Diarmot could not see any sign of upset or distaste in Sigimor. Nanty and Tait at least looked a little pale. It had taken all of Diarmot's strength not to empty his belly right in front of the gallows. Sigimor was as hard as Connor, Diarmot decided. Recalling that the man had been left laird at but twenty with a horde of younger siblings and cousins to raise, he supposed it was understandable.
Sigimor, Tait, and Nanty, along with a few Clachthrom men, had found his assailants two days after the attack. Two men had survived the ensuing battle and had been brought back to Clachthrom where they had sat in the dungeons for another two days until Diarmot had been recovered enough to judge them. Although the men had had little to say that was useful, they had confessed to being the men who had attacked him in Muirladen as well. The man they had dealt with, the one Diarmot now recalled having spoken derisively about the laird having his face in the mud then kicking him, was always masked.
And then he had sentenced them to hang. He sighed and took another hearty drink of ale. Diarmot knew he had had no choice. The men had tried to kill him twice. They had not cared who he was or why someone wanted him dead, only that the money was good. Such men undoubtedly had blood on their hands. Such men would also not be reformed simply because they had been caught and had briefly faced the consequences of their actions. Diarmot knew he had done the right thing, that a laird had to be strong enough to enact the law, but he much preferred dispatching his enemies in battle with a sword.
"Ye had no choice," said Sigimor. "They were willing to kill ye just to gain a few coins for ale and whores."
The fact that Sigimor had guessed at his unease did not please Diarmot at all. "I ken it. It certainly would have made me look a weak fool if I hadnae.
Tis a gruesome way to send a mon to his death, however. I dinnae think we e'er had one at Deilcladach."
"Tis that peaceful there, is it?"
"Nay, of course not. We had enemies, but they died by sword or dagger. And, few of those once there was a truce between us, the Goudies, and the Dalglish clan. I suppose that, after years of feuding, people were too busy simply trying to survive to break laws. We didnae have anything worth stealing for many years, either."
"Weel, ye are blooded now. I was blooded when I was two and twenty. Had to hang one of my own cousins."
"Jesu, what had he done?"
"Enough to get him hanged a dozen times. The lad was ne'er right. Had a cold viciousness in him that we ignored for too long. He had a liking for rape. Tried banishing him, but he slipped back onto the lands, though we didnae ken it for a long while. He had decided rape wasnae enough. He still did it, but then murdered the poor lass when he was done with her. He had killed four lasses and was about to kill his fifth when we caught him. Those deaths weigh heavy on my heart for I made the decision to banish the lad the first time for all the wrong reasons. Couldnae abide the thought of hanging a kinsmon. That weakness allowed him to put four lasses in their graves, and they didnae die easy. I didnae hesitate when we finally caught him."
Despite the quiet horror of the tale, Diarmot almost smiled. He had just been lessoned by Sigimor. Diarmot had the strongest feeling the man probably had dozens of such tales, all true, and all with a message or a moral. Considering the fact that he was nearly of an age with him, Diarmot supposed he ought to be irritated, but he was not. It was quite possible he was coming to like Ilsa's brothers. A little voice in his head warned him to be cautious, but it was beginning to lose its ability to sway him. The more he came to know these men and all he could recall of them from a year ago, told him they would not be a part of any devious scheme. The problem was that no other suspect was coming to light. Nor could he yet recall everything that had happened between him and Ilsa.
"Ye dinnae need fear that madness is in the blood," Sigimor continued. "We kept a close watch on the rest of the lad's family and there wasnae a glimmer of it. He had a different mother than the rest and we decided it might have come from her. She did try to kill the blacksmith once."
"And Aunt Elizabeth," said Tait. "Chased her through the village trying to take her head off with an axe."
"Aye, true enough. She drowned when she attacked poor cousin David."
"She drowned?" asked Diarmot, unable to envision the way that might have occurred.
"Aye," replied Sigimor. "She was running after him, knife in hand, and he jumped into the loch to get away. She jumped in after him. He could swim. She couldnae."
Diarmot wondered how the man could speak of such chilling events with what could only be called a touch of humor. "Aye, I would say the madness came from his mother." He sighed, all amusement fleeing. "About all we have learned from this wretched business, however, is that I really do have an enemy. A mon who hides his face and pays others to try and kill me. He doesnae always come round to watch or make sure tis done right, either."