Page 35

CHAPTER 35

“I cannae wait to give me clan the heirs it deserves,” Gordon said, his voice darkening. “I cannae wait to watch me bairns grow healthy and strong, kennin’ there’s nay force on this Earth that can harm them, as long as there’s breath in these lungs of mine. Nae bastards with nay claim to anythin’, fightin’ for the affection of a distant faither, but bairns who are loved, with me blood in their veins, with all the rights to these lands and this title and this castle and this clan. The daughters as well as the sons, Heaven willin’.”

Beathan’s face paled, his mouth contorting into a grimace that he tried to force into a smile, as if all was well. As if, twenty years ago, he hadn’t given the order to have Gordon’s father and brother butchered. As if, twenty years ago, his actions hadn’t resulted in the death of his sister, too.

“Bairns who are… loved?” Anna gasped at Gordon’s side, her beautiful eyes sparkling as if, at last, he had said what she wanted to hear.

“Aye, lass,” Gordon replied, though he didn’t look at her, his gaze locked with Beathan’s. “Mostly, I daenae want to live by the example that me uncle set, leavin’ his territory and his title vulnerable because his wife cannae stand him and he couldnae stop his eyes from wanderin’. If I’m to have bairns, they’ll be legitimate; they’ll be part of the castle, the family, the clan, nae outsiders waitin’ for a crumb from their faither.”

Matthew looked confused for a moment, before he followed Gordon’s gaze and understood; he wasn’t the uncle that Gordon was referring to.

“Dinnae mock me, lad,” Beathan snarled, his mask slipping once more.

Gordon smiled coldly. “I cannae do anythin’ but, considerin’ the almighty fool ye are—ye were—for nae killin’ me when ye had the chance. How many opportunities have ye had over the years, eh? Ye sat on me council, ye walked and rode alone with me so often, ye were one of me best advisors, always with me in me study. Nae to mention the opportunity ye had when I was yer prisoner.”

The rest of the congregation began to shift nervously, Anna’s side of the chapel whispering to one another, while Sophia—more perceptive than most—took that moment to grasp her father’s hand and tug him toward the periphery of the chapel, out of reach of Beathan.

“Ye took me eye, Uncle,” Gordon said, untying his eyepatch. “Why nae me life? And why now, twenty years later?”

“Because I heard ye, the week before that ridiculous festival,” Beathan hissed in reply, his eyes two burning coals of smoldering fury. “I heard ye tell Sophia that ye’d have to start thinkin’ about marriage and bairns. And I heard ye on the night I captured ye, tellin’ Matthew that ye wanted to continue yer faither’s bloodline, askin’ his advice.”

Gordon frowned at Beathan, unable to remember any of those things. Sophia had often pestered him about getting married, declaring that she wanted to be an aunt to the children of the only brother she’d ever known, even if they weren’t actually siblings. And he usually said whatever would make her end the topic as quickly as possible.

As for what he’d said to Matthew on the night of the festival; most of that night remained a blur, phasing in and out of his recollection. Bits and pieces, but never the whole picture.

“And the festival itself,” Beathan spat. “I did ye a favor, raisin’ ye up to the role of Laird, and ye just… couldnae forget that bastard, could ye? Ye couldnae let the clan forget that vile beast. Och aye, he could smile and charm whoever he liked, but he was a monster beneath his grin. A monster who stole away me sister, corrupted her mind, forced her into bein’ his prize, and made her think she loved him.”

“Nay, Beathan, yer sister did love me braither,” Matthew interrupted coldly, his hand moving to the hilt of a sword that wasn’t there. It was a wedding, after all: no guest had thought to arm themselves.

“Ye can hold yer tongue an’ all!” Beathan bellowed. “I’ve heard more than enough from ye over the years, bidin’ me time when all I’ve wanted to do is squeeze the life out of ye and yer daughter. Aye, ye’re as much a beast as yer braither was. Yer blood is just as tainted.”

Matthew shoved Sophia behind him, as Gordon did the same for Anna.

“Me sister should never have married the enemy,” Beathan continued, scowling at Gordon. “I tried to stop it at the time, but I couldnae. Nevertheless, I’m patient. I vowed at her grave that, in due course, I’d end her captor’s unworthy bloodline. That I’d gain revenge for her, one way or another.”

“Revenge for her? The woman who was guilty of nothin’ but lovin’ her husband and her bairns? The woman who died because of ye, or are ye forgettin’ that small detail?” Gordon said, fighting to prevent his voice from catching. Yet, he had never been able to speak of her without his throat closing.

Beathan’s face twisted, his eyes glittering. “Her husband did that, nae me.”

