Page 33 of A Wife for the Highland Villain (Breaking the Highland Rules #3)

Lily exhaled hard, her chest rising and falling as though her breathing might cool her fury. “Alasdair, look. I understand?—”

“Nay, ye daenae,” he cut in, his voice sharp. “This is a matter of life or death. Someone almost killed ye in yer room last night, for the love of God.”

“Aye,” she shot back. “And ye chased him away. I am fairly certain I stabbed him in the knee, so it should be easy to find him, too.”

Alasdair’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing with a strange mix of pride and frustration.

“That ye did. I ken ye’re never afraid to fight when it counts. The scar on me thigh is proof enough of that.”

Lily drew another long breath, her hands curling into fists. “Then trust me now. Let me fight.”

He looked down, his shoulders heavy, but she pressed on.

“I thought I would only spend a month here. I thought this was something I would do and then leave. But then I got to ken—” The words stuck in her throat.

She couldn’t bring herself to say ‘I got to ken ye again ’.

“I got to ken the people in the castle, especially the wounded men. I saw their faces when they healed and left for their homes. And I realized ye were right the entire time. Last night solidified it for me, Alasdair.”

Her voice broke as heat rushed up her cheeks. She gave it a quarter of a minute before she continued.

“I ken now. Me place is here, by yer side, as Lady MacRay.”

His head snapped up, and she saw his teeth grind together. She could have sworn she saw tears in his eyes, but they did not fall.

“Do ye ken how desperately I’ve wanted ye to say that?” he rasped.

Her chest ached, and she stepped closer, closing the space between them. “Ten years ago, ye didnae me the choice. Ye made it for me. Ye thought I wouldnae want to go into war with ye, so ye left me behind. I am asking ye now… give me the choice. Let me stay by yer side.”

She reached for his face and cupped his cheek in her palm. “Let us fight together.”

Alasdair took her hand, his lips brushing against her knuckles. “I daenae doubt yer spirit, Lily. But we are dealing with a traitor. Someone in this castle wants me gone. Me and ye both. And until I uncover who that is, I cannae take risks.”

She pulled her hand away, her stomach twisting. “So that’s it? Ye’ll truly send me away?”

He exhaled. “I would rather ye resent me forever while alive than bury ye because ye care for me.”

Her eyes burned. “So ye’re doing it again.”

“Lily—”

“Ye’re making the choice for me again,” she snapped. “Ye want to do this all over again. Ye bring me here, show me this world, and then decide to take it away because ye want to control how it ends?”

“Lily—”

“The funny thing about this is that somehow, ye think I’ll thank ye because ye’re ‘protecting’ me? Well, ye’re nae. I should never have come here. I see that now.”

He tried again. “Please?—”

“We were a mistake,” she hissed. “We should never have happened in the first place.”

She paused, the words burning in her throat. She could feel the tears stinging the back of her eyes, but she wouldn’t let them fall.

No. She wouldn’t let him see her vulnerable.

“And here I thought ye had grown. Ye’re still the same Alasdair. And right now, I daenae ken if I’ve ever hated anyone as much as I hate ye.”

He swallowed, his face pale. “I’ll make sure ye have enough provisions when ye return to yer village?—”

“I will leave,” she cut in. “And I will only take what I had with me when I came here. Nothing else.”

He reached for her, but she turned her back before he could speak again. Her footsteps were quick and hard against the floor as she stormed out of the study, her throat tight and her eyes wet.

When she barged into Brigid’s chamber, her sister and Conall looked up. Brigid was perched on the edge of the bed, and Conall was sitting in the chair beside her.

“What’s wrong?” Brigid asked, rushing to her side.

“He’s doing it again,” Lily choked out. “He cannae run, so he’s sending me away instead.”

Conall stood up at once, his chair scraping across the floor. “Where is he?”

“Nay.” Lily raised her hand. “I’m grateful, Conall, but now isnae the time. The castle might be attacked soon, and he thinks there’s a traitor among us. So he wants me gone before it all comes to a head.”

Brigid wrapped her arms around her and pulled her close. “Oh, Lily. I’m so sorry.”

Conall’s jaw flexed as if he might explode. “I cannae believe the bastard did it again.”

“I was a fool,” Lily whispered.

Brigid held her tighter, stroking her back. “Ye’re nae a fool. Ye trusted him. And now he’s breaking yer trust again. But ye will survive this, Lily. Ye always do.”

Lily pulled away, wiping her face.

Brigid’s eyes softened. “Do ye need help packing yer things?”

Lily shook her head. “Nay. I’m nae packing anything. A carriage is set to pick me up this afternoon, but I willnae take it. I daenae want anything to do with him.”

Conall crossed his arms. “Then ye’ll come with us. We were planning to leave tomorrow, but there’s nay reason to stay now.”

She gave a small nod, her throat still aching. “That might be best.”

Before another word could be said, a knock sounded at the door.

Brigid frowned. “Enter.”

Sorcha rushed in, her cheeks flushed, and her breath coming fast. “Thank God I found ye. I’ve been looking everywhere. The maids said they saw ye coming here.”

Lily straightened, her pulse still uneven. “What is it, Sorcha?”

“‘Tis Clara,” Sorcha said, clutching the doorframe. “Timothy’s wife. She’s in labor, and the midwives are all out of the village for the day.”

Lily groaned and rubbed her forehead. “Oh God.” She turned to Conall and Brigid. “We must hurry.”

Conall nodded, already moving. “We’ll take me carriage. Once the baby’s delivered, we’ll leave the village.”

Sorcha’s eyes narrowed. “Leave the village? What d’ye mean?”

Lily didn’t respond.

Brigid squeezed her hand. “That’s what we’ll do.”

