J. Tomlin - The Intelligencer

"Och, life is hard, mistress. Who am I to judge?" He offered her a hand to help her rise; she stared at it suspiciously for a moment before she accepted.

Downstairs, Syme still lay on the floor, but his head was now thickly wrapped in bandages that were reddening as blood soaked through. Tam began pacing, hands flexing in distress.

Widow Blacader still clutched the leather scrip as she curled her lip at the sight of her blood-splattered floor. "Tam, go send Andy for Sergeant Meldrum. Marioun, clean that blood before it soaks through the rushes and stains my floor."

"Wait. The sergeant will want to see it. You'd best leave it until he comes." The poor maid was wringing her hands, not knowing whom to obey, so he smiled at her and said, "Bring your mistress a cup of wine. She is much distressed."

The widow sank into the cushioned chair that sat next to the fireplace. "As though I dinnae have enow to distress me!" She gave Syme a baleful look. "And now the rushes will have to be changed as well, as though I can afford more expense. And my husband nae yet buried." She wiped an eye that had not a trace of a tear in it.

"I'm sorry, mistress," Syme said in a weak voice. "I saw a man go into the house with you nae here, so I came to see what he was about." His eyes closed as though he had worn out his strength.

Law crouched beside him. "Did you recognize him? Was it someone you had seen before?"

Syme shook his head no, moaning as though the motion pained him.

The door slammed open so hard it bounced against the wall, and the lord sheriff stalked in, followed closely by Sergeant Meldrum and two of his guards, both tall and burly with faces scarred from a history of fights. Sir William stripped off his leather gloves and dropped them onto the table with a huff. He marched across the room to stare down at Syme.

Law watched him as a fox watches a hound on the hunt. He hadn't long to wait for the hound to turn on him.

"What have you done now?"

Law shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Naught. I called upon Widow Blacader as I said that I might and found this."

"And it was just happenstance that you appeared at yet another attack."

"I dinnae ken anything about it."

"Law, Law." Sir William shook his head and sauntered around the table. "It is nae wise to lie to me, for if I dinnae find the truth, the thumbscrew shall."

Sir William backhanded him across the face. Law hadn't seen it coming and stumbled back a step. He pulled back his fist before he realized whom he was about to punch.

Sir William snorted a laugh. "Any such thought you have, you had best abandon."

Gritting his teeth, Law forced his face to relax and dropped his hand, unclenching it, but he was shaking all over.

"I ask you again-what were you after here?"

"My lord," Widow Blacader said. "We arrived-" But she might have been a mouse squeaking for all the attention the lord sheriff paid to her.

Law clenched his jaw and glared into the sheriff's eyes. "Naught. I had nothing to do with it."

Sir William shook his head. "Guards." The two men stepped past Meldrum, their hands curled into fists. The lord sheriff moved to the window that the widow had thrown open and looked out for a moment, as though savoring the afternoon sun. He nodded to his men.

Law crouched. He might not dare strike back at the king's appointed sheriff of the royal burgh, but he was damned if he would let the man's lackeys beat him without defending himself. He blocked the first blow with his arm and punched hard into the man's gut. The guard grunted and stumbled back.

The second guard was already swinging up at Law's face. The blow hit his chin like a hammer. Law's sight went black, and he stumbled into the table. The candlestick crashed over and Widow Blacader shrieked her distress. He shook his head as his vision cleared.

The first guard grabbed Law's arm and twisted it, and Law gave him a savage kick on the shin. The man yelped, but with a vicious twist, he got Law's right arm up behind his back and up to his shoulder blade. Law saw the blow coming from the second guard. He writhed, but it caught him on the temple, and he saw black again. His ears were ringing so that he couldn’t make out what Sir William said, but a shove laid him face down on the floor.

"Devil take you, Law. Answer my question."

Law raised his head and squinted up, the room wobbling. "I did."

The sheriff put his hand on his sword hilt and tapped it with his fingertips. "You give me no choice." He motioned to Meldrum. "Have him taken to the tolhouse dungeon."

Law stumbled between the guards, each gripping an arm to drag him down the passage. That whoreson . The sheriff did not care who was really guilty he only cared about staying on the good side of the king. But Law had thought he had more intelligence than this.

The guards hauled Law to the end of the passage and shoved him into an empty cell. He caught himself on his hands and knees before he straightened. The door slammed shut. A key grated in the lock, and then footsteps receded on the stone floor.

Law leaned back against the cold stone wall and slid down to sit. He cautiously fingered his chin and temple. His head pounded, and his stomach churned. The chill from the wall soaked through his cloak. He pulled it close and shut his eyes, hoping it would ease the thudding of his headache.

"Why does he always blame me?" he muttered.

The air was thick with the stench of piss and shit and the sweat of fear. Law tried to breathe through his mouth. There was no telling how long it would be before the sheriff sent for him. Or would he come with the thumbscrews he was so fond of?

There was a clatter of footsteps, and the key rasped in the lock. Bracing his hand against the wall, he pushed himself to his feet. The door creaked open, and one of the guards, the one Law had knocked down, stood in the doorway silhouetted by the shifting light of a torch.

"So," the guard said, "you thought to get away with knocking me about."

Law snorted a small laugh. "What is a bit of knocking about between friends?"

"You think because some lord knighted you that you're better than the rest of us. But they kicked you out soon enow, did they nae? And what are you now? Naught more than a beggar." He pulled loose the club that hung from his belt. "I'll show you how much better you are."

The guard raised the club and swung from his shoulder. Law stepped close, grabbed both of the guard's arms and twisted hard enough to throw him to the floor. Standing over the man, he kicked the club across the cell and then kicked the downed man in the ribs. The guard crawled onto his hands and knees. Law raised his fist, about to slam it down on the back of the guard's neck-until the jab of the point of a sword stopped him cold.

He raised his hands and backed slowly away, eyeing a hard-eyed guard who snarled down at the first guard, "You useless piece of dung. I should beat you myself." He waited until the beaten man stumbled out. "If he has a chance, he'll pay you back for that."

"He can try."

The door slammed shut, and the tramp of their footfalls faded down the hall. In another cell, a man sobbed and moaned for someone to help him. Through the high window, only a hand span in width, came the patter of rain. It had been a very long time since Law had felt so alone.

The sobbing went on for a long time, but at last the only sound was the rain. It was an empty sound, as though the whole world was desolate. How much time had passed, he wondered. The window let in a little pewter colored light, but the rain cut off any sun, so that gave no hint.

He slid down the wall and let his head sink into his hands for a long time. He frowned while thinking of Neill Blacader's dead body and frowned more when he thought of the house that had been searched and old Syme left bleeding on the floor. Then he realized he had been gone long enough that Cormac might have gone out searching for him. Surely he would have enough sense to stay well away from the lord sheriff, knowing that the man despised Highlanders with a passion.