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He leaped up from his chair, sending it clattering to the floor, and Murdina feared he was about to attack them. She, too, leaped to her feet, as did her father, and he drew his sword, even as Thomas raised his hands.
“What did ye say?” he asked, staring at Freya, whose eyes had grown wide.
“I… I only asked of yer kin, yer family,” she said, and Thomas breathed a deep sigh, a smile spreading across his face.
“But that is my name, Kin, I remember it now, Kin… the other part is not important. My name is Kin, not Thomas, though it was kind of you to think of it for me,” he said, and Murdina smiled, seating herself back at the table and glancing at her father, who had now sheathed his sword.
“Yer name is Kin? But tis’ nay an English name,” she remarked.
Kin, too, had resumed his place at the table, his face flushed red with excitement, and he shook his head and smiled.
“Yes… but I know it is my name. Kin, you may call me Kin,” he said, and Murdina smiled.
“Well, Kin, what else dae ye know? Ye must be a soldier of sorts, for ye fought bravely against my father’s men when ye were captured–I heard it took a dozen of them to subdue ye,” she said, and Kin blushed.
Knowing his name and placing an identity on him changed Murdina’s view of him entirely. He was no longer a mystery–mysterious, yes–but a man she could speak of, think of, and come to know. Names were important, everyone had a name, and now she knew his; it was as though a veil had been lifted and a deeper truth about him was known.
“I know how to wield a sword,” he said, glancing at Murdina’s father, who nodded.
“Aye, but should we give ye one—that is more the question,” he replied.
“I think so, aye. If he is loyal to our cause….” Murdina said, but her father interrupted her.
“A man can claim a loyalty and stab ye in the back, too,” he said, fixing Kin with a searching gaze.
“And you would be right not to trust me, laird. Not until another can prove my worth. But I assure you, in my heart, I know our cause is the same,” he replied, and there was such sincerity in his voice that Murdina could not help but feel he spoke the truth.
The name of Thomas was now forgotten, and the dinner continued in an atmosphere which, while not entirely conducive, was far from hostile. Murdina’s father talked of the Jacobite cause, though she noticed he said nothing which could be counted as treason and was careful not to reveal anything of his future plans–plans she knew were advancing fast.
“Tis’ the Stuart line which takes precedence, they call our king a pretender, but tis’ the Hanoverians who are the pretenders, and well they know it. Theirs may be a legitimate claim if the line is extinguished, but their sits across the Channel the rightful heir of both thrones, waiting to return,” Murdina’s father said, raising his glass in a toast to the exiled monarch.
“The case is very clear–there is no doubt as to the legitimate claim,” Kin replied, and Murdina’s father nodded.
“Aye, and let us remember that. Tis’ a sorry day when the throne of England holds an impostor such as this,” he said, shaking his head.
Murdina had been watching Kin closely throughout the meal. It was clear he was a man of principles, a man with strong beliefs he was willing to defend–if only those beliefs could be remembered.
“Ye cannae return him to the dungeons now,” she said when the last dishes had been removed, and the meal had come to an end.
“He will be treated well enough–what say ye, Kin? Would ye trust yerself if ye were the laird here?” Murdina’s father asked, and Kin smiled.
“No, sir, I would not. I would do the same as you, and I hold no grudge against you for protecting your clan as you see fit. Return me to the dungeons, and I will ponder further on my memories, but I assure you–I am who I believe I am,” he replied, and Murdina’s father nodded.
The jailer was called, and they rose from the table, Kin bowing to Freya and Ella, who giggled and clutched at one another. Murdina thought them thoroughly foolish, and she wondered what Aoife would have thought had she been alive to give her opinion of the stranger in their midst?
“Might I return to the dungeons with him, Father?” Murdina asked, and the laird nodded.
“Aye, if it pleases ye,” he replied, and Murdina followed Kin and the jailer from the parlor and out into the great hall.
A few of the clansmen eyed them suspiciously, and it was clear that while the laird had shown leniency, others were less willing to believe Kin’s claims.
“Down the steps first,” the jailer said roughly, pushing Kin ahead of them down into the dungeons.
“I am sure he is nay threat, jailer. It would be a savage man who accepts the hospitality of the hearth and then turns on his host,” Murdina said, but the jailer only scowled, holding aloft a flaming torch to light their way.
“Yer father may trust him, but I daenae,” he said, and he said nothing more, opening the door to Kin’s cell and pushing him roughly inside.
Murdina was forced to speak with him through the bars of the grate, and when the jailer had retreated along the passageway, she cleared her throat and peered through the darkness.
