“Arrest me for what?” he said in a loud voice. “What is it you want to pin on me this time?”
“Pin on you? No, no Graham, this time we’re talking murder.”
“Murder?” Matthew licked his lips. “Murder of whom?”
“The Browns,” Oliver said, “around noon, and we saw you as you left the farm running.”
“Oh, no,” Alex moaned.
“Did you?” Matthew said. “Well that’s mighty strange. I was here at noon, and a number of people can vouch for that.” He retreated, eyes flying from one dragoon to the other, always ensuring he was between Alex and the advancing men.
“I saw you there, and I’m sure more weight will be given to my sworn testimony than to the word of the odd apprentice.” Wyndham made a peremptory motion with his hand. “Go on, seize him.”
Four, no six, soldiers closed in on them.
“Get away, lass,” Matthew said.
“No way, I can’t leave you to … Ah!” A sword whizzed by her ear, she leapt back, stumbled and fell. Up; get up.
Strange how many inconsequential things one noticed in situations like these. One of the dragoons had a yawning gap between sole and upper leathers, Matthew had to change his stockings and why was there a fishing hook protruding from the lining of his coat? Matthew slipped on the cobbles, slid like a skateboarder for a yard or two. He was fighting on all sides, his sword dancing through the air, but he was hemmed in by the wall behind him, by the horse on his other side, and by her, still on her knees beside him. One of the dragoons gave her a shove, threw himself forward and Matthew disappeared from her sight.
“Matthew!” She screamed, because she couldn’t see him, could only hear him, and to the side stood the smirking major. Arsehole; this was all his fault. Alex bunched her skirts up and kicked the closest dragoon. With a yelp the man fell, crashing into Matthew, who staggered back, slamming into Ham, who neighed and half reared. Shit! But Matthew was still on his feet, and the dragoon sure as hell wasn’t. Right; onwards and upwards. She prepared for yet another kick. Arms grabbed her from behind, arresting her halfway through the movement.
“Hold still,” the major said in her ear. You wish. Alex stamped down hard on his foot, stuck a hand in his crotch and squeezed until he squealed like a pig. She wrenched herself free from the gasping officer and launched herself into the fight.
“Alex!”
What? Where? Oh God, he was down; one of the dragoons was sitting on him, and here came another. She didn’t stop to think; she rose on her toes, wheeled and crashed her foot into the breastplate. Holy Matilda, that hurt! But it stopped the poor man in his tracks, his face going bright red as he tried to breathe. His companions fell back, she grabbed the soldier sitting on Matthew by the hair and pulled. Sometimes girlie fighting is by far the best. The man yowled like a cat in heat and tried to prise off her fingers. With a grunt Matthew was back on his feet. A scratch on his cheek, blood on his arm, but all in all he seemed unharmed. He crouched, snarling. Here came the soldiers again, and now there were eight, and the look in their eyes made Alex want to break and run.
“Stop!” Despite his limp, Captain Howard covered ground quickly. Alex had never been so glad to see anyone in her whole life. “What in God’s name are you doing, sir?” he asked his major, sounding extremely disapproving. The soldiers halted, looking from the captain to the major.
“Mind your own business, captain,” Wyndham wheezed, clutching at his privates. “Get out of the way lest he stab you in the back. This is a desperate criminal, a coldblooded killer just come from the slaughter of two innocents in their home.”
The captain looked him up and down in silence, shaking his head slowly from side to side.
“You have the wrong man, sir,” he said in a ringing voice.
More and more spectators had drifted over in their direction, a loose circle of men following the proceedings with interest. Far too many were gawking at her and Alex shifted on her feet, adjusted her clothing, her hair, her lace cap, not at all enjoying being the centre of attention. Beside her Matthew drew in a long, ragged breath, lowering his sword arm to hang by his side.
“Move, captain,” Oliver said, “move or regret it. That’s an order.”
“I can vouch for Matthew Graham’s whereabouts all day. You, on the other hand, rode out very early, major, did you not? Just after dawn, if my recollection serves me right.” Captain Howard let his eyes sweep the silent dragoons. “Murder is always murder and soldiers hang for that just like anybody else.”
A loud murmur of approval rose from the collected townspeople.
