VERDICT
Morgan admitted to scant knowledge of Scottish history, so Hannah had deemed it her duty to recount the often bloody events that had taken place in Edinburgh Castle. He enjoyed listening to the stories, heartened by the pride in her voice.
“There was the infamous Black Dinner,” she’d told him. “King James II invited the Earl Douglas and his younger brother to dine in King David’s Tower, only to have them dragged out and executed immediately afterwards.”
“Why?”
“They say the king was just a young lad under the influence of his advisors who wanted to curb the power of the Douglases.”
This sounded as complicated as Welsh feuding, so he hadn’t pursued it, especially since it involved the very king who’d been blown up by his own bombard.
Apparently sensing his lack of interest, she went on. “The Duke of Albany was later imprisoned in the same tower for plotting against his brother, King James III.”
He’d yawned. “Really?”
“But he escaped. Got the guards drunk, climbed out through a window and lowered himself down with a rope.”
Morgan recalled these anecdotes as he paced the small hall in David’s Tower, filled with a sense of foreboding. An hour ago he’d been instructed to deliver the Earl of Glenheath there; a verdict had been rendered and sentencing was to be pronounced.
While walking with the earl and his guards to the tower he’d looked up to the high windows, his belly roiling at the notion of a man climbing down from such dizzying heights.
“Cease pacing, laddie,” Glenheath hissed. “’Twill make no difference.”
“But I’m the one convinced you to surrender. I’d hoped…”
“Aye, weel. As long as I’m alive, there’s hope.”
Morgan had once thought he’d exhibit similar stoicism in the face of death, but Hannah’s presence in his life had put paid to that notion. He wanted to live a long and happy life with her.
He came to attention next to Hannah’s uncle when Abbott strode in, flanked by several thin-faced greybeards he suspected were elders from the Kirk. They looked exactly like his image of John Knox. They took their seats at a long, highly polished table. A few coughed nervously. Abbott shuffled papers, then looked directly at Glenheath. “Munro Cunynghame, Earl of Glenheath, are you prepared to hear the findings of this court?”
“Aye, get on wi’ it.”
“Firstly, the charges.”
Morgan’s amputated finger began to ache after the first five minutes of the diatribe about treason, sedition, wilful this, plotting that. After ten minutes he’d have gladly cut off the digit if it hadn’t already been snipped.
“Now the verdict.”
Morgan snapped his attention back to the proceedings. One of the John Knoxes had nodded off.
“Guilty on all counts.”
Morgan pressed his lips together, struggling to keep his mouth shut. He glanced at Glenheath who stared into nothingness, his face devoid of expression.
The dozing Knox was elbowed awake by a colleague who passed a document into his hands. He stared at it as if it was written in Greek then hauled himself to his feet. “It falls to me to pronounce sentence.” He cleared his throat, then cleared it again.
Morgan clenched his fists, outraged by the trace of a smile tugging at the corners of Abbott's lips.
“Munro Cunynghame, you are hereby stripped of the title Earl of Glenheath.”
The earl nodded, his jaw clenched.
“Your lands and buildings at Kilmer are hereby forfeit to the Commonwealth.”
Glenheath nodded again.
“You and the men currently incarcerated with you in Edinburgh Castle are sentenced to imprisonment beginning this day for a term of five years.”
Sweat trickled down Morgan’s spine; he inhaled air into gasping lungs. Abbott had never intended Glenheath go to the block.
“And my men in Aberdeen?” the earl asked without a trace of emotion.
The church elder slanted the document as if seeking more light to find the answer.
“Same sentence,” Abbott replied. “Do you accept the findings of this court?”
“Aye,” Glenheath replied gruffly.
The guards took him by the arms, ready to lead him away, but Abbott held up his hand. “There is one more matter to settle before we adjourn.”
The other members of the panel turned to look at him, their frowns betraying that they had no idea what was coming next. It confirmed Morgan’s suspicions that Cromwell’s hand lay behind this drama.
“Step forward, Colonel Pendray.”
Morgan’s belly lurched as he obeyed. He hadn’t anticipated charges being brought against him.
“The Commonwealth finds itself in possession of lands in Ayrshire it has neither the means nor the inclination to manage.”
Morgan swallowed the lump in his throat.
“Since Mrs. Pendray is familiar with those lands the court deems it advisable to give them over into your capable hands.” He handed Morgan a scroll. “As a reward for your service to the Commonwealth, you are hereby invested with the deed of ownership of Kilmer Castle and environs with all the rights and responsibilities attached thereto. Kilmer will belong to you and your heirs and assigns forever.”
Fearing he was perhaps dreaming, Morgan accepted the scroll. “I didn’t expect this, sir. I don’t know what to say.”
Glenheath chuckled. His chains rattled when he slapped Morgan on the back. “Say thank ye, laddie.”
“Aye, thank you, sir,” he managed, wondering how soon he could escape to run and tell Hannah the news.
He was still trying to steady his breathing when the smiling earl was led away and the elders filed out in silence, leaving him alone with Abbott.
“You knew Glenheath has no issue.”
“Of course, but on his death your wife would have no legal claim to the castle. It would likely devolve to some obscure male relative.”
Morgan kissed the scroll that had secured his own and his family’s future. “Now she does.”
“I’m counting on you filling the place with little Pendrays,” the Governor said with a wink. “I’ve an inkling you’ve already begun the process.”
Morgan slapped his palm against his forehead. He had been incredibly blind. That was what Hannah wanted to tell him but he’d been too wrapped up in his own worries to notice the changes in her body. Even Abbott had paid more attention. He itched to leave, but there was one more thing troubling him. “I still don’t understand why the Protector is being so generous.”
“Let me tell you a personal story from when I served under Oliver at Din-bar. One day, when we thought the battle lost and our army routed, he showed me a letter from his wife.”
“Elizabeth Cromwell?”
Abbott nodded. “She wrote Truly my life is but half a life in your absence.”
“She loves him,” Morgan said.
“And he reciprocates her love. That letter meant a great deal to him. I believe it helped revive his spirits and turned the tide against the royalists. I never forgot those words. A woman’s love can bring about miracles.”
“Indeed,” Morgan replied, smugly aware of Abbott's ignorance of the miracle Hannah had achieved at Dùn Fhoithear.
“I’m anxious for my wife to arrive from England.”
Morgan arched a brow, unsure how to respond.
“I see you’re wondering about Maggie,” the governor replied.
Morgan once again resolved to school his features so his thoughts didn’t show on his face.
“Interesting woman, but fickle. Playing both sides, I suspect. Wonder what happened to her?”
“Mayhap she ran off with Pritchard, sir.”
Abbott's hearty laughter echoed off the stone walls. “Mayhap.”