Page 23 of Marry the Highland Villain (Breaking the Highland Rules #1)

CHAPTER 23

The castle was swarming with activity when Conall returned, and the first guard to see him had his sword halfway out before he realized he was about to draw steel on his Laird.

“My Laird,” the man said, sheathing his weapon immediately. “Master Oliver has been lookin’ for ye.”

Conall nodded curtly, his eyes on the warriors stationed along the wall and bristling with armor and weapons to the point that a number of them looked like upset hedgehogs.

“Were we attacked?” he asked, seeing no other reason for the state of high alert the castle seemed to be in.

“Nay, My Laird. All is well. But yer brother said yer life was in danger.”

The man’s eyes flicked down to the open wound on Conall’s arm. The blood wasn’t flowing quite as freely now, but it had seeped through his shirt in a way he knew must look alarming.

“My life was in danger,” Conall told him. “But nae from anyone in the castle, as far as I ken. I was attacked by the former laird Auchter.”

The guard blinked, and Conall saw the unease on his face.

“My Laird,” the guard began nervously. “Ye should probably ken that yer brother… well, he’s been sayin’ that as Lady MacKane is Laird Auchter’s blood, he believes she’s been plannin’ to kill ye on behalf of her kinfolk. He said…” he trailed off, seeing the growing fury in his master’s gaze.

Conall scowled. “And why would he think that?” he demanded, ignoring the stinging pain in his arm.

The guard gulped, his face pale. “He couldnae find ye this morn,” he explained. “And it seems yer wife wouldnae tell him where ye’d gone.”

Conall’s rage reignited into a different kind of fury. He knew Oliver had never liked his relationship with Brigid, but his brother hadn’t even checked Devon’s grave, which he knew Conall was in the habit of visiting. Instead, he’d accused Brigid without so much as a second thought.

He was getting tired of telling Oliver that Brigid was not her grandfather. Tired of Oliver’s temper and his blinding hatred.

Oliver was so determined to see Brigid as an enemy that Conall could have been killed at Devon’s grave this morning while Oliver was too busy accusing his wife to come to his aid.

“Where is my wife?” he asked, almost dreading the answer.

The guard flinched at his tone. “She’s… Master Oliver ordered for her sisters to be taken to the edge of MacKane lands, and Lady MacKane was taken to the dungeons, My Laird,” he said, not daring to look Conall in the eye.

Conall stormed past the man, slammed his way through the main door to MacKane Castle, then wrenched the door to the dungeons open hard enough to send it crashing against the stone. The stone cracked at the impact of the door handle, and the wood splintered around it, but Conall ignored the damage and stormed down the stairs.

“Where is my wife?” he roared, finding Oliver standing in front of one of the cells.

Before his brother could answer, though, a movement from within the cell caught his eye, and his vision became red.

“Release her!”

“Nay. I willnae, Brother.” To his surprise, Oliver shook his head and refused to move.

Conall stepped forward threateningly, but his brother still stood his ground, pulling out a vial that he held up to him.

“I’m glad ye’re safe, Brother,” he said, “but ye willnae be if I allow ye to release her. She was carryin’ this, Conall. It’s poison. Emily confirmed it when I showed it to her earlier. Yer wife was plannin’ to poison ye with it.”

By way of answer, Conall lashed out at his brother, slapping the vial out of his hand. It shattered on the stone at the end of the corridor.

“Ye’ve nay proof of any of that,” he snarled, hardly able to believe what he’d just heard. “I’m here, am I nae? Do I look like I’ve been poisoned to ye? Because I can assure ye, Oliver, that I havenae—and God kens she had plenty of opportunity to do it if she’d wished.” He nodded in the direction of the cell. “Release her.”

“But Brother…”

“I said, release her!” Conall’s voice thundered off the walls, echoing through the underground chamber.

Oliver stared at him in shock, then stepped quickly to the door and unlocked it.

Brigid came hurrying out as soon as the door was open, her long hair disheveled and her eyes red from crying.

“Conall,” she gasped, “I wasnae plannin’ to use that vial, I swear to ye. Laird Auchter gave it to me last night, at the wedding feast. He told me to use it, but I wasnae ever plannin’ to. I forgot to get rid of it last night—that’s the only reason I still had it.”

The last of Conall’s questions melted away at her words. He’d wondered when Holdenson had given Brigid the order to kill him. He’d suspected it had been during their brief conversation the night before, but now he knew what Holdenson had told his wife and what his plan had been.

