"Go to hell!" McMurdo seethed and jerked against the chains, his body quaking.
He might not confess today or tomorrow, but Dirk would keep questioning him. Once the knave realized no one was going to break him out of this cell, and that Dirk meant what he said, he'd confess. Apparently this tomb in the church was of vital importance to McMurdo, but he was willing to gamble a while longer.
"I wasn't making an idle threat," Dirk said. "You'll be buried in the field beneath the sheep dung. Or mayhap I'll have your mangy remains flung into the bog. Or 'haps thrown off the cliff at Faraid Head for fish food. 'Twas what you aimed to do with me." Dirk left the cell. The door clanged shut and the guard locked it.
Dirk glanced into the other cells. He didn't recognize any of the two-bit thieves from McMurdo's gang, but he'd question them later, after they'd grown weary of the dark, damp place. Their tongues might prove looser then. Obviously, someone had let them in through the postern gate. He had to find out which clansmen and guards he could trust and which were traitors.
He climbed the steep narrow steps out of the dungeon, his friends following.
Beneath the overhang, one of the guards stopped him. "Chief, one of the injured guards said Aiden and Lady MacKay visited McMurdo a couple of hours ago.
"Why were they allowed inside?"
The guard shrugged. "Aiden was still chief at the time. We are bound to do what the chief says, as you ken."
Why would Aiden do this? Maighread had to be ordering him around and demanding he do whatever she wanted. "Does anyone know what happened?"
"Nay, only that Aiden escorted his mother inside, then immediately went in search of his brother. But before they returned, Lady MacKay left."
Clearly McMurdo was depending on Maighread and her men to rescue him.
"I want double the men on guard duty from now on, at all times, day and night. No one is to go in and see McMurdo unless you ask me first. Something is afoot. No doubt someone else will try to break McMurdo out."
Chapter Nineteen
That afternoon, Dirk waited in the second floor corridor while Aiden insisted on immediately moving his belongings from the chief's bedchamber so that Dirk could move in.
Dirk was not overly eager to occupy the room that had always been his father's bedchamber. It didn't feel right. His father should be there. It made Dirk miss him all the more. But if the clan expected him to use this room, he would.
Maighread moved along the corridor like a graceful evil spirit. His muscles tensed with the need to choke the life from her bony body, but he restrained himself. Isobel followed along behind her. What the hell was she doing? He wanted to forbid Isobel from talking to her. Hadn't he told her not to trust the hag?
"What do you want?" Dirk asked his stepmother, fury gnawing at his insides.
"I'm here to talk to my sons," she said with a cultured innocence that was so patently false he almost laughed in her face. "You may have fooled everyone else, but you haven't fooled me. An imposter won't remain chief of this clan for long." Her glare said he might not be dead yet, but he soon would be.
"Don't threaten me," he warned. "You'll regret it."
"I'm not threatening anyone. I'm merely stating the truth. If you truly are Dirk, why did you not return when your father was alive?"
Regret speared him. That was the one thing he wished he had done. Of course, she'd said it because she knew it would cause him pain. He blanked his expression.
"I know why," Maighread continued in her self-righteous tone, pointing her finger at his chest. "Because he would've seen through your lies. He would've known you are not his son."
She was full of horse dung.
"The clan kens who I am," Dirk said. "And Aiden kens who I am. That's all that matters now. Your opinion means naught. I'm no longer a wee lad that you can slap to the ground as you did in the past."
Isobel gasped. Standing to the side, she studied Maighread with a critical eye.
"Don't believe his lies," his stepmother said, never taking her hate-filled green gaze off him. Her mouth wiggled as if she were holding back another smirk. "I've never slapped a child."
Dirk snorted. "We both ken that is a lie." He remembered the first time she'd struck him. Not long after Aiden was born, Dirk, no more than six summers, had been standing over the cradle, the wee Aiden grasping his finger. He had been amazed at the strength in the babe's tiny hand. Maighread entered the room yelling, ordering him to get away from her babe. Icy fear rushing through him, he'd stepped back but it had been too late. Maighread's hand had smashed into the side of his head and he'd gone tumbling into the corner. He'd narrowly missed whacking his head against the stone wall. His ear had rung for the rest of the day.
She'd struck him at least a dozen times, maybe more. He'd lost count. Her abuse always came when he had the misfortune of finding himself alone with her. He'd stuck as close to his father or his uncle as he could. She'd always acted like a saint in their presence.
Once he'd grown taller and started training with a sword, the physical abuse had stopped. He noticed, by the wary look in her eye, that she feared him a little. But that was when she'd shoved him down the stairs. She was done torturing him; she simply wanted him dead.
As she stood before him now, he smirked and lifted a brow, returning her favorite spiteful but confident expression. Oh, he knew she could hire someone to do a lot of damage, but he didn't fear her.
He had two trustworthy guards. He would also choose two guards for Isobel while she remained here. He didn't think Maighread would try to harm her, but if she discovered Dirk liked Isobel more than he should, she might seek revenge another way. He wouldn't underestimate her again.
"You can return to Tongue anytime you wish," Dirk said.
"You can't throw me out of my own home."
"This isn't your home. 'Tis mine. Everyone kens you prefer the new manor house at Tongue over this drafty old castle. Although the house is on my lands, I will allow you to live there."
"Hmph. That house and the lands around it were a gift to me from Laird Griff. You don't own the land or the house."
"We'll see." He shrugged, knowing she was wrong. "If you stay at Tongue, we'll get along fine." He was being more then generous, for his father's and Aiden's sakes. If not for them, he'd escort her to the dungeons. If only he had solid proof or a witness that she'd murdered his cousin, Will, and tried to kill Dirk. If McMurdo would confess… but without proof, if he imprisoned her, he risked the wrath of the powerful Gordon clan. Once she attempted to murder him again, though, he'd catch whoever she hired and get the truth out of him.
"You'll not be telling me what to do. I'll stay here as long as I wish," Maighread said.
"Is that what you think?"
"Indeed."
Dirk sent her a forbidding grin. How he would enjoy tossing his stepmother out on her arse.
"Laird MacKay would roll in his grave if he knew an imposter was treating me this way."
"You had sacks of wool pulled over Da's eyes. He thought you were a bonny angel, and he could see naught past that. He was blind to the truth about you and your conniving ways."