Page 36 of Desiring the Highland Laird (Highland Destiny #1)

D ougal handed Callum his claymore with reluctance. A frown of disapproval creased the man’s face.

“Ye cannae mean to—”

“I cannae allow him to go unpunished,” Callum interrupted, his voice hard and unforgiving.

Duty and honor dictated that he do the right thing and punish Malcolm for his heinous act, but it was difficult for Callum. Even as he stood there with the sword in his hand waiting for his men to bring his brother from his bedchamber.

Jamie arrived first, his face creased with concern as he glanced from the weapon in Callum’s hand up to his face.

“What do you intend to do, brother? Run him through?” Jamie demanded.

“What would ye have me do, Jamie? Allow him to go unpunished? When ye ken as well as I do this was an act of war.”

“Devil take ye, ye cannae kill yer own blood!”

“Stand down, little brother,” Malcolm said as he entered the great hall with two of their men. “I dinnae need ye to fight for me.”

The anger flashed across the younger man’s face as he stepped aside. He crossed his arms over his chest and watched as Malcolm paused in front of Callum.

Malcolm’s gaze was hard and unforgiving as he stared at him. His face was devoid of any remorse.

“So…” Callum began. “’Tis true what ye did.”

“Ye were no going to act, so I had to.”

“Tell me the truth, brother. I want to hear the whole story.”

“Ye were no in yer chamber,” Malcolm said with one brow lifted as if he insinuated he was elsewhere—with Evie. And he was, but that was beside the point.

“So ye took it upon yerself to leave the keep and go to the village?” Callum asked. “Because ye thought I had gone to see the chieftain. Ye thought to get away with it, did ye?”

“It was an opportunity,” Malcolm simply said. “I dinnae deny I torched the village. Eye for an eye, brother.”

Frustration edged through him as he gripped the hilt of the claymore until his hand cramped. “I warned ye no to do anything rash and yet ye did. Who helped ye?”

Malcolm did not shift his gaze, but the imperceptible movement of his men gave away their guilt. Callum remained rooted in place, refusing to look at them though he knew. There was no way Malcolm rode out alone.

“No one.” His voice was flat.

“Ye mean to tell me ye acted alone?” Callum asked. He shook his head. “I cannae believe ye.”

“Aye, I acted alone.”

In a sense, he admired his brother for taking all the blame and not naming those who accompanied him on his reign of terror.

He still did not know how many innocents were killed in the razing of the village and he was loath to ask.

How much blood was on their hands now? It was bad enough Jamie had shunned the MacDonald lass. Now this.

He huffed out an exasperated sigh.

“Och, by the rood, Malcolm. Why did ye have to act so recklessly? Do ye realize what ye’ve done? What wrath ye have brought down upon us? Our clan?”

“Do what ye will to me, brother, but I stand accused alone. I accept the consequences of my actions.” His gaze flickered to the claymore in his hand for a brief moment before returning back to his face. “No matter what ye decide.”

Callum stood ramrod straight. His palm broke into a hot sweat against the hilt as he gripped it.

What honor demanded was that he punish his brother by beheading him.

A life for a life. One life for the many he took did not seem rational.

And how could he? Jamie was right. He could not kill his own blood, no matter how horrific the crime.

As he stood there in indecision, he thought of his da. What would Hamish do if he were the one to mete out the punishment? A fight to the death? A simple beheading? Or nothing at all?

Anger pounded through him as he lifted his sword and swung it in a wide arc, narrowly missing his brother’s face.

Malcolm did not so much as flinch. His sword came down on the great hall table with a resounding thud, leaving a deep gash mark in the top of it.

Jamie’s eyes went wide as he looked from brother to brother.

Dougal sucked in a sharp breath. The two men who had accompanied Malcolm flinched.

But his brother had not moved a muscle. He glared right back at Callum as if he were in the right.

“Ye missed,” he said in a dark even tone.

“Get out of my sight,” Callum growled, his voice low. “Ye are hereby banished from Dundale forevermore.”