It was a twisted but simple plan. Had Brigid complied, Oliver would have killed her in retaliation, thus ridding Holdenson of two of his enemies and giving him an excuse to renew the feud—and trying to kill Oliver in turn.

“Conall, please. I promise ye, I’m tellin’ the truth.”

Brigid’s eyes were bright with tears in her pale face, and there was no doubt in Conall’s mind that she meant what she said.

“I ken. I ken ye’re tellin’ me the truth, lass.” Conall touched her chin with two of his less bloodied fingers, then kissed her gently, ignoring the way she flinched at the sight of blood on his hands.

Then, he turned to Oliver.

“Ye didnae even seek me out, beyond my study and my bedroom,” he said, his voice ominously calm. “If ye had, if ye’d spared a single thought for me aside from lookin’ for someone to blame, ye’d have guessed where I went and why.”

Oliver stared at him. “I… I didnae think,” he stuttered. “I saw the vial on the floor of yer chamber, and once Emily had told me what it contained, I?—”

“It doesnae matter where ye found it or what it contained,” Conall interrupted. “Even a blind fool could have seen that the bottle was still full. Untouched and unused. But ye didnae bother to look, did ye? Just like ye didnae bother to send anyone to see if I’d gone to visit Devon’s grave.”

Oliver flinched. “Devon’s grave? But why would ye go there?”

“Because I wanted to speak to him,” Conall said simply. “I often go there when I need to gather my thoughts. I thought ye kenned that.” He snarled at his brother, anger boiling through him. “But ye… ye never even looked for me, did ye? Ye were too determined to destroy my wife, too determined to hate her instead of lookin’ for the real enemy.”

“Conall… I…”

“Nay. Nay more.” Conall stalked forward, his hand on the hilt of his sword. “I’ve told ye and told ye, Oliver. I’ve asked ye to heed me. An’ ye refused, too blinded by yer headstrong anger to ken, to see or hear the truth. If I cannae trust ye, then I’ll nae be leavin’ ye to stab me in the back again the next time yer hatred blinds ye.”

He started to draw his blade, but a small hand on his own stopped him.

Conall looked around to find Brigid gripping his arm, her eyes filled with horror and sorrow. “Stop. Ye cannae.”

He stared down at her, startled by the vehemence of her cry and the determination in her gaze.

“But he threatened ye, Brigid. He’s done it time and again. I cannae let him continue like this. He’s a danger to ye.”

“But he’s yer brother,” Brigid replied appealingly. “Would ye kill yer only remainin’ brother, Conall? Yer own kin?” Tears filled her emerald-green eyes. “As angry as ye are, would ye really do it?”

Slowly, she released his arm and backed away. Then, without another word, she turned and walked away as quickly as she could, as if she couldn’t bear to witness whatever was about to happen.

Conall watched her go, then turned back to his brother, who was still standing before him, looking as if he couldn’t quite decide what to do with himself.

“Ye would have killed her,” he said.

It was a statement, not a question, and they both knew it was true.

“I thought she was plannin’ to kill ye,” Oliver replied, his voice shaking slightly. “All of the evidence seemed to point in that direction.”

Conall’s lip curled. “Auchter gave her the poison, but she never kenned him,” he pointed out. “She’d never even met him afore last night. She wasnae plannin’ to give him any aid or loyalty. And well he kenned it, for he came and found me at Devon’s grave this morn.”

“He came and found ye?” Oliver’s eyes widened, flicking down to the bloodstain on his brother’s arm.

“We always kenned he wanted me dead,” Conall said grimly. “And although he was perfectly happy to do it himself, it seems he thought it would be more effective to have her do it for him, kennin’ that ye would kill her in return. An’ ye fell for his machinations like a fool. Just like those guards who accosted her some nights ago.”

“The guards ye killed.” Oliver swallowed hard. “Then ye truly intend…?”

“Nay.” Conall shook his head and dropped his hand to his side. “Brigid was right. Ye are my brother, Oliver. As long as she’s safe, I’ll nae harm ye. But dinnae presume my feelings for ye will protect ye again. ’Tis Brigid’s care that earns my forgiveness.”

“Can ye fault me for nae wantin’ to lose ye?” Oliver’s voice was rough with emotion. “Would ye really kill me for wantin’ to protect my brother?”

