Chapter 26
26
D amon squinted as he watched the roaring flames lick at the edges of the fireplace. He hadn’t slept all night. His mind was elsewhere, floating between his chambers and his study, and then back again over and over. Unsettled.
Sighing heavily through his nose, he finally looked away from the haunting light to stare out the window. The pre-dawn indigos and greys bled into the inky black night sky. It was beckoning him.
I need to ride—clear me head.
Standing quickly, he downed the rest of the whiskey in his glass and set it down on his desk before wrenching his door open.
Finley rose, having stationed himself outside the study, and assessed Damon quickly.
“Ye guard Lilith. I need Ryder to get the horses,” Damon said, turning in the direction of his chambers.
Finley nodded and took off down the corridor.
After grabbing his cloak from the wardrobe and donning his riding boots, Damon tore through the keep toward the courtyard.
“Me Laird?” an all-too-familiar voice echoed through the darkness of the Great Hall.
Damon twisted around, his cloak billowing dramatically before settling.
Tristan.
His patience instantly thinned as the man shuffled toward him. His hand rested on the hilt of his blade as Tristan came into view.
The man’s eyes were red-rimmed from lack of sleep.
Is that from grief or drink?
“I need to see her,” he begged. “I need to ken what’s happened—what’s happenin’ to her.”
Damon exhaled through his nose, his irritation flaring. “Go home, Gunn.”
Tristan’s mouth twisted. “Ye cannae expect me to do that after leavin’ me standin’ over me future faither-in-law’s dead body and suggestin’ that Ariah had somethin’ to do with it.”
Damon clenched his fists. He had promised Lilith that he wouldn’t kill Ariah, but she never said anything about Tristan. Taking in the sight of the normally put-together man, now out of sorts and disheveled, he considered putting him out of his misery and ending it now.
Somehow, though, infuriatingly so, his promise to keep Ariah alive had extended to her fiancé—the man would be spared as well.
“I have things to see to, man. Go home,” Damon ordered, before turning back and heading toward the front door.
Tristan’s voice broke through the darkness. “Damon, please .”
But Damon ignored him and stepped outside.
Mist clung to the earth, curling around the hooves of the horses as they crossed the outer courtyard and onto the dirt road leading to the perimeter. Damon led the way, and Ryder kept the pace.
Damon barely noticed the cold. His hands gripped the reins too tightly, his mind tangled in the events of the previous day—tangled in thoughts of her .
Lilith…
He exhaled harshly, his jaw tightening as he spurred the horse forward.
Damn her. Damn her for distractin’ me and gettin’ under me skin.
But each curse was directed at himself, and he knew it.
Curse meself for wantin’ her.
Curse meself for needin’ her.
The rhythmic pounding of hooves filled the silence between him and Ryder. Neither of the men spoke, both focused on the long ride ahead.
It wasn’t until they neared the tree line that Damon finally broke the quiet.
“I saw Tristan in the Great Hall as I departed.”
“Aye, he hasnae left since the attack last night.”
“He asked to see his betrothed,” Damon gritted out.
“Naturally.”
They rode in silence once more, each man weighing the other’s presence.
“Ye ken, Lilith wouldnae wish for Tristan to be in pain.”
Damon let out a humorless laugh. “Aye, I ken what she wants.”
Ryder gave him a look. “She’s got a heart too big for her own good.”
Damon gritted his teeth. “Aye, I ken that too.”
Ryder slowed his horse to match Damon’s pace as they neared the first outpost. “Ye ever heard about the time she let Magnus’s prisoners go?”
Damon whipped around. “What!”
Ryder’s expression darkened slightly. “A lifetime ago, there were a few young servants who had been caught smuggling goods out of the keep. Magnus wanted their hands lobbed off, to set an example. But Lilith publicly argued with him, at great risk to her safety.”
“Of course, she did.” Damon frowned.
Ryder laughed. “Aye. Of course, she did.”
Damon glanced at him. “And?”
“Instead of waitin’ for his decision, she just let them go—snuck them out and paid for their travel too.”
Damon’s grip on the reins loosened slightly. He inhaled slowly as Ryder continued.
“And at the end of the day—at the end of every single day—she was still Magnus’s favorite sister. He said as much all the time. Everyone kenned it.”
“His favorite sister?”
“Aye.” Ryder smiled as the horses fell into an easy canter while Damon contemplated the tale.
