Julia London 4 Book Bundle (137 page)

“Very well then. Let us hear the evidence of this murder
in loto.
Bring forth the accused,” the justice decreed.

The first to be brought forth was Thomas, emerging from the dark door behind the dais as the crowd shouted at him. He looked disoriented, almost surprised by the size of the crowd. As he was led to one of the boxes on the dais, the gaoler shoved him into the witness box; Thomas stumbled, caught himself on the rail, then drew to his full height of six feet and faced the justice.

A cry from somewhere, and the body of people swelled, straining to see as Kerry was led out of the tower by a man Arthur recognized as having been with Moncrieffe the day of the roan’s injury. He paraded her across the dais, obviously delighting in the shouts of
whore
and
murderess
that were hurled from the crowd. A slow, red-hot burn began to crawl up Arthur’s spine; he wished for the strength of ten thousand men so that he might take every one of them in hand and strangle the vile words from their throats. Regis glanced at him, his expression grim.

As Kerry stepped into the witness box, her eyes swept the crowd; Arthur tried to step forward, but was instantly jostled backward. He realized in a panic that Kerry could not see him.
She could not see him!
She looked up from the crowd and across the dais to Thomas. The two of them stood gazing at one another as the justice shouted for order, and God bless Kerry, she smiled. In the bleakest moment of her life, she sought to comfort Thomas.

Arthur was moving before he knew it, shoving hard against those who called her names, forcing them apart, struggling to see her, to be
seen
by her.
“I am here, Kerry!”
he shouted, lifting his hand and waving it,
but she could not see him, not in that mass of hostile humanity.

Above him, someone bellowed for quiet. Justice Longcrier leaned forward; his heavy jowls now propped up by two fists. “Your name?” he asked Thomas.

“Thomas McKinnon.”

“Thomas McKinnon you have been charged with the crime of murder in the death of Charles William Edgar Moncrieffe of Glenbhainn. How do you plead?”

A sardonic smile drifted across Thomas’s face. “Not guilty.”

The justice paused to study Thomas for a moment, then turned his attention to Kerry. “Your name?”

“Kerry MacGregor McKinnon,” she answered, her voice surprisingly clear.

“Kerry MacGregor McKinnon you have been charged with the crime of murder in the death of Charles William Edgar Moncrieffe of Glenbhainn. How do you plead?”

“I … I did kill him, my lord, in self-defense.”

Her admission sparked a jeering outcry from the crowd. Arthur’s heart sank like a weight and he abruptly shoved Regis. “
Do
something, man,” he demanded angrily.

But Regis shoved right back. “Do
not
interfere! I know what I am doing!”

Above them, the justice looked at the sheriff, who did nothing to stop the clamor for Kerry’s blood, and with a scowl, he lifted his hands. “All right, all
right!
” he bellowed, slapping his broad hand on the table until the crowd quieted. With a great sigh of exasperation, he nodded toward Moncrieffe. “The burden of proof rests with you, sir, as the accuser. You may proceed.”

Moncrieffe exchanged a quick look with the sheriff, clasped his hands behind his back, bowed his head. “My son has been murdered, my lord,” he said softly. “Thomas McKinnon conspired with Kerry MacGregor McKinnon in his death.”

He waited, letting that accusation wash over his audience as he strolled to where Kerry was standing. She kept her eyes on the justice, her chin held high, refusing to look at the cretin. The foolish ass smirked at her courage; Arthur’s hands itched to be around his throat.

“My lord commissioner, the late Fraser McKinnon, a dear friend of mine, suffered from a debilitating illness that eventually took his life. In the course of his last years, he was quite unable to oversee his own affairs and his livelihood was considerably diminished. He did everything a man in his condition might do—he sought help from investment partners, but had the singular misfortune of purchasing a sick herd of cattle. The plague took all of the beeves he had hoped to turn to profit.

“Fraser McKinnon turned to me for help then, and again the next year, when the bull he had purchased refused to sire. He found himself unable to pay the bank, and unfortunately, as he neared the end of his life, he ceased trying to appease any of his debts. As he lay on his deathbed, he owed me five thousand pounds, and I shudder to think of the sum he most likely owed the Bank of Scotland.”

A collective gasp went through the crowd at the extraordinary sum Moncrieffe had tossed them.

