Page 27 of The Highlander’s Hellion Wife (Legacy of Highland Lairds #1)

27

“ I am nay more dead than ye are!” the stranger on the floor hissed.

Duncan glared daggers at the sniveling excuse for a man. “Ye think ye can harm me?” He laughed menacingly. “I’d like to see ye try.”

The man scrambled to his feet, and Duncan drew his sword from the sheath that was still strapped to his back.

Upon entering the castle, his guards had informed him that a messenger from Clan MacKimmon had arrived and was discussing the peace treaty with Alison in his study.

Duncan had resolved to take over the conversation and allow Alison some time to rest, but as he neared the study door, he had heard the telltale sounds of a scuffle.

He had rushed forward, kicking open the door, hoping that the noise would catch the attacker off guard, and he had been right.

As the man rose to his feet, he snatched up a dagger that had been lying on the ground. Duncan felt no fear as the man pointed the blade at his heart and grinned at him like a madman.

The man lunged for him, but Duncan easily evaded the clumsy maneuver. When the man dodged and slashed, Duncan sidestepped.

A fierce, vicious grin formed on Duncan’s face. “It will be fun killin’ ye,” he growled.

A cough filled the air, momentarily distracting Duncan. Alison had dragged herself to the corner of the room, wincing as she fought to steady her breathing. A line of blood trickled down her neck, but the sight that concerned him the most was the growing bloodstain on the front of her dress. Her wound had reopened.

The realization struck Duncan, and fear shot through him. He had intended to play with the man before him, to draw out the killing and revel in every second of it. But now he did not have the time. Not when Alison urgently needed his help.

Emboldened by his distraction, the stranger struck again, but Duncan had been in hundreds of similar situations. His reflexes had been honed and perfected during his many years at war.

He caught the movement in his peripheral vision and reacted quickly. The man jumped forward, slashing his dagger, and Duncan moved to the side. The man’s blade had missed Duncan’s waist by inches, and he lost his balance.

Duncan used that moment of weakness to his advantage. He headbutted him as hard as he could. The howl of pain the man let out coaxed a feral smile from Duncan’s lips. Raising his boot, he lashed out again, kicking the man square in his chest.

The stranger staggered backward, losing his balance entirely, and fell on his back.

Duncan wasted no time. Quick as a bolt of lightning, he surged forward. He did not give the man time to react or catch his breath.

He lifted his sword above his head, gripping the pommel as tightly as he could. His roar was feral as he brought the sword down with all his might. It went through the man easily, burying itself all the way to the hilt. It only stopped once the tip had embedded itself in the floor beneath.

The man’s eyes went wide, seeming to struggle with the fact that he had been bested. Duncan watched as his wife’s would-be assassin glanced down at the hilt of the sword sticking out of his chest. A trickle of blood ran down from his lips. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came.

“Ye willnae get the chance to hurt another lass again,” Duncan snarled, satisfaction at having avenged Alison coursing through him.

Another cough drew his attention, and he turned around. Alison was watching him, a pained expression on her lovely features.

But there was also something else on her face that made him want to puff up his chest.

Pride.

He straightened and hurried over to her.

“I’m sorry that I left ye,” he murmured, immediately sinking to his knees before her.

A small laugh escaped her lips. “Ye’re apologizin’ after ye saved me life again?”

“I guess ‘tis becomin’ a habit now. Savin’ ye, I mean.”

He gave her a lopsided smirk.

Another gurgle filled the air, and Duncan cast a quick glance over his shoulder. The man was still on his back, his hands grasping and clawing at the sword as he tried to pull it out of his chest, but he was too weak.

“Ye should finish the job,” Alison said. When Duncan turned back to her, her cold gaze was fixed on the wounded man. “He’s the one who killed yer first wife.”

His anger flared anew at her declaration.

“He almost killed ye. It would be a mercy to do anythin’ else,” he growled, his lips curling in disgust as he thought of all the havoc the man had wreaked. “And he doesnae deserve mercy. I will let him die slowly and painfully, as he deserves.”