No one moved. The great hall fell into a deathly silence. Callum stared at his brother and his brother stared right back until at last he gave one nod of his head.

“I will gather my things and—”

“Nay,” Callum interrupted. “With the clothes on yer back.”

His gaze flickered to the two men who stood next to Malcolm. Two of his best men and likely the two who went with Malcolm judging by the guilty looks on their faces.

“And you two as well. Dougal, see them to the stable and make sure they leave. I dinnae want to see their faces here again.”

“As you command, my lord.”

“Ye cannae do this, Callum,” Jamie protested.

“I can and I am,” Callum said, his voice unforgiving.

“But—”

“Am I laird or no?” he roared. “Mind yerself, laddie.”

“Or what? I’m next? Ye cannae think to banish us both.”

Callum remained silent as Jamie gave him a withering gaze.

He understood it hurt the lad to see his older brother, whom he idolized led out of the keep, but there was nothing to be done for it.

He charged after them. He would not be surprised if Jamie left with his brother.

The door banged closed leaving Callum alone in silence.

He dropped his claymore. It clattered to the floor.

“Callum?”

Evie’s quiet voice rang out into the hushed stillness. He turned to see her standing on the opposite end of the great hall clutching rolled up material, her face devoid of color. Her knuckles were white.

“Och, lass, dinnae I tell ye to wait for me? Where’s Roslyn?”

“It’s not her fault,” she said, quickly. “Don’t be angry with her. I slipped out. I had to show you this.”

She charged forward. As she neared, he realized she clutched one of the tapestries in her hands.

“What’s this?”

“Look at it.” She shoved it toward him.

He had no choice but to take it from her. The material unfurled. He held it up to see Dundale with an army charging toward it. And leading that army was Rory MacDonald brandishing his great axe. A cold chill settled through him as he stared at the morphing image.

“I don’t know when it appeared, but it wasn’t there last night before you…” Her words trailed off. She took a deep breath, expelled it. “Do you know what it means?”

“Aye, lass,” he said, his voice quiet and calmer than it should be. “It means we’re going to be attacked.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.” She moved closer to him. “What do we do now?”

He stared down at the image of the army that slowly moved across the woven fabric inch by inch. As laird, he had a responsibility to protect his clan and all those who resided within the keep. That included Evie. But Evie didn’t belong here. She belonged in another time, another world.

He suspected the MacDonalds were coming for more than revenge. Likely they knew that part of the keystone was somewhere within the keep. If they breached the walls and invaded, they would find it and try to use it.

Though he was not the one to swear to protect the keystone, his ancestor was and he had to honor that.

His gaze drifted from the tapestry to the petite woman standing next to him, shivering.

Her hair was in fiery waves framing her lovely face which was pinched with worry.

He understood then he could not have her here, or the stone.

But he didn’t want to alarm her. He didn’t want to tell her what he was thinking for it would put the fear as well as defiance into her.

One thing he had understood about his termagant bonnie lass was that she would never go quietly, even though he was giving her exactly what she wanted.

“We’re going to protect the keep.”

Roslyn hurried into the great hall then. She came to an abrupt halt. Her eyes widened when she saw them standing together.

“My apologies, my lord, the lass—”

“Roslyn, ’tis all right. Dinnae fash yerself.” He rolled up the material and handed it back to Evie. “Take that back to yer bedchamber, lass, and leave it there. Tonight, ye will stay with me.”

For a moment she looked as though she wanted to object. He reached for her, unable to stop himself from whisking the wild locks of hair off her shoulder.

“’Tis the way I can protect ye,” he said, his voice soft.

“All right,” she said at last.

“I’ll help ye gather yer things,” Roslyn offered. She motioned for Evie to follow her back to the guest bedchamber.

But she remained there, staring up at him with those big brown eyes filled with concern and worry. He brushed the back of his hand over her cheek.

“Go, lass,” he said, his voice quiet.

Finally, she nodded, clutching the tapestry in her hands. She turned and walked away, leaving him alone once again.