Page 50 of Cottage in the Mist (Time After Time #3)

Behind him, he heard Lily’s sharp intake of breath, and then Robby speaking. “’Twas Frazier. He’s the one who tried to kill me. He’s in league with the men who attacked Dunbrae.”

Bram dodged another of Frazier’s thrusts, his mind scrambling to make sense of what had just been revealed. “But you helped to save me.” The words came out of their own volition as he circled the older man.

“No’ by choice,” Frazier snarled, brandishing the knife. “I had no weapon, so there was no way I could take both you and Robby. I had to let you go.”

“And then followed me to Iain’s.”

“After making sure your own people believed it was you who’d betrayed yer clan.” His smile was twisted, almost feral, his eyes glittering with hatred. “If the attack on Duncreag had worked, I’d no’ have had to come at all. But someone had to make sure you were taken care of.”

“Murdered, you mean.” Bram shifted, looking for an opening as he realized it must have been Frazier who let Murdoc go and that the old man had most likely pretended to be injured earlier in an attempt to lure Bram into a trap. Only his cousins’ timely arrival had spared his life.

“Aye,” Frazier was saying. “With you dead, everything will finally be as it should be.”

Frazier lunged again, but Bram managed to dodge the blade, this time answering with a thrust of his own. He felt the knife slice through the man’s plaid but knew he hadn’t managed to draw blood.

Frazier danced back, his agility belying his age. With a quick twist, he freed a second blade from his boot and advanced slowly, his eyes dark with rage.

Bram reached for his claymore, cursing himself when he felt the empty scabbard. In the heat of his desire to see Robby, he’d left it in the copse of trees where he’d been talking with Alec. Still, he was younger and stronger than Frazier.

Frazier attacked again, using both knives to advantage, forcing Bram to retreat slightly, the two of them still circling. As Frazier moved toward Robby, Lily stepped closer, clearly wanting to protect the injured man, but in so doing she’d also put herself in range of Frazier’s knife.

With an angry roar, Bram lunged forward, intent upon saving her from harm, but it was too late.

With a snarl, Frazier kicked out at the injured man, who fell to his knees and then grabbed Lily by the hair—yanking her in front of him.

It took every bit of control Bram had to force his hand to stop the forward motion, to keep from stabbing Lily.

Her eyes widened as Frazier moved one of the knives to her throat, the other still waving in Bram’s direction. “Put away yer knife, or I’ll kill her,” Frazier growled.

Bram’s gut churned as he tried to find a way out. He couldn’t let Frazier hurt Lily, but as soon as he put the knife down, they were all as good as dead. If Robby still lived, that was. Bram could see his friend collapsed on the ground beside and slightly behind Frazier and Lily.

“Let her go,” he asked. “It’s me you want, not her. I promise I’ll drop the knife when you release her.”

“Ye always were a man to think with your cock,” Frazier taunted. “And a Comyn bitch at that. Yer father is no doubt spinning in his grave.”

“My father is dead because of you.” He slowly inched forward, knife still in hand.

“Yer father deserved what he got.” Frazier tightened his hold on Lily, a thin trail of blood forming across her neck where he held the blade. “Tried to turn me out to pasture. Said I was past my prime. Told me he had no more use for me. As if I were no better than an aging plow horse.”

“And so you betrayed him.” Bram’s attention was still locked on Lily as he tried to keep the old man talking.

“Nay. He betrayed me. I chose to follow someone who recognized my worth.”

The true meaning of the conversation he’d once overheard regarding Frazier became clear. His father had rejected Frazier. Turned him away. And the old man sought revenge. But in so doing he’d taken so much more. “It wasn’t just my father, Frazier; it was your clan. Your people. You disgust me.”

The man snarled again, his grip on Lily tightening. “I’d remind you that I’m the one holding yer lady.”

“She’s no’ mine.” He hated the flash of pain in Lily’s eyes, but if his denial could save her life then he would not regret the words.

“Dinna lie to yerself, lad,” Frazier growled. “I can see it in yer eyes. Ye want her still.”

“You said it yourself. She’s a Comyn.” He inched forward, praying for an opening to strike.

“Aye, that she is. And once I dispose of you, a bonny prize for Malcolm.”

“Malcolm?” Surprise flittered through him, but then was quickly replaced with brutal realization. “My uncle? This is all his doing?” It made sense in a twisted sort of way.

