The Highland Laird (Lords of the Highlands #8) - Amy Jarecki Page 0,76
on these men—the very three who witnessed his barbarity.”
“Mayhap,” said Kelly. “But the proof came when Brown showed me the sgian dubh at the Inverlochy tavern. He boasted about the whole thing, swung the piece by the chain, and told me all about his knife-throwing abilities.”
“Lies, ye maggot!” Brown bellowed.
“Enough.” Wilcox sliced his hand through the air. “The lieutenant is right. This evidence proves nothing.”
Riley chuckled. “Exactly what I said.”
Wilcox pointed. “And you had best keep your mouth shut, sentinel. These effects should have been returned to the next of kin, not pilfered by you and your fellow soldiers.”
MacIntyre scooped up the parcel and twisted it between his fists. “You cannot be serious. Their guilt is as clear as the nose on my face. You haven’t considered at all the reputation and nature of a respected laird from a family that has ruled in the Highlands since the Lords of the Isles.”
The lieutenant strolled back around the table. “That doesn’t make him innocent.”
Tommy Jr. gestured to Ciar. “I believe his word over that of these sorry louts for certain. Surely my testament to his character bears some weight. After all, it was me father who was murdered—stabbed in the back by a coward.”
“One might think ye had a hand in it as well,” said Riley.
Before did something he’d regret, Ciar sheathed his sword. “I came upon these dragoons on the road to Spean Bridge. They had killed an innocent man, and I caught them in the midst of stealing his belongings.” He thrust his finger at Brown. “And this buffoon had the audacity to boast about it to Mr. Kelly.”
“Your underhanded spy will say anything to earn his coin,” said Brown.
Ciar placed his palms on the table and looked Wilcox in the eye. They had presented irrefutable evidence. It was time to call an end to this madness. “I did not kill Tommy MacIntyre. I will swear to it on my life.” He threw an upturned palm toward his prisoners. “Before you stand three corrupt men, two of whom boasted about their crimes. And I—”
“Move aside,” boomed a deep voice from the doorway.
Ciar straightened as an officer marched in carrying a saddle.
“I’m Captain MacLeod from Dunbarton.”
Swallowing his groan, Ciar looked to the ceiling. He’d never met a MacLeod with whom he’d seen eye to eye.
“I’d heard a rumor Ciar MacDougall was trying to clear his name. And I’ll tell you true that news didn’t surprise me.” MacLeod arched a thick eyebrow, eyeing Dunollie. “No matter how much I dislike MacDougalls, the charge of murder didn’t fit.”
Ciar offered a curt bow of his head. “My thanks.”
“After it was reported that Mr. Riley was abducted from an alehouse by Dunollie, I did some investigating of my own.” The captain tossed the saddle on the table. “This belonged to Tom MacIntyre.”
“Another of the decedent’s possessions?” asked Wilcox.
Riley’s eyes bugged wide, his face growing redder by the moment. “It still doesn’t prove I killed the man.”
“But it proves you’re a thief,” said the captain. “Furthermore—”
“I didn’t throw the knife,” said Brown, sweat streaming from his brow. “Isn’t that right, Manfred? You tell them.”
Manfred stood frozen like a frightened deer. “Shhh.”
Ciar rubbed his hands. Aye, he knew the truth, but having it uttered by his accusers would be all the more pleasing. “What was that, Mr. Brown? If you did not, who wielded the knife?”
“Mr. Riley,” said Captain MacLeod. “Sentinel Warburton, step forward!”
A soldier wearing a grenadier hat marched inside and saluted. “Sir.”
“Let us set this issue to rights once and for all.”
“Please do,” said Wilcox.
“Go on,” MacLeod urged.
“Well, I nay care to speak out against no one, but the captain said ’twas me duty to report the truth.”
Wilcox impatiently rolled his hand through the air. “Which is?”
Warburton shot a nervous look to Riley. “He showed me the name carved under the seat of the saddle then told me he was aiming to leave the service a rich man.”
“And how does he plan to do that?” asked the captain.
“Told me he’s a highwayman. Said I could get a slice of the spoils if I joined ranks with him—and he’d never be caught on account of his good standing with the queen’s—er—the king’s dragoons.”
Riley struggled against his bindings. “Lies!” He spat in Ciar’s direction. “Dunollie did it. I seen him with me own eyes. The lot of you are scheming against me.”
“It was ’im all along,” shouted Brown, thrusting bound arms toward Riley.
“Too right. Both of ’em forced me to go along with it.” Manfred finally