Part 8 (1/2)
”Uncle-”
He reached out to slap her. Judith had already moved her chair out of his striking distance.
”I'm through discussing this,” he roared. He was so upset, the veins in the side of his neck stood out.
Judith braced herself against his anger. ”But I'm not through talking about this,” she insisted.
Tekel was stunned. Judith had always been such a quiet, shy child. She'd never argued with him before. What had come over her? ”Has Millicent been putting fancy ideas into your head?” he demanded.
”I know about my father.”
He squinted at her a long minute before reaching for his ale. Judith noticed his hand shook.
”Of course you know about your father. I've told you all about the wonderful baron. He was-”
”His name is Maclean and he lives somewhere in the Highlands. He isn't an English baron. He's a Scottish laird.”
”Who told you this nonsense?”
”Aunt Millicent told me a long time ago.”
”It's a lie,” he screamed. ”Why would you listen to Millicent. My sister-”
”If it isn't true, why do you object to my going to the Highlands?”
He was too muddleheaded from the ale to think of a convincing answer. ”You're not going and that's the end of it. Do you hear me?”
”The Devil himself won't keep me from going to Frances Catherine,” she countered in a calm voice.
”If you leave, you won't be welcomed back here.”
She nodded. ”Then I won't come back here.”
”You thankless b.i.t.c.h,” he shouted. ”I tried to do right by you. The stories I made up about your father...”
He didn't go on. Judith shook her head. ”Why did you make up those stories?” she asked.
”I wanted to give you something to hold on to, especially since your mother couldn't stomach the sight of you. You knew that. I pitied you and tried to make it a bit better for you.”
Judith's stomach coiled and tightened so intensely now that she almost doubled over. The room seemed to be closing in on her. ”I heard mother say that Uncle Herbert was inferior because he had tainted blood running through his veins. She feels the same way about me, doesn't she?”
”I don't have any easy answers,” he replied. He sounded weary, defeated. ”I could only try to soften her influence over you.”
”The sword hanging over the hearth... who does that really belong to?” she asked.
”It's mine.”
”And the ruby ring I wear on this chain around my neck?” she asked. She lifted the ring from its resting place between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. ”Is this yours, too?”
He snorted. ”The ring belongs to the b.a.s.t.a.r.d Maclean. The intricate design around the stone holds some meaning to the family. Your mother took it with her when she left just to spite him.”