Chapter Twenty-One #2
The chase was much easier than Errol expected. He would be lying if he wasn’t feeling a wee bit disappointed on missing out on a good chase. Though it was better this way. It meant he could soon return to Moira’s side. Something he was eager to do.
There was no real chase to be had with this cretin. The man could barely walk, never mind run. It had to have been pure luck that the bastard had managed to hit Moira with one of his loosed arrows.
Errol shoved his sword further into the man’s back. “Walk. Now.” He ordered as Robbie stepped up and confiscated the man’s sword that he had been dragging on the ground.
The bastard spat on the ground, near Robbie’s feet.
Errol shot a look to Robbie when he noticed his clenched fist and gave a slight shake of his head. The time would come when the bastard would meet his comeuppance, but they needed answers first.
When they arrived back to where Moira and the warriors waited, Errol was relieved to see that Moira was sitting up, her back against a tree.
Their gazes met and she gave him a small smile.
She must have seen the question in his eyes, because she nodded, letting him ken she was well.
He would be by her side soon and he couldn’t wait to gather her in his arms, but he needed to tend to this matter first.
Errol shoved the man to his knees and came around to face him, his sword never leaving the bastard’s body.
Moira was wide-eyed as she watched the scene unfold.
He should have one of the guards take her to another location, so she didn’t have to witness what was inevitably going to be the bastard’s demise.
There was no other ending. He tried to kill the MacLeod’s son.
His first-born son. Worse than that, he also tried to kill the Hart’s daughter, shot her with an arrow. The man was dead no matter what.
His gaze locked with Moira’s. “Do ye wish to leave, Lass?”
Her eyes bounced from Errol’s to the man on his knees and then back again.
She straightened as best she could without causing too much pain, and pushed her shoulders back, raising her chin defiantly.
“I dinnae,” she said, her voice steady and strong and a wave of pride washed over Errol.
He smiled proudly afore focusing his attention back on the bastard in front of him.
“Yer name?” Errol demanded.
The man seethed as he knelt on the ground, his eyes boring into Errol, but remained quiet, his teeth clenched behind a sneer.
“Ye are already sentenced to death for yer actions earlier. Ye might as well give me the information I seek afore that happens.”
His face pinched, and his eyes narrowed, but he finally answered. “MacPhail. Orman MacPhail.”
Robbie frowned. “I thought the MacPhail fled their lands. Havenae they been abandoned?”
MacPhail’s eyes settled on Robbie. “I still remain.”
“What of yer father?” Errol asked.
The bastard’s face broke out into an evil grin, and Errol fought his disgust at the rotting teeth revealed. “Dead.”
“The first son?”
His garish grin grew wider. “Also dead. I am the only MacPhail left.”
“What happened to them?” Errol asked suspiciously.
MacPhail licked his lips and shrugged. “It appears a series of unfortunate accidents has plagued MacPhail lands.”
“Ye killed them? Yer own father and brother?”
Errol tried to remember the last time he had seen either man. It had been years. The whole family was reclusive. They stuck to themselves, staying out of other clan’s affairs, though Errol now realized why, that is if they were aware of what their ancestors had done.
The bastard’s face reddened as he clenched his fists. “They deserved it.”
Errol dropped the point of his sword to the forest floor.
The bastard was no threat. No’ without his sword, which also hadn’t posed a threat.
He couldn’t say the same for his arrows.
He’d had many bad shots that Errol would, in most circumstances, not find him a threat in that medium either, but he had managed to hit his target once, and that was more than enough.
“Yer family killed a Hart and a MacLeod. Started a war. Why?”
He laughed evilly. “’Twas years ago. Long afore ye and I or e’en our fathers were born. Afore our grandfathers and those afore them. We have kept the family secret all this time. Until ye uncovered the clues that told the history. We kenned they were out there somewhere, but didnae ken where.”
“But why?” Errol growled, frustration boiling through his veins.
“The answers are the oldest kenned to man. Why do we always do the things we do? Coin, land, holdings.” He paused, his eyes shooting to Moira and then back to Errol. “Love,” he spat.
Moira pushed to a stand, pain etched on her face.
Errol moved toward and she shook her head as she approached Orman, disgust prevalent on her face.
“Love. Love?” She shouted, her voice so strong is surprised Errol.
Her anger was fueling her actions. “Agnes was but a wee lass. ’Twasnae love.
’Twas a disgusting action by a disgusting bastard with no morals.
” Afore Errol could comprehend what was happening, she pulled her fist back and slammed it into MacPhail’s nose.
His head snapped back as blood poured from his nostrils.
The sick bastard smiled and licked at the drops, staining his teeth red.
“Ouch!” She cried, shaking her fist and grabbing her side with her other hand.
Errol raised his brow at her, surprised and proud of her. “Are ye well?” He asked, concern consuming him.
She opened her fist and wiggled her fingers. “That hurt. But ’twas worth it,” she grinned.
He thinks he might love this woman.
Robbie cleared his throat and Errol dropped his smile, focusing back on the man in front of him.
“The MacPhail land, was that the land granted to the MacLeod after he wed the Hart?”
“What do ye think?”
Errol shook his head. But why? It made no sense to keep the fighting going on for so long. “Why keep the clans warring?”
“Do ye no’ see? With ye fighting, ye left us alone. We could do what we wanted. Steal what we wanted. Kill who we wanted. And ye blamed each other whilst we sat back and watched it continue, keeping our secret safe. Keeping our land.”
Something that he said caught Errol’s attention. ‘Kill who we wanted.’
Gavin.
Could it have been the MacPhail? The possibility never crossed their minds. The clan had never been thought about for any of the crimes that had been blamed on the Hart. He would lay coin down that if he asked the question to the Hart, they would answer the same.
His voice low, he asked, “What do ye mean, kill who ye wanted?”
That garish grin appeared once again. “Do ye really think the Harts would be so stupid as to kill a MacLeod son?”
All the emotions that Errol had held inside regarding his brother’s killing.
The sorrow of his father and sister. The blame and fury they had thrust upon the Harts.
All the deaths. The needless deaths. The attempt to take Moira’s life.
It all came bubbling to the surface in a fierce inferno.
Errol dropped his blade to the ground and tackled the bastard that, along with his family, for years and years, had lived without consequences for all they had done.
His fist met with flesh as he punched over and over again.
Fists flying, the man stopped fighting after the third punch, but Errol couldn’t stop.
He continued until Robbie and one of his men pulled him off.
Chest heaving, he looked at Orman MacPhail’s lifeless body lying on the ground. He flexed his fingers, his knuckles split and bleeding, or was that Orman’s blood? It mattered naught. The man was dead. Finally suffering the consequence of all the damage the MacPhail’s had done to both families.
Moira was right there, wrapping her arms around him. Comforting him as he was overcome with emotions. He held on to her, gentle so he didn’t squeeze her too hard and cause her any more pain, not caring that Robbie and his men saw.
They’d solved the mystery of why the Harts and MacLeods were supposed enemies. They’d found the treasure they sought.
But they’d found something more important than that. More significant. Something that would truly change their lives.
They’d found love.
“I love ye, Lass.”
Moira squeezed him tighter.
“I love ye, too, Errol MacLeod. Now, let’s go home.”