“My lord commissioner!” Regis called.

“Mr. Regis.”

“What Fraser McKinnon owed the Bank of Scotland
or
Lord Moncrieffe isna the issue here. The issue is—”

“It is
precisely
the issue, my lord, as Fraser McKinnon sought to settle his debts from his deathbed, which led to the murder of my son!” Moncrieffe loudly interjected.

“I beg your—”

“Mr. Regis,” the justice interrupted, lazily lifting his hand, “I shall allow Lord Moncrieffe to state his case.”

Arthur felt the roots of helplessness sink farther into the pit of his stomach. He groaned, closed his eyes.

“Thank you, my lord commissioner,” Moncrieffe said, and casually adjusted the sleeve of his coat before continuing. “As Fraser McKinnon lay dying, he summoned me to his bedside, which I naturally attended. It was there that I first heard the rumors of Mrs. McKinnon’s amoral relations with her cousin.”

The crowd released a collective
hiss;
Kerry visibly stiffened, lifted her chin a notch, but it was the only outward sign she gave that Moncrieffe’s lies affected her.
Good girl. Give him nothing.

Thomas, however, snorted loudly at the charge, muttered under his breath.

“Poor Fraser McKinnon explained to me his plan for eliminating his debts and providing for his wife on the occasion of his imminent death. His plan was simple: allow the bank to repossess the land against that which he had borrowed, and deed to me the remaining McKinnon lands and holdings, whose value came very close to covering his debt. And for the portion of his debt that went unpaid, he offered his widow to marry my son.”

The crowd could hardly contain their titillation at that scandalous arrangement. The justice frowned at Moncrieffe. “A rather unusual arrangement,” he remarked.

“Unusual perhaps, my lord, but not unsound. As McKinnon had lost all the property he owned to debt, it seemed to him the most expedient way to provide for his young widow. I thought it an especially suitable arrangement, as my son was not afforded the usual opportunities for such a match.”

The justice looked puzzled by that; Regis seized the opportunity. “My lord commissioner, I fail to see how the machinations of a man on his deathbed might contribute to the outrageous charge of murder. Charles Moncrieffe was not afforded the usual opportunities for a satisfactory marriage because of his unfortunate condition, which ultimately led—”

“
Unfortunate
condition?” the justice demanded.

“My son,” Moncrieffe interjected, “was perhaps not as … developed … as other men of the age of thirty.”

“Do you mean to say his growth was stunted?”

“I mean to say he was a bit slow. His was a difficult birth.”

The women in the crowd responded to that with a faint murmur of understanding, and Moncrieffe turned, smiled sadly at them over his shoulder. “I thought it a fair settlement of the debt,” he added, his voice full of feigned emotion.

“A settlement to which Mrs. McKinnon had no say or knowledge!” Regis insisted loudly.

Longcrier nodded absently at Regis, gestured with his hand for Moncrieffe to continue. “When Fraser McKinnon passed, God rest his soul, I did not immediately approach Mrs. McKinnon. I respected an appropriate mourning period. Unfortunately, Mrs. McKinnon used that time to further degrade her husband’s honor in a flagrant affair with Thomas McKinnon!”

“That is a lie!” Regis angrily countered.

“Mr. Regis, you will have your opportunity,” said the justice irritably, and looked at Moncrieffe again. “You can prove this abominable accusation, I trust?”

Moncrieffe nodded. “Unfortunately, there are witnesses to her debauchery, my lord, which I will happily bring forth to you.”

“Very well then,” Longcrier said, and looked at Regis. “Mr. Regis?”

Regis jerked at his waistcoat and stepped forward. “My lord commissioner, Baron Moncrieffe would have you believe that Mrs. McKinnon conspired with her late husband’s cousin Thomas McKinnon to renege on her husband’s agreement to settle his debt. He would have you believe that they conspired to steal the beeves he avows belonged to him and kill his son so that she would not be forced to marry him. If Baron Moncrieffe is successful in having you believe this, milord, then the McKinnon property would revert to the Bank of
Scotland, and undoubtedly, the Bank of Scotland would dispose of the land as soon as possible to retire the debt owed them. I would imagine that the Baron could have the whole of Glenbaden for a mere pittance.”

“My lord commissioner, really—”

“Moncrieffe,” the justice wearily interrupted. “You had your say. Mr. Regis will have a go of it.” He nodded at Regis.

