Stephen stepped away, and to the center of the room, feeling awkward and stiff. This was the closest thing to a confidence that his father had shown him in many years.
“Thank you, Father. That should be agreeable..... You might as well start back. If I may speak to Mrs. Scott alone, I think I can convince her that it is the only way.”
“See that you do!” he growled, turning on the woman once more. “If you can’t, bring her instead. I’m not over-fond of hostages, but they usually bring the desired result. Good day, Mrs. Scott.” Without further speech he filed past and out the door, remounted his fierce gray, and rode off.
Stephen was silent for several minutes, as if confused in his loyalties. Then turned again to face the woman. He spoke stiffly.
“Mrs. Scott. I must apologize to you for my conduct at our last meeting. You have no reason to believe it, I’m sure. But I am not the same man now, that I was. Your niece, my sister, has forced me to look at myself in a new light. I don’t much like what I see. I make no excuses, except to say that I am my father’s son, and was raised without..... Nevermind. I am sorry, too, that you had to endure his wrath for so long. There was no other way. Had I spoken before I did, it would simply have made matters worse.”
The woman could only stare at him in disbelief.
“And now all you ask,” she replied, “in exchange for my own freedom, is that I turn an innocent young woman over to the man who burned her mother at the stake, and threatened to violate my son’s grave. To say nothing of what you yourself have done. Why should my answer to you be any different than the one I made your father?”
His face flushed with anger, which he then suppressed. “First, because I am trying to protect her. And you, though you don’t believe it. Second, because he didn’t kill her mother, or even strike her, as he told his men. She was dead when we arrived..... You don’t believe me. Here. She left this note for Mary.”
He handed her a single sheet, on which was written the woman’s dying message to her daughter. The hand was weak and failing, but undoubtedly that of her sister. Anne Scott read it quickly, then looked searchingly into the young man’s face.
“The third reason, and I do not say it as my father would..... I know she’s here, Mrs. Scott. The soiled cloak on the peg, is hers. She was wearing it yesterday when..... When I found out what kind of man I had become. I can’t forgive myself for that. I can only try to make amends, by seeing to it that she is never again brought to such a pass.