Chapter Eight
Liam had been at the far end of the village speaking with a leatherworker about a strap for a leg brace when he noticed the mood of the square had shifted. The usual bustle of festival recovery, women laughing, children chasing each other, men hauling barrels, had quieted.
People huddled in small knots, whispering.
Glancing.
At him.
A cold prickle swept up his spine.
He leaned more heavily on his cane as he approached, his leg throbbing but ignored entirely. “What’s happened?” he asked a passing lad.
The boy hesitated, eyes widening, then bolted without answering.
Liam’s stomach dropped.
He spotted Effie rushing toward him, skirts gathered in her hands. Her face was pale, eyes too bright.
“Brother, ye need to come,” she panted.
Liam’s pulse spiked. “Effie… What is it?”
“It’s Beitris.”
Everything inside him went still. Like his heart had simply… stopped.
“What about her?”
Effie grabbed his arm and pulled, urgency in every movement. “Cormac attacked her.”
The words hit like a blade to his gut.
Liam staggered, breath ripping from his lungs. For a long moment he couldn’t move, rage and terror rooting him in place. Then something inside him snapped.
He surged forward, nearly knocking Effie off her feet. “Where is she?”
“At the apothecary.”
He didn’t wait. Didn’t think. He forced his leg into motion, every step a jolt of pain, but compared to the pain rising in his chest, it was nothing.
He pushed through villagers who parted instinctively at the look on his face. A few murmured his name. Someone muttered, “Liam McRay looks ready to kill.” Another whispered about Cormac. But Liam barely heard.
He burst into the apothecary.
The sight stopped him dead.
Beitris sat on a stool, her mother dabbing gently at her cheek with a wet cloth. Her father hovered nearby, red-faced and trembling with fury. Camden stood rigid by the window, hands fisted at his sides, jaw clenched so tight a vein pulsed in his temple.
And Beitris… Her face was swollen on one side, cheek turning a deep, vicious purple. A cut split her lower lip. A contrite expression on her face when she noticed him.
Rage flooded him so fiercely he had to take large gulps of air as everyone turned to look at him. Her father looked relieved, glad to have someone else to share his anger.
He turned toward the door, every line of his body taut with violence. “I’ll kill him.” Her father stepped forward. “I’ll go with ye. That bastard laid hands on my daughter!
“Nae.” Liam’s voice rang with deadly clarity. “This is mine to settle.”
Beitris pushed herself upright, reaching out. “Liam, nae. Dinnae…
He spun back toward her, his emotions raw, nearly broken. “Ye should have been protected. I should have protected ye.”
Her eyes widened in confusion. “Why? Ye had no way of knowing Liam, ye are nae responsible for the actions of a drunken oaf.”
He stood abruptly, jaw set like stone. “I’ll deal with him.”
Camden stepped forward. “Then ye and I go together.”
By her wide-eyed expression, Beitris’s panic surged. “Nae! Both of ye stop this instant. Keir will take care of Cormac.”
At the mention of her brother, Liam clenched his fists. “He is nae here now.”
“I am,” Keir’s voice cut in like a blade.
He strode into the apothecary, eyes dark with fury, expression murderous. “I was just informed.”
His gaze slid to Liam. “Cormac’s days of terrorizing women end today. Let us go.”
Liam didn’t hesitate. “Aye,” he growled.
Keir turned to Camden. “Please stay here in case, for some reason, he comes here.”
A very reluctant and frowning Camden nodded.
Cormac wasn’t hard to find.
A man built like an ox, with a temper twice as dangerous, rarely went unnoticed in a village. Whispers guided Keir and Liam through the narrow lanes until they spotted him behind the alehouse, leaning against a barrel, drinking again despite the early hour.
He didn’t notice them at first.
But Liam saw him instantly. And something dark, ancient, rose in his chest.
Keir halted beside him, crossing his arms, eyes narrowed. “There he is.”
Liam’s breath came harsh and shallow. The sight of Cormac’s broad frame, his unbothered sway, the smug tilt of his jaw, made Liam’s blood turn to fire.
Keir spoke softly, quietly deadly. “Ye still want to kill him?”
Liam’s voice was a low growl. “Aye.”
Keir inclined his head slightly and stayed behind. “Good. I’ll give ye room.”
That was all the permission Liam needed.
He limped forward with a purpose so fierce even Cormac looked startled.
“Cormac!” Keir barked. His voice echoing against the stone walls. “Stand straight. Ye’ve business to answer for.”
Cormac lowered his mug and blinked slowly. “What business?”
Liam didn’t speak.
He didn’t need to.
He reached Cormac in three strides, grabbed him by the front of his tunic, and slammed him back against the wall with a force so violent even Keir flinched.
The mug clattered to the ground.
“What?” Cormac choked, eyes wide like saucers.
Liam’s face was inches from his, eyes blazing, jaw clenched hard enough to crack bone. “Ye struck Beitris Lewis.”
Cormac smirked. “That wee lass needed a lesson. Thinks too highly o’ herself.
Liam’s fist split that smirk in half.
Cormac’s head snapped sideways, blood spraying from his lip. He staggered, but Liam yanked him upright by his collar again, not letting him fall.
“Liam,” Keir said evenly, “dinnae kill him in the first breath.”
The last words sounded faintly amused.
He knew exactly what he was allowing.
Cormac spat blood. “Ye think I’m scared of ye? Ye limp like an old man.”
Liam drove his forearm into the brute’s throat, pinning him to the wall. Cormac gagged.
“I could limp or crawl on my belly and still be the better man,” Liam hissed. “Ye lay a hand on a woman. Ye think that makes ye strong?”