“She died of a broken heart, Uncle, seein’ what ye’d done to her beloved and her eldest, dearest boy,” Gordon replied thickly. “If that doesnae show the strength of her love for me faither and me braither, if that doesnae prove ye wrong, then I daenae ken what does.”

Beathan shook his head. “It was yer faither’s poison that did that. I daenae ken how, but that’s what killed her. It wasnae me. It wasnae anythin’ that I did.”

“When ye gave the order to those men to murder me family, ye sentenced her to death,” Gordon insisted grimly, his heart thundering in his chest, his mind igniting with painful memories. “But what I still daenae ken is why ye left me?”

Beathan’s eyes shone, as if close to tears, as he glowered at his nephew, shaking from head to toe. “Because ye were the only one who carried her blood, our blood, in yer veins.” His throat bobbed. “Yer face is hers. Yer eyes and hair might be his , but yer face… it’s hers. As a wee lad, it was even more so. And ye were young enough to be molded, persuaded against marriage and bairns. I thought I could end yer faither’s bloodline peaceably, bringin’ it to a natural destruction because ye had nay desire to seek marriage or have bairns, and that bastard only has a lass for a child, but…”

Beathan turned his gaze on Anna, his lip curling in disgust. “I meant to take away yer ability to have bairns when I captured ye, but I wasnae quick enough,” he said more quietly, splitting his attention between his nephew and the bride. “I hesitated to make ye endure that much pain because, even now, I look at ye and it’s like seein’ the ghost of her. Still, as I swore to yer maither, I’ll have her revenge nay matter the cost. I’ll end the enemy’s bloodline.”

With surprising agility, he leaped over the pew, drawing a concealed dagger from his boot. He was out in the aisle in an instant, sprinting like a feral creature toward Gordon, the blade glinting in the beautiful rainbow light that splintered through the stained-glass dome above.

Everything slowed for Gordon, as it always had done when faced with a fight. It was as if Beathan was moving through water, allowing Gordon the time to draw his own hidden dagger, tucked into the back of his belt.

Whispering an apology under his breath, Gordon pushed Anna backward with as much force as he could, sending her flying into the priest’s panicked arms. The man managed to get hold of her, dragging her further backward onto the dais, meaning to pull her behind the meager safety of the altar. It left Gordon clear to destroy the real devil: the monstrous beast who’d been so close, all this time, thinking he would get away with taking everything from Gordon.

“Ye should have killed me twenty years ago,” Gordon snarled as Beathan hurtled closer.

“Now will have to do!” Beathan roared, his arm shooting forward in a frantic jab.

Gordon sidestepped the attack, the point of the blade skimming past his right arm with a faint tear of sharp metal shearing cloth. But as he whirled around to make his own strike, panic struck him like a blacksmith’s hammer to the heart. Beathan wasn’t slowing, his momentum carrying him onward to the altar, his blade still outstretched, as if drawn to Anna.

Lurching into action, urging all of his strength into his legs, Gordon hared after his uncle, catching up to the man an arm’s length from the altar where Anna and the priest were taking cover.

Roaring his fury, Gordon grabbed Beathan by the scruff of his shirt and hauled him backward with all of his might. His uncle wasn’t a small or feeble man, by any measure, but the wicked devil went sailing across the floor as if he weighed nothing at all, sprawling onto the smooth flagstones with a wheezing gasp.

Gordon was on him in an instant, wrestling to rid the older man of his weapon.

“I could forgive ye for tryin’ to kill me,” Gordon seethed, as Beathan bucked and wriggled and writhed, desperate to be free. “But for darin’ to touch her , ye die here: in me faither’s castle, in the very chapel where he married the woman he loved, and who loved him.”

Shifting his weight, Gordon kneeled on Beathan’s arms, ignoring the frantic thrash and strain of those muscular limbs, ignoring the wide-eyed panic on Beathan’s face, ignoring the jarring movements as Beathan tried to kick out and weasel his way to freedom.

“I… raised ye up,” Beathan rasped. “I took care of ye, for her.”

Gordon shook his head. “She’d be alive if it wasnae for ye. Ye did nothin’ for me maither but ruin her life, then end it.” He leaned in closer. “Her blood will always be on yer hands, and I pray that’s yer punishment when ye reach Hell: that ye can never, nay matter what ye do, wash ‘em clean.”

With all the anger and sorrow and pain of twenty years thrumming into his knife-wielding hand, Gordon brought the blade down in a swift, sweeping arc, straight across Beathan’s throat. An echo of what those “ thieves” had done to Gordon’s brother, all those years ago.

But as the blood sprang free, spraying upward like the crash of a wave against the cliffs, a horrified gasp swept away all of his fevered, vengeful, agonizing thoughts.

His gaze flitted up, to find Anna standing there on the edge of the dais, her beautiful, tormenting gown splashed with a slashing grin of visceral red.