“Baron Moncrieffe has several thousand heads of sheep, my lord. He has expanded his grazing rights to the north and the south, all at the expense of poor Scots he has willfully displaced from their homes. It is not inconceivable, therefore, that Baron Moncrieffe—knowing Fraser McKinnon’s illness would soon lead to his death—planned on obtaining the whole of Glenbaden, a prime grazing land for sheep. It is likewise not inconceivable that Baron Moncrieffe seized the opportunity to push his friend further and further into debt in hopes of securing that land and perhaps even forced a dying man to an agreement that he was without proper faculty to consider.”

“I beg your pardon!” Moncrieffe blustered.

“And I beg yours!” Regis shouted back.

“Gentlemen!”
the justice roared. “Let’s get on with it, shall we? Lord Moncrieffe, have you witnesses?”

“I do, my lord commissioner. If the court pleases, I present Mrs. Alva MacGregor Tavish of Glasgow, the mother of Kerry MacGregor McKinnon,” he said, sweeping his arm dramatically toward the door behind the justice.

Kerry jerked around to Moncrieffe then, gaping at him with incredulity, her eyes stark blue against her morbidly pale face, then dragged her gaze to the door where her mother was emerging, escorted by two men. In her hand, she carried a crude, wooden cross. Her hair was gray, although Arthur could see that it might have once had the black sheen of Kerry’s. She was small; her plain gray gown hung loosely on her. As she was led to
stand in front of Justice Longcrier, she looked heavenward, clasping her hands together around the cross she carried.

And Arthur felt the world begin to crumble beneath his feet.

S
HE WAS LIVING
, breathing, in a nightmare; nothing seemed real in the drama unfolding before her—it was as if someone had summoned actors together, given them words that would falsely condemn her as a whore, an adulteress, and a thief.

She stood rigid in her box as the witnesses were paraded before her, her eyes fixed on the justice who occasionally looked at her, his brown eyes rimmed with what she could only term as sadness. The shock of seeing her mother after all these years—
Lord God, how the bitterness had aged her!
—had numbed her, sunk her into a pool of indifference. The vile lies and accusations Alva screeched as proof of her affair with Thomas were nothing new to her—she received those same condemnations at least monthly in a letter. But to hear them spoken out loud … it sickened her. There was nothing they could do to her now that could hurt any more than her own mother.

Where was Arthur?
Had he given in to the impossibility of it all? Found her situation as hopeless as she? How she longed to see the reassuring smile of her beautiful stranger one last time.

One by one, the witnesses against her stood in front of Justice Longerier: Moncrieffe’s butler, who testified
that she and Thomas had plotted against the baron; a peddler, who had once come to Glenbaden to sell his pots and pans, swearing that Thomas presented himself as her husband while Fraser lay dying in the last room; a doctor, who said he saw Thomas driving the beeves they had stolen to the market in Perth.

Mr. Regis was scarcely able to argue on their behalf at all, so hostile was the crowd toward them. To every question the justice asked, she answered truthfully, but the crowd responded angrily. They wanted to see a hanging. They wanted someone to pay for the death of Charles Moncrieffe.

Kerry looked across the dais to Thomas. He was propped against the railing, his arms folded across his chest. He caught her eye, smiled wryly. Her heart swelled with remorse for having done this to him. Thomas had been her rock through those years with Fraser, and for that she would hand him his death warrant. She dropped her head, unable to look at him any longer; tears filled her eyes.
Please, God, let them hang me, then. But let Thomas go free!

“
Kerry!
Kerry, listen to me!”
Ah God … 
Arthur’s voice touched her like a caress against her cheek, a kiss to her neck in the middle of the maelstrom. She opened her eyes, searched for him, saw him standing below her box, off to one side, straining to be heard through the din. His hazel eyes glittered strangely, but he smiled at her, that same, cheerful smile she had come to love. “Hold your head
up
, Kerry! Do not let them believe they have defeated you!”

But they
had
defeated her. It was too late, far too late. She opened her mouth to tell him she loved him, but faltered. Arthur’s face clouded; he clenched his jaw, raised his hand and pointed at her. “Keep faith with me, Kerry McKinnon!” he shouted.
“You promised you would keep faith with me!”