Page 90 of Devil Black

Dougal stirred slowly, like a man moving through molasses. “I was but a lad of twenty then,” he growled, “and a fool who believed in such things as honor and right. I came here, aye, after Meg received that letter from Aisla. I told no one, not Meg and not Lachlan, not then nor afterwards. I challenged Bertram MacNab to combat for her.”

Again he touched the scar on his face, and Isobel felt her stomach clench. “What happened?”

“Bertram told me he would accept my challenge, aye, but since Aisla was his wife under law, I should need to earn my right to face him in single combat.”

“How?” asked Isobel, trying to picture her husband at twenty, determined and idealistic.

“He said I must work my way up to him by first facing the members of his personal guard in succession, one on one, seasoned warriors all, and avid for it. I see now he wished only to humiliate me. In that he succeeded all too well.

“It took place here in the forecourt, myself surrounded by the pack of them, yelping like wolves. I loved her so much—” He closed his eyes for an instant, as if at a surge of pain. “I thought I could overcome anything. I asked him for but one thing, that he might tell Aisla I was there. I wanted her to know I had come for her, however it ended. He refused. So she never knew. She never even knew.”

Thomas swore softly, and Isobel bit her tongue so hard she drew blood. So, this made the wound not yet healed. She did not want to hear the rest of it but knew she must listen.

Thomas spoke again. “How many did you face?”

“Sixteen,” Dougal said bitterly, “with Bertram himself the last. By then I was covered in wounds and could barely stand. The mind may remain willing, but the body gives out. At least, mine did that day. Bertram took me down on the stones and cut my face—deep—with his sword, giving me something to remember. As if I could ever forget!”

“What happened then?” Thomas asked softly.

“They hauled me up, half dead and bleeding, dragged me out, and dumped me beside the burn on the border of my land. I made my way home somehow and never spoke of it—not to anyone. I was too sore ashamed. Next morning, early, I told my servant I was off hunting. I took myself away to the wood, meaning to wait for my wounds to heal. And while there alone, I felt Aisla leave this world—believe that as you may. I returned home only to have Meg shout at me. Word had come that Aisla was dead. Meg called me a coward and blamed me for it. She has never stopped. Nor have I.”

“By God!” Catherine exclaimed.

And Thomas added, “But you cannot blame yourself, man!”

“Och, I do.”

“It was not a fair fight!”

“And that is what I should have known. That is what I have learned. MacNab does not play fair. I wasted my one chance, and Aisla died for it. How can I ever put that aside?”

Isobel caught her husband’s hand and, trying to speak round the emotion that clogged her throat, said, “The courage you showed on Aisla’s behalf surpasses what she could ever have asked. She would have forgiven you, had she known what you endured that night.”

“You do not know that.”

“Yes! If she loved you, she would forgive. Yet you have continued to punish yourself all these years and allowed Meg to punish you with her hate. Why did you never tell her? How did you hide your wounds, your scars, when you did return from the wood?”

Dougal laughed bitterly. “A many nights’ drunken stupor and a number of brawls can disguise many things. Aye, and I would have crawled inside my flask then. But as I have learned, there is no escape, even in the drink.” His eyes met Isobel’s. “I could not tell Meg, or anyone, and admit my shame.”

“There was no shame,” Thomas insisted, “for you were cheated.”

“Yes,” Catherine agreed, “and it will not end so, this time.”

Dougal rounded on her. “What makes you think I can trust them now, any more than then?”

“You are no child now,” Thomas said. “You have many witnesses, and you can insist Bertram face you fairly. Unless he is a coward, he must agree.”

“Must he?” Dougal grimaced. “Tell that to him.”

“I will, and gladly.”

“This decision,” said Isobel, speaking from her heart, “cannot be ours, Thomas, Dougal alone can decide.”

“There you are wrong.” Once more, Dougal touched her face tenderly. “’Tis yourself and your sister, Wife, who will pay the price, should I fail.”

“You will not fail,” Isobel said fiercely, her eyes holding his.

“I did, last time. You have no right to have such faith in me.”