“It wasn’t us,” one of the dragoons said, backing away. “It was him, the major; we were but following orders.”
His companions muttered their agreement, and one by one the dragoons distanced themselves from Wyndham, leaving him to stand alone. Alex needed a stiff drink – or a chocolate bar. Given that neither materialised she snuck her hand into Matthew’s. His fingers closed round hers.
“Me?” Wyndham blustered. “I’ve done no such thing! It was Graham! We all saw him leave at a run, did we not? I’ll have any man saying differently flogged, y’hear? And that includes you, Howard!”
“Mr Graham was here,” the captain said. “I’ll swear to it before any court in the land.” He motioned to the dragoons, and the men lowered their weapons.
Matthew returned his sword to its scabbard. “I pity you, Oliver. You began life as a person of faith and conviction and you’ll end life as a man for whom nothing was holy and everything was for sale.”
“Silence!” Oliver thundered. “I’m arresting you for murder Matthew Graham. Arrest him I say!” Oliver screamed, but none of his men as much as lifted a finger to comply.
“You’re the one they’ll lead away in chains, Wyndham. Too many witnesses, far too many.” Matthew went back to tightening Ham’s girth, turning his back on Oliver.
Alex heard the whoosh of air when Oliver lunged at Matthew’s uncovered back and acted instinctively. A blocking movement with her arm, the impact making her wince, a quick follow up chop that made the major yelp, and then Matthew was there, wresting the knife from Oliver and throwing it to land several feet away.
“Coward,” was all he said, before helping Alex up on Ham.
Captain Howard nodded to two of the soldiers and Oliver was grabbed and led away. He seemed stunned, legs dragging over the cobbles. The remaining dragoons moved off, leading their winded horses. Now that the show was over the crowd dispersed, a few of the men coming over to say something to Matthew, now and then clasping his hand.
The captain hobbled over to the horse and smiled up at Alex.
“I think you’re right, Mrs Graham; God doesn’t care, one way or the other.”
She burst out laughing. Perfect timing for a theological discussion.
“Of course He doesn’t. And whatever His denomination, you’ve earned yourself a seat in heaven today.”
A wave of blood flew up the captain’s face. “God’s speed,” he muttered, standing back when Matthew sat up behind her.
“And to you,” Matthew said, before clucking Ham into a walk.
It was like riding in a procession. All through the narrow streets people popped their heads out to stare at them – or at her. She’d never live this down, she sighed, they’d never let her forget the day she grabbed an officer by the balls to save her husband’s life. Very much worth it, all in all, even if she probably should disinfect her hand when she got home. She wiped it on her skirts, and noted that it trembled. Not only the hand, but her arm, her legs, all of her was shaking. Matthew settled her even closer to him, his thighs strong and warm, his breath tickling her cheek. She wanted him to hold her like this forever.
“I wasn’t sure you still retained your fighting skills,” he commented as they left Cumnock behind.
“Me neither,” Alex said, “but I guess some things, once learnt, remain with you forever.” And thank heavens for that; she decided then and there to implement an extension to her exercise routine A.S.A.P. – one never knew when her martial skills might come in handy.
It was late afternoon when they turned up the last stretch. What with the heat and the evening light, the landscape around them shimmered in shades of gold and burnished bronze, dust rising from the dirt road when an odd gust of wind rushed by. Two small sentinels stood waiting for them at the top of the lane, two shapes that at the sight of them began to run. Mark’s face was streaked with tears, Ian looked about to cry and without a word Matthew dropped off the horse and collected both boys to his chest in a long, silent hug.
Once Ham had been taken care of, Alex produced bread and ham, beer for Matthew and Ian, and settled down to listen to Ian’s description of the recent events.
“So you faced him down, just the two of you?” Matthew cleared his throat. “You’re very brave, aye?”
Alex wanted to weep. Only thanks to Matthew’s instincts had Wyndham’s trap backfired, and even so it had been touch and go. All the long ride home they hadn’t said a word, but Alex had clung to his arm with such force that when she released her grip she saw to her shame that she had left bruises on his skin.
“That was a very dangerous thing to do,” Alex admonished the two young heroes. “What is it with you Graham men?” Mark’s ears turned a delicate pink. Alex ruffled his hair and ordered them both to bed, promising them that tomorrow she would bake them a huge cake in recognition of their valour.