“Is that true?”
“Every word—those boys are patrollin’ the border. Ye met them.”
Damon’s mind flashed back to their last patrol. “Hamish and Callum?”
Ryder relaxed back into the saddle and chuckled easily. “Aye, the very same.”
“How did they get back on the guard?”
“Magnus could never remember their names—they only recently came back anyway. It was Finley who reinstated them and kept them on the border to be safe.”
For Christ’s sake.
Without another word, Damon turned his horse back toward the keep. Ryder followed without hesitation.
As the two men reached the keep, they found Tristan waiting outside, pacing furiously in the courtyard.
Damon jumped down from his horse, his eyes hard. “Get inside.”
Tristan looked startled, but he wasted no time following him into the keep and up to his study.
Damon poured himself a drink, then leaned against his desk. Tristan stood meekly in front of him, a broken man.
“I dinnae ken much,” Damon admitted, swirling the dark contents of his glass. “Lilith received a letter from Ariah. I dinnae ken what it says, but I ken well enough how hard she fought for me to spare her.”
Tristan’s hands curled into fists. “What happened?”
“It was Ariah who poisoned Lilith last week.”
“What? Surely nae me Ariah?—”
“She’s admitted it, man.” Damon fixed Tristan with a stern look over his glass before taking a swig.
Tristan hesitated. “Is she… alive?”
“Aye,” Damon said, watching him carefully. “For now.”
Tristan’s entire body sagged with relief.
Damon exhaled sharply before finishing the contents of his glass and setting it down next to him. “She’ll be exiled.”
Tristan’s head snapped up, his face contorting. “Exiled?”
Damon arched an eyebrow. “Would ye prefer her dead?”
Tristan gaped at him for a moment before snapping his mouth shut. His hands trembled—a Branloch boy who was madly in love with a criminal. “Please, there must be another way.”
Damon rolled his eyes and moved toward his desk, only to notice something he hadn’t seen before.
A letter.
The letter.
His stomach flipped. Somehow, it had made its way here.
Had she delivered it?
His fingers traced the edge of the parchment, his heart hammering as he unfolded it.
Furiously, his eyes scanned the words—words that changed absolutely everything.
Terrible mistake.
Magnus’s child.
The rightful heir to Clan McCallum.
Damon’s jaw tightened. Without hesitation, he tossed the letter into the fire.
Tristan has nay idea.
“Damon?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he called in Ryder. “Bring the prisoner.”
Tristan’s eyes darted between the closing door and Damon.
“And ye will wait in the Great Hall until I’ve called ye up. Go, now.”
The man hesitated for only a second, but the look on Damon’s face conveyed an unyielding danger, and he obeyed without argument.
“ This is what she’s been keepin’ from me.” He plucked the glass from his desk and threw it into the hearth. It shattered into the flames. “Damn it!”
He glanced out the window to see that it was still quite dark out, the night keeping ahold of the sky for as long as it could. His eyes were still fixed on the dark sky as Ryder brought Ariah in, and he kept staring out the window until the door clicked shut and he knew they were alone.
His head turned slowly, his eyes meeting her terrified gaze. She was shaking.
“Ye’re standin’ in front of yer faither’s murderer, and I’m nae sorry.”
He studied her, waiting for the grief and devastation, but she looked relieved.
Ariah swallowed with great effort, and tears rolled down her cheeks, but her expression remained unchanged.
“Yer faither is dead, and yer Laird kens everything. ”
She flinched. “Everything?”
“Aye.”
Her eyes widened wildly, searching the room for something that wasn’t there. “The letter? She showed it to ye?”
Damon pointed to the still-roaring fire. “Burned.”
Her lips parted, and for the first time, genuine emotion flickered across her face.
Good, now we’ll get somewhere.
His gaze sharpened. “Now, fill in the gaps.”
Ariah inhaled shakily, steeling herself. “There’s… there’s a lot to tell,” she started, her voice quiet, hesitant.
Damon crossed his arms over his chest. “Then start talkin’, and dinnae leave anythin’ out.”
Ariah swallowed, nodding. “Me faither orchestrated everything, every piece of it, after I told him that I was pregnant and that it was Magnus’s child.”
A muscle ticked in Damon’s jaw. “He was workin’ with the Sinclairs?”
“Aye, he’s always aligned himself with them. It was he who suggested to Magnus that they meet.”
