"Politics. The auld fart refuses tae change wi' the times. The Knights guard the ancient ways, see, but there are those among us who prefer tae live in the twenty-first century. Alban's a Priest-Knight o' the highest order, so what he says goes. He an' a few o' the senior cooncil members didnae like me sellin' my ancestor's land tae Johnny C., though it's okay for the hypocrites' sons tae work for Cialino Ventures, includin' one True MacDonald."

"Cialino's company owns the oil rig?"

"Six o' them, a' in the North Sea, plus part o' a new hydroelectric dam bein' built east of Fort Augustus. They've got underground pipelines runnin' through the Moray Firth intae Inverness an' throughoot the Highlands. Alban disnae like it, an' he's made a big environmental stink aboot it tae the Masonic Cooncil. The auld bampot booted me oot o' the Order the day I selt my acreage tae Johnny C., an' my life's been hell ever since."

"Angus, on Saturday morning, I caught the Crabbit hiding in the woods, dressed in Templar garments, only they weren't white, they were black, and instead of the Knight's Cross, the tunic bore a symbol, like a heart with an X across it."

My father looked away.

"What?"

"I cannae say."

"Why not? Wallace blood flows through my veins, just as it flows through yours."

"It's no' a clan thing. Blood oaths've been taken, preventin' me frae speaking o' certain things."

"You're talking in riddles."

He looked up at me with those piercing Gael eyes, but said nothing.

"Okay, you want to keep playing head games, fine. But Alban's sword was covered in blood. I don't know whether it was animal or human blood, but he had that crazed look in his eye, the one that used to scare the shit out of me when I was a kid."

"Aye. MacDonald lost his marbles long ago. He's no' fit tae run the Cooncil, if ye ask me. A disgrace he is, an' a liar—"

"You're one to talk. Do you really think the judge and jury are buying into your ridiculous little scheme? So you used my childhood scars as a means of kicking over a hornet's nest, that still doesn't make you innocent. In fact, in the end, you may have just sealed your own fate."

"How dae ye work that one oot?"

"Had you simply claimed Cialino's death was an accident, Max probably could have gotten you down to manslaughter, and you'd have served five to ten years in prison, maybe less. But now, with this whole ridiculous Loch Ness monster claim, everything changes."

"And how's that?"