"I've heard enough," Moray said finally. "Since I have already heard Leesborn and Duncan’s recounting, I am prepared to render my verdict." He gestured to his scribe, who hurried forward with quill and parchment.
"I recognize that no one will be satisfied if the result of all this fuss is a mere slap on the hand," Moray began. "The charges are serious. What Atholl proposed would have ruined lives—the wrong lives."
For the first time, Atholl and Stephan appeared to worry.
Moray nodded to Gerts. "During my rest, I had a long conversation with Lady Stephan. Combined with what I already know of the men in this room, I believe I understand the truth of this matter."
Atholl shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, while Stephan’s face had gone completely white.
"First," Moray continued, "the charge of witchcraft. A serious accusation, particularly when it results in death." His gaze fell on Brigid, and Flanders’ hand tightened around hers. "In this matter," Moray said, his voice ringing through the hall, "I find Laird Stephan guilty…of murdering…the wrong woman.”
32
DOLING OUT FATE AND THE EASTERLING SILVER
* * *
For decades, the people of Todlaw would argue over the particulars of what happened after the Regent began handing out sentences. But they all witnessed, in general, the same events.
First, Moray announced that Laird Stephan had murdered the wrong woman and acknowledged that there was still a witch among them, namely Brigid Muir, the lass that Flanders Leesborn had claimed as his own.
“She cast a spell on our horses,” one of Stephan’s soldiers shouted—a claim that was echoed by one man after another.
By the time Moray had the room back in his control, it was clear to all that no one along the south wall had denied that the woman was a witch. Flanders merely argued that witches were protected by The Crown.
“Be that as it may,” Moray said, “it does not change the fact that Laird Stephan murdered an innocent woman. Though I admit that mistakes do happen, I wonder if there is some compensation that should be made.” He turned to James Duncan. “What do you believe would be fair here?”
James scowled for a moment. “The last time I saw Stephan, I was forced to give up something that meant a great deal to me, and to Todlaw. I would like to see it returned.”
Stephan sneered. “You gave me nothing but a—” He clapped his lips shut and shook his head. “No! Ye have no ken how long it took me to move all those stones to Gallabrae!”
“Nevertheless,” Moray said, “ye shall move them back. It will give ye ample time to think on yer sins.”
“Stones,” Flanders spat. “As payment for murder?” He looked at James and wondered if his friend had lost all reason. But James wouldn’t meet his eye.
Moray frowned at Flanders in warning and went on. “Next charge.” He consulted a parchment in his hands. “Kidnapping. I find, after speaking with Lady Stephan, that no one was taken from Gallabrae against their own wishes. Unless any of ye say otherwise?” He lifted his chin and looked to the back of the room. No one spoke. “Very well. Charge dismissed.”
He consulted his paper again.
Flanders considered taking Brigid’s hand and fighting his way out if something didn’t start making sense. But suddenly, Wickham trespassed into his mind once more.
Steady I say. Remember what I told ye. Keep yer wits. And trust us. Moray is with us.
Flanders took a breath and looked down into Brigid’s eyes. He could tell she was hearing something as well. And more, she didn’t look any more convinced than he was. A quick squeeze of his hand was all he needed, however, to trusther. The others had yet to earn it.
“As for the charge of witchcraft against Lady Stephan, I found no proof of such in our long dealings together and dismiss that charge,” Moray said. “She may go where she pleases. To Stirling with me, or she may stay here. I believe it unwise to return home with yer husband, but I am the last man to claim he understands women.”
This brought laughter from all quarters.
He continued, “I compel no persons included in Laird Stephan’s charges to return to Gallabrae. I believe all of the women accused were the victims of the laird’s ire and nothing more.”
The hall erupted in cheers from those who had been dreading their fate. Stephan was outraged. Atholl was, slowly but surely, adding physical distance between him and his co-conspirator. Soon he’d be inching onto the dais.
“Next, the charge of conspiracy to murder. The intended poisoning of Laird Stephan was the action of the deceased person called Heslington. The man was no spy. This was a case of a chicken coming home to roost. The shame belongs to Laird Stephan for welcoming him in.”
Wickham’s steady gaze, along with the expression on James’ face, warned Flanders there was more yet to come, and that he wasn’t going to like it.
“Three more issues remain,” Moray shouted, to get the revelers to settle once more. “First, there seems to be an issue with the possession of this fine castle. I agree with Atholl that this place is far too fine and defensible for its control to fall into enemy hands. It must be entrusted to only the most loyal and capable of subjects. Therefore, I set aside whatever kinship that exists between James Duncan and Robert Duncan, blood or no.”