When she came up some minutes later Mark was already fast asleep in the bed he shared with Jacob and Daniel. Ian stirred on his pallet when she knelt down to kiss his brow.
“Soon we’ll have to move you into a separate bedroom. Young men don’t sleep with children.” She was still laughing at his evident pleasure when she returned to the kitchen, where she found Matthew staring at the wall, his hand clenching and unclenching reflexively.
“Are you okay?” She came over to give him a backward hug. He hitched a shoulder, gave a rueful little shake of his head.
“It’s somewhat daunting, the lengths to which my brother is willing to go to destroy me. Two people dead, no less.”
“But you survived this one as well,” Alex said, rubbing her cheek against him.
“Why can’t he just leave me in peace? Why is it that he can’t let go of this sick hatred?”
“I don’t know, honey.” In her private opinion Luke Graham was an obsessive jerk that would have benefited from lobotomisation, or why not a complete brain transplant with a cow.
“He has so much more than me. Sir Luke Graham no less, he’s favoured by the king, is rich enough to have two homes, has a wife and a baby son and now another on its way…”
“And Ian, don’t forget that he has Ian.”
“Whom he stole from me!” It came out as anguished whisper. “My son, and he stole him!” He sighed and turned in her arms. “I don’t want to let him go. I love the lad so that my heart breaks, and I fear that I’ll tear him in two if I let him know how much I love him, but God help me, I want him here, with us. He belongs with me.”
“I think Ian already knows you love him. He’s known that for quite some time.”
“Aye, like a nephew, not as a son,” Matthew said bitterly. “It isn’t enough, not anymore; I want him to know me as his father.”
One small part of her was angry that this, his firstborn, should occupy such a huge place in his heart, but she recognised that he loved all his children with equal passion. It was just that welcoming Ian as a son would have such an impact on Mark, and she didn’t know how to explain the whole mess to a boy that was only seven. She kissed his nose.
“I already told you; if that’s what you want, then I’m with you all the way.”
Ian didn’t dare to move. He’d come down for a drink of water and now he had to piss instead. Pressing a shaking arm to his mouth to stop himself from making any noise, he escaped up the stairs, avoiding the treads that squeaked. He stopped outside the nursery door and sat down on the floor, filled with so many whirling emotions that he couldn’t clear his head.
They loved him! Both of them, he could hear it in their voices, and his heart swelled with happiness. His father – his uncle? His father! – wanted him to stay, to tell the world he was his son. And Ian wanted it too. This was where he belonged, following a man he loved as he strode from stable to field, pointing, teaching, laughing at Aragorn’s antics, smiling with pride when Ian did something right. He bit back a sob; and Mam? He’d never see her again, or at least only rarely.
Ian was exhausted; not only had he not slept last night, but now his brain was a buzzing inferno of questions. After having peeked over the banisters to ensure the coast was clear he crept back down, breaking into a frantic run the moment he was out of the house. He had no idea why he was running or where, but he ran until the loud noises in his head abated and then threw himself down by the river to think.
“What are you doing here in the middle of the night?” Alex was faintly disappointed; she’d looked forward to a solitary swim in the July night, and the hunched shape by the water was a rather unwelcome intrusion on her plans.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Ian mumbled and shifted sideways to allow her to join him on the log.
“Me neither, it’s hot, isn’t it?” Plus every time she closed her eyes she saw Matthew being led away in chains by a triumphant Wyndham, or poor Mrs Brown covered in blood. They sat quietly, both of them lost in their own thoughts. Ian hunched together even further with his chin sunk into his clasped knees and sighed.
“I heard you before, when you were talking in the kitchen.”
“Oh.” Alex kicked at a small stone, sending it to land with a splash in the middle of the pool.
“I love them both,” Ian said. “I know my father isn’t always a good man, but I love him.”
“Of course you do. It would be strange if you didn’t. Luke has taken care of you since you were a baby.”
Ian hitched a bony shoulder, hiding his face against his knees. Alex sighed; since Margaret’s visit back in April they’d not had one letter, no sign of life, while Ian had written several times. She supposed Margaret was confined to her bed again, heavy with child, but still, was it too much to ask that she wrote her son now and then?