“Nay.” Conall sighed, his anger slowly draining away. “’Tis yer unwillingness to listen, and yer willingness to wound me, even when I tell ye otherwise, that I have trouble forgivin’.”

Oliver flinched at the words. “Conall, I am sorry,” he said stiffly. “Truly, I am.”

“Just be glad that Brigid was willin’ to forgive ye when I was lost in my rage as deeply as ye were lost in yer hatred for her,” Conall replied, rubbing wearily at his face.

He was tired; his wounds hurt, his body ached, and the stench of Eric Holdenson’s blood was heavy in his nose. The partially dried blood clung sticky and stiff to his arms and shoulders, and he needed nothing more than a hot bath, one of Emily’s poultices, and a bottle of whiskey to wipe away the last few candlemarks from his memory.

All of that would have to wait, however, because the only thing he could think of when he turned away from Oliver was Brigid’s tear-stained face and what she must have suffered at his brother’s hand.

With a heavy sigh and a heavier heart, his stomach aching with apprehension, Conall went to find his wife.

Brigid stared at the walls of her room, her heart aching and her eyes burning. Everything around her looked exactly the same as it had only a few candlemarks ago. And yet it was all so different.

Just this morning, she’d stood here with her sisters, chattering excitedly about her new life as she changed her clothes, ready to go downstairs to break her fast. Now, her sisters were gone, and she had no idea when she would see them again. The ‘new life’ she had so much hope for now lay in tatters, and she had no friends or family to protect her. Even Emily, for all she knew, might side with her husband and suspect her of trying to kill Conall.

There was no one for her to trust or to turn to for comfort.

Oliver, it was clear, would never trust her, never accept her. And yet, despite the way he’d treated her since she’d arrived, the thought that Conall might kill him for her sake filled her with horror. She knew Oliver disliked her, but she didn’t want him to die, especially not on her account. But when she remembered the look on his face when he’d come charging into the dungeons…

The sudden knock on her door made her jump.

“Aye,” she called out, her voice still shaky from her ordeal.

“Brigid, it’s me.” Conall’s voice sounded tired and heavy, and Brigid found herself calling out for him to enter before she had time to consider her actions.

Conall entered the room, his sash torn, his shirt covered in blood, and a piece of cloth wrapped around his hand. Brigid’s eyes flicked to the bloody wounds that were visible on his arm and shoulder. He was a fearsome sight, and she gulped at the sight of him, not knowing what to say.

“I’m sorry Oliver threw ye into the dungeons,” Conall began, before she could gather her thoughts. “It shouldnae have happened, and it willnae happen again if I’ve aught to say about it.”

Brigid’s eyes widened, her mouth dry and her throat aching. “And yer brother?” she said, hardly daring to ask.

“He’s alive and unhurt,” Conall said bluntly. “I didnae kill him, nor strike him, even though part of me badly wanted to. I was angry, but he is my only remainin’ brother, as ye pointed out. I’d nae kill him, Brigid, nay matter how much he might provoke me sometimes.”

“And how would I ken such a thing?” Brigid replied fiercely. “Ye killed two of yer men the other night because they hurt me. An’ now ye say ye didnae hurt yer brother, but ye’re covered in blood…” Her voice cracked on the last words, her eyes filling with tears.

Conall’s jaw clenched, his eyes wild with anger, regret, and pain.

“Aye. I did. And ye might as well ken that I was forced to kill another man today. Laird Auchter.”

Brigid fell on the edge of her bed as if her legs refused to hold her up any longer.

“My… Ye killed…?”

“Yer grandfather, aye. He’s gone, Brigid. And I’d tell ye I’m sorry, but the truth is, I’m nae. ’Twas his life or mine when he attacked me earlier today at my brother’s grave.”

Brigid gaped up at him, his words echoing in her head.

Her grandfather. He’d killed her grandfather. She’d had no love for the man, and she would not mourn his loss. But even so, he had been her kin, and what would happen if Conall came to agree with Oliver that her blood was proof of his legacy?

Everyone in her life, save for her sisters—the villagers, Oliver, the guards—held her accountable for sins she’d never committed. What would she do if Conall did the same?

And even if he didn’t, his temper made him feared by all. Could she live like that? Could she ever trust him fully? Could she repeat her mother’s fate?

“Say something, I beg ye.” Conall’s voice was curt and gruff.

