Page 25 of Trapped with the Vicious Highlander (Falling for Highland Villains #5)

CHAPTER 25

Ava paced the Great Hall, her heart pounding hard in her chest. The sun had begun to dip below the horizon, and yet Brodrick hadn’t returned. There was no way of knowing if he found Margaret or if he was even safe.

How had this happened just a day after she’d left the castle? Was this fate telling her something? Was she right to come back? Would Margaret still have been taken if she had never left?

Thoughts bounced around in her mind as she studied the few lairds and councilmen seated around the giant table in the middle of the hall.

“I am certain he’ll find her,” one of the councilmen said to her.

Ava gave him a brief nod, but something about the way he stared at her didn’t sit well with her. He looked kind on the surface, but it was rather uncanny, and she couldn’t help but feel a sinking dread in her stomach.

She turned around and headed to Flora, who was seated in the corner, lost in thought and worry. She knew there was nothing she could say to ease her fears. She’d been blaming herself for the entire thing since Brodrick and Darach left at noon to find Margaret.

So, she decided to change the topic and speak about something completely different.

“The man sitting at the table. The one with the grey hair. Who is he?” she asked, slightly nodding her head in his direction.

He was out of earshot, but she lowered her voice anyway.

Flora followed her gesture. “That’s Blake Mason. He was our faither’s man-at-arms. He’s one of the councilmen. Why?”

Ava shrugged. “Something about him rubs me the wrong way. I just can’t place my finger on it.”

As Flora opened her mouth to respond, a sharp voice rang out across the hall. “They’re here! They’re here!”

Flora rose to her feet, and Ava turned around. The head of every other person in the hall turned to the entrance, and soon enough, Brodrick walked in, carrying Margaret in his arms.

Ava heaved a sigh of relief, while Flora ran towards them.

The reunion was sweet, with Flora wrapping her arms tightly around the little girl, who couldn’t help but smile once she saw Ava.

“Ye came back.”

“Well, I had to, didn’t I?”

Margaret laughed as Brodrick lowered her to her feet. She ran towards Ava and wrapped her into a giant hug.

They remained in that position for a while, grateful to the Almighty for bringing them back to each other. It became rather soothing. So soothing that when the gunshot rang out, shock shot through Ava, rooting her to the spot.

Another gunshot rang out, this one right behind her.

She saw it—Brodrick’s shocked face, Flora reaching for her at the very last minute, and Darach pulling out his sword.

But it was too late.

Before she could blink, she felt an arm around her neck, and what she assumed to be the nozzle of the gun she had just heard on her waist.

“I have watched this utter madness go on for long enough!” a male voice hissed in her ear.

That voice. She’d heard that voice moments ago.

Her eyes darted to the large table, where the councilman she had been suspicious of sat earlier. It was empty.

And then realization dawned on her.

“Blake. What the devil do ye think ye’re doin’?” Brodrick growled, taking a step closer.

The smell of ale and stale breath filled Ava’s lungs as she clawed at the arm around her neck.

“Stop fussin’, lass, or I’ll stab ye with the knife!” Blake warned, pressing a dagger into the small of her back.

“Blake—”

“If I’d kenned ye would marry a fat English lass, perhaps I might have let yer other wench live in the first place.”

Ava swallowed.

What?

She waited for Brodrick to react. To show the same shock. Instead, he turned around and said something to Darach. Words she couldn’t hear.

At once, Darach reached for Flora and Margaret and ushered them out of the Great Hall.

“What did ye just say?” Brodrick asked, taking another step closer.

“Ye heard me, did ye nae?”

“Blake…” Brodrick inched forward, rubbing his temple.

Ava could see it. The shock forming on his face. The disbelief that laced his voice. The anger bubbling beneath his slow, deliberate steps.

“Blake, did ye have me first wife killed?”

“Yer faither made me promise him. He wanted ye to marry a girl from our clan. He didnae care about making peace. But ye…ye were young and hopeful. Ye thought marrying the daughter of our enemy would solve all of our problems. I warned ye repeatedly, did I nae?” Blake sneered.

Brodrick shook his head. “So ye killed her?”

“Would’ve killed the bairn too if it had been a boy. Nae in me lifetime will a MacMungo whelp become Laird of Clan MacDunn.”

Ava could tell Brodrick didn’t need to ask further questions. He could put the other pieces together on his own.

“Ye had me daughter kidnapped and me wife killed,” he said.

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. One Blake didn’t deny.

“Poison is a very powerful tool, is it nae? She was weighin’ ye down. Stayin’ married to her would’ve meant losin’ our alliance with the other lairds. Nay one wanted to do anything about it, so I took it upon meself.”

Ava tried to pull at the arm around her neck, but Blake held on even tighter, bringing the knife from her back and onto her neck. She pulled again and felt the knife graze her skin. She felt the warmth from the blood and she knew it had drawn blood.

“It was all goin’ so well. Until ye brought her,” he grunted, squeezing her hard enough that she gasped. “I thought ye’d finally come to yer senses and marry a nice MacDunn lass. But ye had to go and fall for this fat wench instead.”

Brodrick took another step closer, an expression Ava had never seen before resting on his face. He looked calm, but it wasn’t the normal calm.

“Ye ken what’s worse than a MacMungo whelp? An English whelp. And I’ll be damned if I let that happen! I should have killed the wee girl when I had the chance.”

It was not even the usual calm that comes with anger. She could see it, clear as day, on his face. Rage.

Pure, unadulterated rage.

“At least the only thing we had to lose with Davina was the alliance. Ye marryin’ an English wench would mean tarnishin’ yer lineage forever. Ye might be ready to lose yer destiny because of some fleetin’ love, but I cannae let ye.”

Ava swallowed. “You have it all wrong. We do not plan to get married.”

“Who said ye could speak!” Blake snapped.

With one fluid motion, he shoved her aside. She stumbled back and fell to the floor, her head hitting one of the stools in the hall.

Her vision grew hazy, and she felt pain explode across her skull. She could no longer see much, but out of the corner of her eyes, she could see Brodrick. Despite her pain, she could see him throw a dagger straight at Blake’s shoulder before the man could fire his gun.

She could see him charge towards the older man and slam him onto the floor. She could see him deliver blow after blow to Blake’s face.

She watched through the pain as Blake slowly stopped responding to the punches, his face growing bloody by the second, and watched Brodrick pull the dagger out of his shoulder and drive it right into his heart.

She could feel someone—it was Brodrick, judging from the woodsy scent she had grown familiar with—lift her off the floor.

“No. No. You—put me down,” she protested, growing more dizzy by the second.

“Relax, lass,” Brodrick said, his voice distant for some reason. “Ye’re a feather for someone like me.”

Then and only then did she succumb to the dizziness and let oblivion take over.