He remained silent.
“They never wanted Magnus gone—they wanted to control him. And when he died, they turned to Faither. He said that if they backed him, he’d make sure they got what they wanted.”
Damon’s hands flexed and then relaxed again. “And what did they want, exactly?”
“They wanted money, land, and power, and me faither wanted to be the Laird—well, wanted me child to be the heir.”
“And he wanted me out of the way.”
“Aye.”
Damon’s face darkened. “Explain.”
Ariah took another breath. “He wanted ye weak and distracted. When they couldnae kill ye, me faither changed plans. Instead, he would have them bend ye, to become?—”
“Controllable.”
“Controllable, aye.”
Damon let out a low, humorless laugh. “And they thought they could control me by attackin’ the villages I had nay allegiance to nor influence over aside from that of me title?”
“The Sinclairs did all of it. The brigand attacks? They wished to stretch yer forces thin, weakenin’ the border so that ye’d be vulnerable.”
Damon drummed his fingers on the wooden surface of his desk, his expression neutral. “They wished to control McCallum lands for power. Are they goin’ to make a move for Brahanne?”
“I dinnae ken, to be honest.”
“So, when they failed?—”
“Me faither had me poison Lilith, seein’ how well ye two were gettin’ along. Called her a traitor to the cause.”
“But ye said ye didnae wish to kill her.”
“I didnae. I only wished to weaken her, to scare ye.”
“What about Tristan?”
“He doesnae ken about any of this. He was the match I chose for meself. I love him.”
“Ye love him?”
“Very much.”
“Well then, speakin’ of, yer intended begged for yer life”—he pointed at the spot where she stood—“right there, moments ago.”
Ariah’s head dipped, her fingers reaching for the carpet as if reaching for Tristan.
“As did Lilith,” Damon added.
Her head snapped up. “She did?”
“To me dismay, aye. She did.”
“She doesnae hate me?”
“I dinnae ken what she feels, but I ken she fought furiously for ye to keep yer head.”
“Does he?—”
Damon cut her off with a raised hand, knowing her question. Does Tristan know everything?
“Ye, Lilith, and I are the only ones who ken,” he said firmly. “It isnae our secret to tell. It is yers.”
Ariah’s hands trembled, but she nodded. “Thank ye.”
“Ye ken better than to think I did any of this for ye—or even yer intended.”
She blanched, lines creasing her face with anxiety for what was to come next. Her punishment.
“Now, I wished for Lilith to be here for this, but it’s far too early, and Gunn is annoyin’ me.”
Ariah’s hands hung lifelessly at her sides, her shoulders slumping as she very clearly tried to guess her punishment.
“He refuses to accept the terms of yer release.”
“Release?”
“Exile.”
As if she received a blow to her pregnant belly, she caved inwardly. “Exile?” she wheezed.
Brain working at a thousand miles a minute, her questions spewed into the space between them.
“He’ll leave me, right? He was born and raised here. He’d never want to leave. He’s a McCallum—he will let me go. I’ll have to tell him. He’ll wish to ken everything, right? I-I?—”
“Woman,” Damon growled as he pushed himself to his feet. “Enough of yer blubberin’. Ask me what ye truly need to ken about that, before I call him back into this room.” He pointed at her belly.
Ariah’s frantic eyes searched his face before realization softened the creases on her brow. “Ye’ll let us go unharmed?”
“Exiled,” he said simply.
“And this child”—her hands moved instinctively to the non-existent bump—“must never make a move against ye.”
“Correct.”
“So, ye’ll let us live?”
“Apparently.”
“Are there any other stipulations?”
Good.
“Aye, there are,” Damon said, his face darkening. “For all ye ken, for all Tristan kens, and for all Lilith and I ken, that child is Gunn’s heir and nothin’ more.”
Ariah nodded silently.
“If any of ye make a move against McCallum ever again—even voice it—ye will be cut down by forces nae even ye can track. I will be everywhere ye are. I will ken everything. Every move. For the rest of yer life. For the rest of that child’s life. Understood?”
Ariah hung her head, still caressing her stomach. “I accept.”
“Ye what?”
“I accept the terms,” she said, her eyes flicking up to meet his with a new resolve.
“Good. Now, it’s yer duty to be convincing.”
“Me Laird?” she asked, her voice stronger now but still hesitant.
Damon only stared at her blankly.