The words spilled out of her without consideration.

“Ye saved my life, and I’d trust ye with it without hesitation,” she began, looking up at him from her position on the edge of the bed. “But everyone fears ye, Conall—and for good reason, it would seem. Ye’ve killed four men in the short time I’ve kenned ye, and ye would have killed a fifth one—yer own brother, nay less—had I nae been there to stop ye. How am I supposed to trust ye with my happiness and my heart when everyone around me fears ye? Should I nae fear ye too?”

Conall stiffened as if she’d struck him. “What are ye sayin’, Brigid?” he asked, his voice quiet. “Are ye sayin’ ye regret marryin’ me? Am I really that fearsome to ye?”

Brigid shook her head, trying to organize her thoughts, but all that came to mind was her mother’s final words to her.

“My mother,” she said, almost as if she were thinking out loud. “She loved my father, but she always regretted marryin’ a man whose reputation left us without a clan and kinfolk. She loved him, but she hated that all others feared him so. That her choice of husband made her children’s lives so hard. That’s why…”

A sob rose in her throat, and she forced it back. There was nothing she could do, however, to stem the tears that brimmed in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks as she continued, so she simply wiped them away with a shaking hand.

“My mother’s last words to me were a rule I was never to break,” she told him, her hands twisting nervously in her lap. “She told me never to give my heart to a man others feared, nay matter what. And I promised her I wouldnae.”

“So ye believe…” Conall’s voice cracked. He stopped and cleared his throat. “I’ll ask ye again,” he said. “Are ye afraid of me, Brigid?”

Brigid toyed thoughtfully with a fold of her dress as she considered the question.

Was she afraid of him hurting her? Killing her? She wasn’t sure. But she was afraid of what his temper might do, and what it might cost her in the end. Of that, she had no doubt.

Her voice was small, cracking with her tears, when she finally spoke.

“Aye,” she said, looking up at him. “Aye, Conall, I am. Nae of what ye’ll do, but what ye might cause, and what might happen when yer temper overtakes ye.”

“I see.” Conall’s voice went cold, and she watched him in alarm.

His jaw was clenched, his back straight and his shoulders stiff. His eyes were like storm-tossed clouds, brimming with rage and pain as palpable as thunder during the worst summer storms.

Brigid stepped forward, her arm outstretched, only for him to immediately step back, moving out of her reach.

The gesture was like a blow to her gut.

His words rang like a portent of doom when he spoke, like the curse of a vengeful spirit.

“I thank ye for yer honesty,” he said in a stiff, formal manner, which was nothing like the man who had carried her playfully to his chamber just one night before. “Now that I ken ye’re afraid of me, I’ll nae come to ye again in any manner, until ye seek me out of yer own accord. But ken this, Brigid Barr of Blackwood’s kinsmen, and ken it well—ye are my wife. I’ll nae surrender ye, nae to my temper or yer fear. Nae now, and nae ever.”

He stepped forward then, caught her chin, and tipped her head back so their gazes locked. “Ken this too, my wife. I didnae tak’ pleasure in killin’, and I’d have been happy to have never needed to raise my blade. I didnae enjoy takin’ yer grandfather’s life, and I wouldnae have done it if he hadnae threatened ye and forced my hand.”

Brigid blinked. “But the feud?—”

“The feud wasnae my choice. I didnae start it, nor did I wed ye to end it. I mourned my brother, but vengeance I would have taken only against the man who killed him—and it wasnae ye. Nor even Holdenson, even though he ordered the actions that led to my brother’s death.”

Brigid could feel herself beginning to shiver under his icy gaze. “I dinnae understand.”

“Ye dinnae understand much of me at all, it seems. But understand this, whether ye trust it or nae—my brother died because I was too much of a fool to protect him properly. Or to think afore I raced to his rescue. I’ll bear the weight of it and all that came from it for the rest of my life. But I will never regret defendin’ ye against anyone, nay more than I’ll ever regret doin’ what I must to defend my clan.”

Conall released her and stepped back. His face was so lifeless that his expression might have been made of chiseled stone, and the sight chilled her to the bone, despite the warmth of the room. He stared at her for a long moment, then turned and left without another word.

Brigid stood motionless until the door closed behind her husband. Then, and only then, did she sink to the floor and allow herself to sob, mourning all that had happened that day, and the ache in her heart that she feared would never go away.