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“Report, 1714, month of October. Great excitement in London after the coronation of George I–the new pretender. The ambassadors are lining up to greet him. They think him a steadying hand. They will be proved wrong. Dissent simmers beneath the surface. There are many, like we, who would see our new king in a very different light. Reports from France say the court in exile flourishes. We await its fulfillment. There are leads on a traitor. Let the reader understand. Further news when given. Yours, in Kindred.”
“In Kindred?” Kin asked, turning to Gilroy, who nodded.
“Ye couldnae use yer real name now, could ye? If this were intercepted, yer head would be on the scaffold before the day was done. Read more, ye will discover yer past life soon enough,” he said, and Kin now broke open other seals and began to read.
Murdina was fascinated to hear his story, and, with Gilroy’s help, they pieced together the fragments which revealed the hitherto unknown history. Kin had gone to London in the months following the fire that had claimed his family's lives. While tragedy affected people in different ways, in Kin, it had been a catalyst for action. He had wanted some way of ensuring the lives of those he loved had not been lost in vain, and he had volunteered his services to the group of spies in the hope of finding the person responsible.
“But what did I do? What use was I?” Kin said, and Gilroy smiled.
“Read on. But tis’ all to dae with the man ye call a traitor and whom we now know to be one. We had our suspicions, of course, but we could prove nothin’–even though he was right under our noses,” he replied.
“Murdoch McGill?” Kin whispered, and Gilroy nodded.
“Murdoch McGill is the traitor, and ye were returnin’ north to expose him. Tis’ a terrible tragedy ye lost yer memory. But it seems yer accusation was enough. He fled, did he nae? Fled from yer father’s castle,” Gilroy said, turning to Murdina, who shook her head in astonishment.
“The man my father wanted me to marry, the man feted as the savior of the Jacobite cause…” she began.
“Was the one workin’ to destroy it. Aye, tis’ a wicked game of twists and turns. He played it dangerously, and if it had nae been for Kin, we should never have known for certain,” Gilroy replied.
Murdina felt sick at the very thought of it. She was no zealot for the Jacobite cause, but to think she had entertained a traitor in their midst, that her father had spoken of his good standing and uprightness, and that had Kin not come among them so unexpectedly, she would have found herself in Murdoch’s bed. The thought sent a shiver running through her, and she could not help but feel grateful for the fact of Kin’s scant memory –enough to send Murdoch into flight.
The chest was almost empty now, the rolls of parchment laid out on the sandy floor of the cave, and it was as though Murdina and Kin were delving into Kin’s memories. To see it written in his own hand appeared to ignite in him the memories so long buried. He was remembering as he read, and the look on his face told Murdina that, at last, the truth was his to reveal. There was no doubting him now, no doubting that what she had learned about him was the truth, and it felt as though a burden were now lifted from Murdina’s mind, one she had carried since first she had laid eyes on the man who now turned to her with a smile.
“I do remember, even if remembering is… painful,” he said, and she smiled at him.
“It was always going to be–whether rightly or wrongly. But this is the truth, and if you know the truth, then… it can set you free,” she said, and he nodded.
“Then perhaps I should adopt my brogue again,” he replied, and she laughed.
“I do not think that your accent has anything to do with your memory. You speak like that because…” she began, but Gilroy interrupted.
“Because he has been among the English too long,” he said, and Kin shook his head.
“I can hardly believe I played them for fools all these years long. And coming back here to expose Murdoch–he is still alive. He fled. I knew it the moment I set eyes on him. I knew there was something about him. Something I simply had to do to force my hand,” he said.
“You did what was right. You sought to expose him, even in the possibility of danger. But do not worry, we shall find Murdoch, I promise you,” Gilroy said.
They searched through the papers a little longer, and further details now came to light, details of Kin’s past, his time in England, and the many things he had discovered. The correspondence had been placed in the chest by Gilroy himself, whose own key matched Kin's.
“And there are other members of our spy ring, of the order you speak of?” Kin said, and Gilroy nodded.
“There are, but we keep our identities well hidden. Ye daenae know them all, and nor dae I,” he said, holding out the coin embossed with the phoenix.
“But we are identified by this?” Kin asked, and Gilroy nodded.
“We each of us carry one–though we keep it secret at all times. Only when we identify ourselves to others of our order dae we show it,” he replied.
“Then ye know the truth of who ye are now,” Murdina said, and Kin nodded.
“But how can I rest knowin’ that Murdoch is out there, that he has escaped the justice that should be his? And what if there are others…” he said, glancing at Gilroy, who nodded.
“There are others. Certainly, there are. We know the names of some of them. Calum Burns, Fenwick Lanson, Iver Doherty, to name but a few. They are everywhere in the pay of the English, seekin’ to undermine our cause,” he said, and Murdina’s blood ran cold.
Iver Doherty was the man she had met at the feast, the man who had seemed so interested in her sister–and in her. Her eyes grew wide as Kin, too, recognized the name.
“It cannae be. He was a guest of yer father’s,” he said, and Murdina nodded. Imagining for an awful moment what even now could be the case.
“What if they are to be married? What if even now there is some wicked plot afoot?” she exclaimed, leaping to her feet.