“They willnae stop,” she whispered. “Me faither may be gone, but his promises still exist. They’ll keep comin’, keep sendin’ men, keep findin’ new ways to undermine ye until they get what they want.”
He exhaled through his nose, his rage simmering beneath his skin. “They’ll get nothin’.”
Ariah swallowed hard. “I hope ye’re right.”
Damon stepped forward, his towering form casting long shadows over the flickering light. “I ken I am .”
She nodded, and he called out for Ryder to bring Tristan back up to the study.
The door swung open moments later, and the disgraced councilman rushed inside to his fiancée’s side.
“Gunn, she’s accepted the terms.”
Tristan hesitated, his eyes darting between Ariah and Damon. “What?”
“I have,” Ariah confirmed, her voice firm.
Damon straightened. “Good. Ye will leave here, immediately.”
“Me Laird? Wait—” Tristan started to say, but Ariah placed a hand on his cheek, drawing his attention.
“Dearest, we must away while we can—it’s for the best. I deserve much much worse than this fate.”
“Finley will go with ye to ensure that ye leave without delay,” Damon continued.
Tristan turned to him, gratitude plain in his eyes. “Aye, thank ye, Laird McCallum.”
“I’ll send word to Ewan. Ye’ll be well settled there, but he will ken well who ye are.”
“Understood, Me Laird,” Ariah mumbled.
Those were the last words Damon heard them say.
Ye should have waited for Lilith to be here for this. She would have wanted to say goodbye.
He said nothing as the door closed behind them, and then he exhaled, sinking back into his chair.
He rubbed his hands over his face, exhaustion setting in, but his mind still raced.
Lilith had the letter delivered to him. When? Why? Was this her way of asking for his trust? Was it an offering? A plea?
He leaned back, staring up at the ceiling.
“All good?” Ryder’s calm voice broke through the silence as the door clicked shut again.
“Aye. I think I messed things up with Lilith, and I just went and sent her best friend away without so much as lettin’ her say goodbye.”
“I dinnae see how that’s messin’ things up. It’s nae like ye went back on yer word and had the lass hanged for treason. She’s safe, just exiled. Ye just got married—I reckon ye get a pass…” Ryder ventured, a hint of laughter in his voice.
“I thought it was Sebastian, because he was there in the glen leading the attack, but he said ‘things are in motion’. Ariah revealed that the Sinclairs were behind it all. Well, actually, Mrs. Bryant told me, but Ariah confirmed it just now.”
“Mrs. Bryant kenned it?”
“Aye, told me and Lilith as such while stichin’ me up.”
Ryder smirked. “Word really travels fast, nay?”
“Indeed, it does. I wonder just how many kenned about their involvement.”
“Plenty enough to carry out an attack today. I saw how many they were. Nae all of them were from our lands—they had backin’, to be sure. Glad we ken who it is now. And Sebastian?”
“Dead,” Damon said plainly.
“I figured as much. But how involved was he?”
“The mastermind. After I murdered Magnus, his plan was set into motion.”
“Why?”
Damon paused only for a moment, knowing very well that while he couldn’t tell Ryder the truth, he couldn’t lie to him either.
“He was a supporter of Magnus. Anythin’ to get revenge on his master’s murderer.”
“Shocking, truly. Ariah played her part well. I wonder how Lilith feels about it all.”
Damon sighed, leaning forward again, meeting his gaze. “Ugh… I most definitely messed up, man.”
“What do ye mean?”
“I mean, I got caught up and just started ramblin’…”
“Ah, and ye said too much?”
“I said far too much—I dinnae even ken what I said.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “But I think I said she was a distraction.”
Ryder chuckled. “If I ken the Flanagan twins well—and I do—she’ll be hot for a while. Especially if ye insulted her. But she’ll come around.”
“Aye…” Damon trailed off.
It was still too early to wake her, but before he could continue to contemplate what to do, the door creaked open. His eyes flickered to the unexpected guest. Lilith’s name hung on the tip of his tongue until his gaze landed on a strange set of green eyes.
“Greer?” He stood up. “What is it?”
His chest tightened as Lilith’s maid stepped inside hesitantly.
He knew before she spoke. He knew deep down, already, before the words left her mouth.
The woman flinched at the anticipated blow she was used to receiving when delivering bad news to her previous Laird, before whispering, “She’s gone.”