Alison nodded once, just as they heard a sharp intake of breath at the study door.

Duncan whirled around, immediately on the defensive, expecting another intruder, and saw Malina and Effie huddled in the doorway, horrified by the scene before them.

“She’s ripped open her stitches,” he said, distracting them from the man drawing his final breaths a few feet away.

Malina jumped into action immediately, moving Alison gently so she was lying on the floor.

Duncan turned his attention to Effie, who was still standing rigidly in the doorway. He glanced at the assailant, noticing that his chest had stopped moving and that all life had drained from his face.

The man was dead.

It didnae happen slowly enough.

“Go get some help,” Duncan barked at Effie, snapping her out of her trance. “Athol. Evander if he’s still here. Whoever ye can find to move the body. I’ll be havin’ some words with Laird MacKimmon over this.”

Effie nodded, seeming all too glad to leave as she turned on her heel and hurried down the corridor. The sound of her footsteps faded as she rushed away, and Duncan turned his attention back to the matter at hand.

Malina had already started opening Alison’s dress so she could inspect the damage. She was bent low over his wife’s chest, and he had to crane his neck to see.

“Laird MacKimmon signed the peace treaty,” Alison croaked.

But Duncan did not glance at her. Instead, he studied her wound.

“Aye, he said that when I went to his castle to kill him,” he explained.

The wound was red and swollen, the stitches having stretched some of the skin while Alison had fought her attacker off. There was quite a bit of blood, but it did not appear to be as bad as he had feared.

“We’ll need to add one stitch here, at the bottom,” Malina explained, not turning to look at either of them. “But the tearin’ isnae too bad. Thankfully, it will heal.”

Duncan sighed with relief, finally turning his attention to his wife’s face. Her eyes were bloodshot, and the skin around them was mottled and swollen. His eyes trailed down, immediately catching the angry red welts on her neck where the man had tried to strangle her.

He wished he could stab him all over again.

“Those will bruise,” Malina said, pointing to the red welts. “They’re goin’ to look worse than they feel, though.”

“I dinnae ken how that’s possible,” Alison said with a shaky laugh that immediately caused her to wince.

It was miraculous that she still had the ability to joke after everything she had endured.

At that moment, Effie returned with Athol and Evander. They blanched as they took in the scene in front of them, before Evander turned his attention to Duncan.

“Where were ye?” Duncan demanded, pushing himself to his feet.

“I had ridden into the village,” Evander said, not shying away from his friend’s rage. “Tryin’ to see if I could find out anythin’. I just got back when Effie here came runnin’ down the stairs, yellin’ like a banshee for Athol.”

Athol dipped his head in acknowledgment of Evander’s account. “I didnae think he’d hurt Lady Marsden,” he explained. “He seemed eager to give her the signed peace treaty. Otherwise, I would have stayed.”

Duncan nodded. He knew that neither his guard nor his friend was to blame for what happened. But the anger inside him at not having been there to help her, at coming so close to losing yet another wife, still threatened to overwhelm him, so he did not respond, knowing that if he did, he would likely say something that he would regret.

Turning his attention back to Malina and Alison, he saw that the healer was working on lacing up his wife’s dress once more.

“I’d like to take her somewhere else to fix the stitches,” Malina explained, casting a pointed glance over her shoulder at the body lying on the floor. “Somewhere a little more pleasant.”

“We can take her to the chambers in the north wing,” Duncan advised, moving so he stood by his wife’s side. “They’re close.”

Malina nodded. She and Effie made a big fuss trying to convince him that they would take Alison to the room where Malina would tend to her, but he waved them off.

He bent, sliding his arms under Alison’s back, and lifted her off the ground. She smiled at him, but her smile was a little weak.

He studied her face for a moment, pleased to see that some color had returned to it and that some of the mottled veins around her eyes had slowly begun to fade. Alison wrapped her arms around his neck, steadying herself.

“Ye really should let us help ye,” Malina urged.

He shot her a look, and she wilted beneath it.

“I will carry me wife if I want to,” he growled.

Duncan did not wait for a response as he turned around and strode out of the room.