scotland was bought up after the glorious rebellion in forty-five. Clans were broken apart. Estates were sold. The tenant farmers had always rented the lands in a fair system. But now…” Domnall pushed back from the table and stretched against the back rung of his chair. His mouth had pulled back in a terse line, a growl in his words. “Now the English bastards that come to scavenge like vultures piss upon the fine, hardworking families. They find the sheep more valuable than the people.”

Her brow furrowed, she nodded. “So Jacob, Sloane, and Torrie went to stop it?”

“Yes. Torrie’s father was resisting, the family barred inside their cottage when Jacob, Sloane and Torrie arrived. Four brutes were outside of the cottage, some with torches already in hand. They’d already set flame to the rest of the buildings. Jacob convinced them to halt, at least until Torrie could go inside and convince her father to leave.”

Evalyn’s stomach dropped. “She got inside?”

“Torrie did. But then she took too long and one of the bastards tossed his torch on the roof. Sloane said he laughed when he did it. The other brutes were about to follow suit—but Jacob sent his sword through two of them.” Domnall paused, his head shaking. “And Sloane ran into the cottage to get them out.”

“What happened?”

Domnall shifted in his chair, looking across the room to Lachlan’s back, then took a long swig of his ale before his gaze traveled back to Evalyn. “Part of the roof collapsed almost immediately, trapping the family and Sloane inside. Jacob went in after his sister. He and Sloane dragged Torrie out—her skirts were aflame and Sloane burned her arm putting out the fire. Jacob went back in for Torrie’s mother, father and brother.”

Evalyn drew a sharp intake of breath.

“Exactly.” Domnall inclined his head back toward Lachlan. “Lachlan got to the cottage just as the rest of the roof caved in. He’d seen Jacob go into the building. He flew off his horse and killed one of the remaining brutes that was about to attack Sloane. The other blackguard there escaped, ran for a few days, but made the mistake of trying to travel through Vinehill lands. He was captured a few days after the fire. The magistrate captured him. If Lach had caught him, he’d have been dead three months ago.”

“So he’s the man on trial?”

“Aye. ‘Tis an outrage. Torrie’s kin were good folk.” He shook his head. “And Jacob, he was heir. A leader from the day he was born. A loss that still stings.” Domnall pointed to her plate. “Ye going to finish it, lass?”

“What?” Her head shook, and she followed the line of Domnall’s outstretched finger to the half-eaten mutton pie on her plate. She pushed the platter across the table toward him. “No. It’s yours, Domnall. I seem to have lost what little appetite I had.”

{ Chapter 10 }

His horse’s hooves sucking from the muck of the road with every step, Lachlan glanced over his shoulder to the wagon that trailed the line of men. If the infernal thing got stuck one more time today, he’d be of sound mind to ditch it and all the goods here on the roadside and stay at coaching inns the rest of the journey.

The wheels of the wagon were rolling fine, if slowly, and his gaze lifted up. Something was missing.

Someone was missing.

Evalyn had been a constant figure moving along behind the wagon since this journey north had started. But she was suddenly absent.

He’d asked her this morning if she’d prefer to ride on his horse with him, but she’d eyed him suspiciously and declined, clutching her mother’s dress to her chest.

He looked to Domnall on his horse next to him in the front of the line. “Keep moving.”

Domnall nodded and Lachlan tugged on his reins, turning his horse around and trotting back past his men to the wagon.