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“Are you sure about this?” Stephen growled. “There is still time to—”
“No.” Katherine was adamant. “We are agreed.”
“Aye, we are.” Robbie slung his arm around her shoulders. “So, shall we see what they have tae say?”
Quite a crowd had assembled by the time Robbie strode down the steps from the keep and across the bailey to where the failed assassins huddled together awaiting their fate. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Meg Mullett, already weeping. The slightly taller, younger woman at her side stared vacantly ahead, as though unable to comprehend the disaster which had befallen her and her child.
Katherine clutched at his sleeve. “Is that her? The mother?”
“Aye,” Robbie replied, coming to a halt about three paces from the three brothers.
“But should we…?”
He raised his hand to bid her be silent. “I shall look out for her,” he murmured.
He regarded the men for several moments, then nodded to the hangman who waited patiently beside the gallows. “Are ye ready, Mr Potts?”
The executioner pulled his hood up to conceal his features, though everyone here knew exactly who he was. Rab Potts was more often to be found in his forge, hammering out iron for tools or horseshoes. But he was versatile and not especially fussy how he earned his coin. He could turn his hand to a spot of hanging when the need arose. He inclined his chin.
“Right, then.” Robbie glared at the Mullett brothers and held out his hand to take Katherine’s. He drew her forward. “I believe ye’ve met my countess already.”
None of them offered an answer.
“Lady Katherine has, as ye can see, survived your best efforts tae murder her.”
This was followed by a ripple of muttering from among the assembled clansfolk. Robbie could not be entirely certain whether they applauded the attempt on Katherine’s life and were only sorry it had failed, or were glad that Kat had escaped to stand here before them and see justice done. He went on. “Ye ken well enough why ye’re here. An’ so do the rest o’ the MacKinnons. Ye stand condemned for attempted murder, an’ for treachery against your rightful laird. Have ye anything tae say?”
Again, he met with mutinous silence. Had there been the slightest hint of repentance from any of them he might still have softened, even at this stage. Perhaps placed a limit on the period of servitude, ten years, or fifteen. He doubted they would live much longer than that anyway. None of them was more than five and twenty summers, but the life they now faced would be a harsh one indeed.
And even that was more than they deserved.
“Nothing to say?” He met the sullen gaze of each in turn. “Very well. Lady Katherine, however, has been less reticent. For reasons I confess I cannot entirely fathom, she has pleaded for your miserable lives.”
Bitterness became bewilderment. Three pairs of eyes peered at him in surprise. Another ripple swept through the crowd. The assembled MacKinnons regarded their laird in puzzlement, and his lady, also. Then their attention shifted to the three accused, clearly as baffled as they were.
Katherine tipped up her chin. “You attacked me with no reason. I was alone. Defenceless. What had I done to offend you so?”
One of them, the eldest, Fergus, found his voice. “Ye be a sassenach. Is that no’ enough?” He looked to the crowd for support, but they had fallen silent now.
Puzzled at the unfamiliar term, Katherine glanced up at Robbie, who bent to whisper in her ear. “’Tis a term for an English person. It is not polite.”
“Ah.” She nodded, not rising to the bait.
Robbie could not have been more proud of her. Or more convinced that he had chosen well.
“So,” she continued. “That was sufficient reason to throw me into the river and laugh while I fought for my life?”
The muttering started up again, becoming louder. There were one or two shouts of ‘hang the bastards’ or ‘shame’. Now, Robbie was in no doubt as to the general mood. Support for Katherine was firming up.
“Despite your unprovoked assault upon myself, I would not wish to have your deaths on my conscience. I have asked the earl to spare your lives, and he has most graciously agreed to do so,” Katherine continued.
There was a shout from someone to his right. “Ye canna let ’em go, laird. ’Tis no’ right…”
“No,” another voice echoed. “The lass hasnae done ’em any hurt. What are ye waitin’ for, laird?”
Robbie raised his hands to quieten the now restless clansfolk. “Hear us out,” he commanded, then waited for the din to subside. When he could be properly heard once more, he faced the condemned men again. “Ye will be punished for your heinous act, but ye shall have a choice. Either ye can climb up on yonder gallows an’ old Rab here will see the three o’ ye off…” He paused for effect, to let his words sink in. “…or ye can go wi’ the marquis here, back tae Elborne in England. He assures me he can find suitable labour for all three o’ ye.”
“Labour? Ye mean us tae work for ’im?” Fergus Mullett spat on the ground. “I shall die first.”
