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“What can I do for you boys?” he said.
“Here tae see the cupbearer,” Fin announced. “Marcus Long.”
The old man nodded. “You’re the Scots lookin’ into the Duke’s poisonin’, eh?”
Fin nodded. “Aye.”
“You think Marcus had somethin’ to do with it?”
“Not sure yet,” Fin replied. “That’s why we need tae talk tae him.”
The grizzled old soldier took his feet off the table and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. He looked uncomfortable but dropped the bone on his plate and cleared his throat.
“Yeah, about that,” he said. “Marcus ran into a little trouble with the guards last night. Seems he tried to make a run for it.”
A yawning pit opened in Fin’s stomach at the old man’s words. Marcus could be the only key that unlocked the mystery he was dealing with at the moment. And if the guards had killed him out of some misguided sense of loyalty to the Duke, Fin knew it could deal a major blow to discovering the identity of the person responsible for the plot to assassinate Duke Hamilton and Col.
“Does he live?” Fin asked.
The man nodded. “Oh, yes, he lives. The guards were able to - subdue him,” he said. “He is just a little the worse for wear, I’m afraid.”
Though he remained outwardly impassive, a wave of relief swept through Fin. But he could not let this continue, or they really would kill the lad in his cell. If he did slip the poison to the Duke, Fin believed he should face justice and pay for his crimes. But being beaten to death in his cell under cover of night was not justice.
Fin leaned down and loomed over the old man. “Let me be clear ‘bout somethin’,” he said. “Marcus Long shouldnae’ve any more accidents or escape attempts. He should remain in his cell just as he is right now.”
The old soldier swallowed hard, but there was a hardness in his eyes Fin couldn’t miss. It told Fin he was with the guards during the alleged escape attempt and had likely taken part in it. He was obviously loyal to the Duke, which was not a bad thing. But loyalty sometimes made men do stupid things.
“If any other trouble befalls the lad, ye’ll answer tae me,” Fin growled. “And after that, ye’ll answer tae the Duke and the Baron of Westmarch. Spread the word as quick as ye can. Am I understood?”
The man bobbed his head in understanding quickly and looked down, that brief light of defiance in his eyes dimming. Fin nodded in return, satisfied he had gotten his message across.
“Good,” he said. “Now, what cell is the lad in?”
“Down the hall,” he replied. “Fifth on the right.”
“Thank ye.”
Fin and Hollis marched down the corridor, their bootsteps heavy on the stone floor. When they got to the appointed cell, Fin gasped at what he saw. Marcus’ face was lumpy and misshapen. It was a mass of cuts and bruises, the dried blood giving him a ghastly visage. Anger made Fin’s blood boil beneath his skin, and his body tensed. He turned and saw the guard at the end of the corridor looking back at him.
“Bring me a bucket of water and a cloth,” Fin growled. “Now.”
Marcus lay on the ground, curled into a tight ball. He looked up at Fin through eyes that were swollen nearly shut.
“I’m sorry, lad,” Fin said. “I didnae mean for this tae happen.”
“What did you think would happen?” he croaked, his voice hoarse.
The old man arrived and handed Fin the bucket and cloth as he quickly opened the cell door. Fin waved him off, and the old soldier scampered back down the hall as he and Hollis stepped into the cell.
“My God, they worked him over but good,” Hollis said.
Fin nodded but remained silent, a sharp stab of fear lancing through him. He had not anticipated this happening, and the fact that the young man could have been beaten to death weighed heavily on him. He gestured to Hollis to help get Marcus into a sitting position. He groaned and whimpered as they sat him up, his body obviously a collection of wounds and pain.
As Hollis braced him, Fin took the rag and dipped it into the water and, as gently as he could, began wiping the dried blood from Marcus’ face. He winced and moaned in pain as Fin cleaned him. And when he was through, Marcus was still terrible to look at, but at least he wasn’t covered in blood as well.
Fin dropped the rag into the bucket of now red water and sighed. He exchanged a look with Hollis then turned back to Marcus. He looked at the boy as the guilt pressing down on his shoulders threatened to crush him beneath its weight. As guilty as he felt, though, he still had a job to do.
“Marcus, I need tae ken who put ye up tae poisonin’ the Duke,” he said softly.