Lily wiped her eyes again, forcing herself to breathe steadily. “Aye. That’s a great idea.”

As they all turned to the door, Sorcha squeaked, “Leave the village?”

Alasdair made his way back to his chambers, his thoughts swirling like a never-ending storm. Lily’s words refused to leave him alone, no matter how much he tried.

And Christ, had he tried to push them away over and over. He knew why they wouldn’t leave, though. It was because, to some extent, even though it pained him to the core to admit, there was some truth in them.

He walked into his room, slammed the door shut behind him, and stepped closer to the bed. In one fell swoop, he took off his clothes and trousers. He hated knowing that she was in pain, but he hated even more knowing that this time around, he was the cause of it.

“Ye blockhead,” he whispered to himself and stepped into the bathing chamber.

The cold floor beneath his feet gave him momentary relief as he climbed into the tub and settled in it. The water stopped around his chest, and he lowered his hand to his lap.

The knock on the door broke the silence.

“Enter,” he called.

Nathan stepped inside, his expression tight. “Me Laird. Do ye intend to ride into the village today?”

Alasdair shook his head, reaching for the cloth beside him. “Nay. Have ye forgotten? I have a council meeting this morning. I cannae be in two places at once.”

Nathan nodded, but his shoulders were tense. “And will yer uncle be there?”

Alasdair turned, puzzled. “Why do ye ask?”

Nathan hesitated, then stepped closer. “Pardon me, me Laird, but ye ken very well that I have been looking into the attack in the woods.”

“Aye, I am well aware,” Alasdair responded.

Nathan swallowed. “Well, the investigation I’ve been conducting these past days… it has led me to believe that yer uncle Thomas may be the one behind the attacks.”

Alasdair went still, the soap slipping from his hand and into the water. “What?” His voice was sharp, low.

Nathan exhaled. “I had hoped to bring this up under more favorable circumstances, but I cannae keep it from ye any longer. I traced the archer. The one ye killed in the woods?”

Alasdair nodded.

“His name was Malcolm. Nay one kent his last name, but I discovered he came from Clan MacEwan. Nay one had ever seen him in town before that morning. Yet several villagers swear they saw him near yer uncle’s house before he slipped into the woods.”

Alasdair’s chest tightened.

His uncle? His father’s brother, the man who had begged him to return to the castle when Jeremiah died, the one who had told him that the clan still needed him?

“That makes nay sense,” he grunted, shifting in the water. “If Uncle Thomas had grievances against me for assuming the lairdship, he would have spoken plainly. He wouldnae have hidden behind hired blades.”

Nathan’s face was grave. “I wish I could say I was mistaken, but there is more. One of the men who stormed into the cèilidh?—”

Alasdair raised his head sharply. “What of him?”

“A shopkeeper told me he saw that very man speaking with yer uncle at the fruit stand in the market last afternoon.”

For the briefest of moments, Alasdair thought he would slip into the bathtub from shock. He gripped the edges to steady himself.

“I cannae believe it,” he muttered.

Nathan took a step closer to the tub, but his foot slipped.

“Careful!” Alasdair called, half rising from the water, but it was too late.

Nathan crashed onto his side, and a loud grunt escaped his lips. Alasdair winced and watched as his man-at-arms groaned, clutching his leg.

“‘Tis nothing.”

Alasdair narrowed his eyes. “That didnae look like nothing.”

Nathan shook his head. “I must’ve slept on it wrong, that is all. Me foot just fell asleep for some reason.”

“Ye need rest,” Alasdair said, frowning. “Ye’ve been running yerself ragged with the investigation.”

“I’ll rest when the culprit is rotting in the ground, me Laird,” Nathan said through gritted teeth. “I willnae stop until order is restored.”

Alasdair shook his head. “What ye’re doing is admirable, Nathan. But even the strongest men need rest.”

Nathan waved him off, still on the floor, then slowly pushed himself up. His face was pale, but his voice remained firm. “Admiration or nae, I’ll see this through. Yer uncle’s name keeps circling back, and if he is the one, ye must be prepared.”

Alasdair sank deeper into the water, his jaw set. “There is only one way to find out. He is expected here later this morning. I’ll ask him meself.”

“And if he denies it?” Nathan asked.

Alasdair pressed his lips together. “I’ll give him nay choice but to tell the truth.”

Nathan studied him. “Then ye ken what that means. If yer uncle is truly behind this, we daenae ken how far he’ll go. We daenae ken how many men he commands. We must be ready for the worst. And above all, ye and Lady MacRay must be protected.”

Alasdair’s chest tightened at the mention of Lily. He could still see her face and the tears she struggled to hold back.

Nathan tilted his head, his eyes searching. “And where is Lady MacRay now, me Laird?”

Alasdair exhaled. “Daenae worry about me wife. I can handle her.”

Nathan nodded. “Is she at the wounded hall? I daenae think I saw her on me way to the castle.”

“She is… where she chooses to be,” Alasdair said at last.

His words were quiet, almost swallowed by the steam rising around him.

Nathan frowned but did not press. Instead, he bowed his head slightly. “Very well. I’ll keep looking into it. But if Thomas shows his hand today, we must strike quickly. We may nae have a second chance.”

Alasdair nodded. “Then we’ll be ready. Whatever happens, I’ll face him head-on.”

Nathan bowed once more and left, the door closing behind him.

Alasdair tilted his head back, his mind grinding like a pack of metal. He had fought wars, been dragged into the most horrible situations a man should ever face. Yet nothing hurt him more than seeing Lily’s face in his mind over and over.

Now he had to deal with a traitor who might or might not be his own uncle?

Alasdair hoped he could weather this, but with Lily away, this might prove his downfall.