He struck him again. Harder. A blow to the ribs that made Cormac grunt and double over.
Keir stepped closer, arms still calmly crossed, watching like a judge at sentencing. “Ye touched my sister?” His tone was soft, deadly. “It will nae happen again.”
Cormac wheezed, scrambling to push Liam away, but Liam seized a fistful of his hair, yanked his head back, and snarled in his face.
“She cried,” Liam said, voice shaking, not with fear, but with fury so thick it scraped his throat raw. “Because of ye. Because ye hurt her.” His jaw clenched. “Ye struck her hard enough to swell her face.”
Cormac grunted. “She deserved…”
Liam didn’t let him finish.
His fist silenced the man with a crack that echoed.
Keir watched quietly. Approvingly.
“Good,” Keir murmured. “Again.”
Liam hit him.
Once.
Twice.
A third time, driving Cormac to his knees.
Cormac was wheezing now, blood dripping from his nose, and his face mottled purple. But still, Liam grabbed the man by the hair and forced him to look up.
“There is nae a corner of this land,” Liam spat, “where ye’ll be able to look at a woman without remembering this day.”
Cormac trembled.
Good.
Liam leaned closer, voice low and lethal, the kind that carved itself into a man’s bones. “If ye ever look Beitris’s way again, I will end ye. Slowly.”
Keir finally moved forward, placing a hand on Liam’s shoulder, not to stop him, but steady him.
“Enough,” Keir said. “He won’t trouble her again.”
Cormac slumped, shaking, eyes already swelling shut.
Liam released him and stepped back, chest heaving, knuckles bloodied and throbbing. Pain shot up his leg, but he didnae care. Not one bit.
Keir glanced sideways, studying Liam with a new understanding. A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Ye care for her,” Keir said, not a question but a quiet, knowing statement.
Liam’s jaw tightened. “It does nae matter.”
“Aye,” Keir murmured, “it matters more than ye think.”
Cormac whimpered as he tried to rise, and Keir’s expression darkened. He stepped forward and kicked the man square in the ribs.
Cormac toppled over with a grunt.
“That’s for touching my sister.” Keir leaned down. “If ye come near her again ye’ll not live to regret it.”
Then he straightened and motioned toward the apothecary. “Come. We need to make sure Beitris sees ye looking like a hero, before ye fall over from the pain.”
Liam let out a harsh huff of breath, somewhere near a laugh, and followed. Limping, but tall.
Behind them, Cormac stayed on his knees in the dirt, coughing blood.
The walk back toward the apothecary was slow, Liam’s hip and leg protesting every step. The fire in his knuckles a steady reminder of the blows he’d delivered. Dust clung to his boots, blood smeared across his hand and sweat dampened the back of his neck.
Keir kept pace beside him, quiet for once. The fury that had driven him moments earlier now simmering into something more thoughtful.
They reached a narrow passage between two stone houses, cool, shaded, a brief refuge from the eyes of the villagers. Keir stopped suddenly and placed a firm hand against Liam’s chest.
“Hold.” His voice was low.
Liam braced, breath uneven. He wondered if Keir would ask about his injured side.
Instead, Keir simply regarded him with a long, assessing stare.
Finally, he nodded once. “Thank ye.”
Liam blinked. “For nearly killing the bastard?”
“For caring.” Keir folded his arms. “For stepping in. For making him regret ever looking Beitris’s way.”
The sincerity in his voice hit strangely. Liam looked away, jaw tightening. “I did what any man would’ve done.”
“Nae,” Keir said. “Most men would’ve picked a fight and boasted about it. Ye fought because ye were furious. Ye fought for her.”
Liam’s throat tightened, the unspoken truth between them sharper than any blade.
Keir stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Ye care for my sister, Liam McRay. That was clear long before ye threw yer first punch.”
Liam let out a slow exhale. “It is nae wise. Ye ken as much.”
“Aye,” Keir conceded. “But Beitris is nae a prize to be won. She’s a woman with her own mind. And ye…” His blue eyes narrowed, thoughtful. “The way ye fought today, it was the warrior in ye.”
Liam huffed a bitter laugh. “I am hardly that anymore.”
“Ye’re wrong.” Keir’s tone cut through the doubt with sharp precision. “I watched ye hold Cormac off the ground with one arm. Watched ye drive him to his knees.” He tapped a finger against Liam’s chest. “Ye fought like a man I would trust at my side.”
Liam swallowed hard.
No one had said such words to him since the day he’d fallen on the battlefield on death’s door and been told he was broken beyond repair.
Keir continued, voice firm, “If ye want it, ye have a place back in the warrior ranks.”
The world seemed to still.
Liam stared at him, heart hammering, not with fear this time, but something fiercer. Hope. Pride. Recognition of a part of himself he’d believed dead.
“Keir…” he rasped. “I dinnae ken what to say.”
“It is the truth.” Keir placed a hand on his shoulder, gripping it tightly. “Ye should ken it.”
Liam nodded slowly, the weight of the moment settling into his bones like heat.
Keir’s expression softened with something almost like brotherhood. “And Liam… if ye truly care for my sister, tell her. She deserves honesty, even if it frightens ye.”
Liam looked down at his bloodied knuckles. “Aye,” he whispered, although unsure if he really ever would.
Keir gave a satisfied nod and stepped back toward the sunlight. “Come. Let her see ye before ye drop like a felled ox.”
Liam straightened, heart pounding not with rage this time, but with resolve.
For the first time since his injury, the man walking beside Keir was not a broken warrior.
He was simply a warrior.