“He’s only taking what is rightfully his. And I’ll be at his side. But first I need you dead.” The blade cut further into Lily’s skin. “Drop the knife or I slit her throat.”

Bram’s gut tightened, his heart thudding in his ears.

It was an impossible choice. And either way the odds were that Lily would die.

Then from just beyond Frazier, Robby pushed to his knees, his face twisted with pain, but his eyes determined.

The older man failed to notice, his attention still focused solely on Bram.

With a quiet gesture, Robby signaled his intent. He’d startle Frazier and hopefully in so doing draw the man’s attention and give Bram a chance. It was a risk. But when his gaze darted to Lily, she seemed to understand—giving him a nod as she shot a glance in Robby’s direction.

For a moment, it seemed the world held only the two of them, and then Robby moaned, simultaneously rising to his feet, holding a large stone as a weapon. Frazier swung around, knife at the ready, his grip on Lily loosening enough that she managed to bring a sharp elbow to his ribs.

Frazier grunted and threw her forcibly into the rock on which she’d been sitting.

Fighting against the panic that shot through him at the sight of her slamming to the ground, Bram focused on Frazier, charging as the man made a move on Robby.

Robby threw the stone and it glanced off Frazier’s shoulder with enough force to cause him to stumble.

But the effort had cost his friend, and Robby collapsed back onto his pallet.

Blood lust surged as Bram leapt on the older man, driving him to the ground. One of Frazier’s knives skittered away, beyond the lean-to. But he still held the bigger of the two. They grappled with each other, rolling on the ground, each trying to avoid the other’s blade.

Bram managed to slice across Frazier’s face, but it was no more than a surface wound.

He twisted, trying to find a better angle as both men continued to struggle.

Then Frazier managed to grab Robby’s stone, slamming it into Bram’s knife hand.

Pain lanced through him, and reflexively his hand opened, his knife falling to the ground.

Frazier managed to roll on top of him, his knife descending for the kill.

Bram grabbed his opponent’s hand, trying to push it back, to fight against what suddenly felt inevitable.

He should have died that night at Dunbrae.

But for the fluke of Robby’s finding him, no doubt he would have.

And now, everything had been for naught.

He kept his grip, but felt Frazier’s knife slipping lower. And then lower still.

“Let him go.” Lily’s voice was harsh with emotion—anger and something else he couldn’t quite put a name to.

Above him, he could see her standing with his knife held against the side of Frazier’s throat.

“I’ll kill him afore ye can kill me, I reckon,” the older man said.

“Maybe so,” she replied. “But you’ll still be dead.”

It was a stand-off. One that very well might end with his death, but even so he had to admire her fortitude. The woman had bollocks.

Frazier held his position for a moment, and then loosened his grip. In less than a moment, Bram had seized the advantage, rolling the man beneath him, his own weapon now pressed to Frazier’s throat. Lily sprang back, lifting her hand to her mouth as she watched him with wide, terrified eyes.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t slit your throat here and now?” The idea was more than appealing. Rage swelled through him. Anger for his father. His clan. For Robby and for Lily. Damn the bastard all to hell.

He clenched the knife, moving in for the kill.

“Hold,” Iain said, appearing off to Bram’s right, the barked word a command.

“Why?” Bram snarled, looking up as Alec, Ranald and Jeff rushed up beside Iain, their expressions fierce, their claymores at the ready.

“Because, as much as you want him dead,” Iain continued, “it’s better off for us if you let him live. At least for now.” He shot a contemptuous glance at Frazier. “There’s much he can tell us.”

For a moment, Bram’s blood lust was stronger than even his cousin’s logic. But then reason reasserted itself. He needed to know the truth. All of it. With a sigh, he removed the knife and pushed to his feet.

Ranald and Alec moved to contain Frazier and haul him away.

Iain knelt to see to Robby. Without thinking, Bram turned to find Lily, only to see Jeff leading her away, his arm around her shoulder.

He shouldn’t be jealous. He shouldn’t have feelings for her at all.

But he did, damn it. He did. Comyn or no’.

Bram sucked in a breath, and forced himself to turn back to Iain and Robby. “How is he?”

“Breathing. Which for the moment is a good sign.” Iain pushed to his feet, signaling for Geordie, who was hovering nearby. “Did he say who is behind all of this?”

“Aye,” Bram said, struggling with the weight of Frazier’s pronouncement. “’Tis my uncle.”