Chapter 25
Magnus and Kenneth darted out of the room as soon as they heard the voice. They sprinted down the long corridor in the direction it had come from.
As he rounded the corner, Magnus saw a man standing beneath the double doors of the main hall, his sword drawn, waiting for him to arrive.
Magnus had never felt such pure hatred for anyone in his life.
Ye tried to kidnap me wife, yer man struck her and bruised that beautiful skin. Ye will die for this.
It was the most certain thought he had ever had. He raised his sword, the blood from Leah’s kidnapper still visible on the blade.
Just as he had suspected, it was Laird Thompson standing before him.
He was an old man, although a little younger than Gibson, but smaller in stature and far less impressive.
He had a reputation for getting what he wanted through manipulation and lies—something that Magnus had never emulated or admired.
He was a head shorter than Magnus but wide. The kind of breadth of muscle that was accompanied by a decade of eating good food and drinking too much wine. He clearly had an inflated sense of self-worth.
Magnus recalled that when the marriage to Thompson’s daughter had been suggested, he had not wished to dismiss it out of hand in order to prevent war. He had met with the lass to placate her father.
She had been pretty enough but snide and unfeeling like her father. She’d had a cruel look of disdain on her face throughout their meeting, as though she were superior to Magnus and was simply waiting for a better offer.
At that moment, Magnus had never been happier with his past choices. Despite what had befallen Elizabeth, he would not wish to be related to the man before him now for the world.
Instead, ye are married to a woman who is on her way to England, maybe never to return, because ye cannae tell her how ye truly feel.
Magnus gripped the handle of his sword with more force and took a step forward.
“Thompson,” he spat, eschewing honorifics. To Magnus’s eyes, the man did not deserve the title.
“MacWatt,” Thompson said with the same condescending arrogance Magnus remembered from their first meeting. “It has been some time since I last saw ye. Ye’ve grown quite fat in yer solitude, I see. Believin’ ye are better than the rest of us in yer castle on this island.”
Magnus snarled and took a menacing step forward, Kenneth at his elbow, not moving a muscle, waiting for his instructions.
“Ye have made a mistake comin’ here, Thompson,” Magnus stated, glancing around the hall to check they were alone. He could not believe that Thompson had been stupid enough to arrive with only a sword to protect himself.
Thank goodness Leah is already gone. He cannae hurt her now.
“Ye kidnapped me wife,” Magnus said coldly.
Thompson was relaxed, his stance almost casual as he held the sword loosely in his hand.
“I did,” he said, shrugging one shoulder. “Ye’re a traitor for marryin’ an Englishwoman, taintin’ yer Scottish blood. I’d have enjoyed getting’ to ken her when she arrived, though. She’s nae bad to look at.”
Magnus growled, knowing Thompson was baiting him but powerless to prevent his reaction.
“Better than me Edith, is she?” Thompson asked. “After all these years, I thought ye might have come to yer senses. When yer first wife was nay longer a factor, I was expectin’ ye to call any day, but ye never came. Hidin’ away in yer ivory tower, keepin’ everyone at bay.”
“I told ye I wouldnae marry her.”
Magnus felt sick at the thought that he had been right all along and had done nothing about it. Why had he never pursued Thompson and brought him to justice? If he had, all of this might have been prevented.
“Aye, ye did. But nae for any reasons I could see. She’s a good lass, and ye’ll take her as a wife now. I cannae believe that frigid English bitch would lie with ye. Send her back to her homeland as ye planned, and ye and me daughter can be wed within the week.”
Thompson raised his sword then, his stance far less relaxed than it had been. Magnus felt Kenneth stiffen beside him as they waited for his next move.
“I doubt she would’ve stayed for long, as it was,” Thompson continued with a sneer. “I’ve done ye a favor, lad. Ye can be content with me daughter, and the English wench can go back to Daddy.” His lips twisted into a cruel snarl as he said it.
“Ye’re sick,” Magnus hissed.
“Aye, maybe I am. But I’m nae stupid. If ye touch me, me men will sink the little boat yer pretty wife is in, and she’ll be lost at the bottom of the ocean for all time. Perhaps ye’ll enjoy lookin’ out at it every day, rememberin’ that her bones lie on the seabed.”
“Ye wouldnae,” Magnus retorted, feeling fear course through him at the cruelty of those words.
“I’ve done so before.”
And there it was, the final admission that it was Thompson who had killed Elizabeth. Magnus finally had the proof he had waited for all of these years, but it was a hollow victory.
He was torn between slicing the man in two with his blade or trying to convince him that he did not care what happened to Leah so that she could escape.
If he hurt this man, there was every chance that Leah would be drowned.
He would not let that happen.
“Or would ye prefer me to take her off yer hands?” Thompson mused. “Perhaps this is what ye wanted all along. Must be unpleasant havin’ a woman under yer feet after all these years alone. Maybe it would solve all yer problems if the English lass were just to disappear.”
Magnus scoffed, injecting as much derision into the sound as he could.
“I dinnae care what happens to the English lass,” he said firmly.
“Ye can do what ye will with her. As ye say, I’ve built me life here.
I’ll use her for bairns and nae have to see much of her.
She’s like any other woman. A means to an end. ”
He swallowed past the lump in his throat as the lies fell from his lips. Then, with a sinking, horrible feeling in his gut, he heard a stifled gasp from the doorway.
He knew Leah was standing behind him—could feel her presence now like a physical force. Not only had she heard what he had said, but she was now in the direct view of the man who wanted her dead.
Panic flooded him, and he stared at Thompson, raising his sword again, keeping the man’s eyes squarely on him.
“I dinnae care what happens to her. She trapped me into marriage, and I’ll be glad to be rid of her.”
Magnus ignored her fresh gasp of pain, but the sound was not ignored by Thompson.
His dark eyes turned to see her there and locked onto her with keen interest. Magnus saw the Laird’s hand tighten on his sword and knew that the time for talking was over.
“Get her out of here!” he bellowed to Kenneth, who was already running to Leah. He could hear her fighting against his man-at-arms as he dragged her away.
He hoped she did not injure Kenneth in her anger, but he currently had a much bigger problem to deal with.
Thompson started toward the doorway where Kenneth had taken Leah, and Magnus lunged at him, their swords connecting in a clash of steel.
Thompson roared and lifted his sword over his head, bringing it down onto Magnus, who only just had time to parry and stop the blade from splintering his skull.
He had underestimated the man’s strength.
They circled one another, Magnus watching to ensure that Thompson didn’t suddenly dart behind him and away. Kenneth would protect Leah with his life, but they were not out of the woods yet.
“Ye are a fool if ye think ye will get out of here alive,” Magnus snarled.
“I’ll find her, dinnae worry about that. I’ve always wanted to ken what it was like to have an Englishwoman.”
Magnus growled as he advanced, and their swords clashed as they parried and scuffled together, finally leaping apart as they returned to circling one another.
“Once ye’re dead, there willnae be much to protect her. She’s a long way from home. I can take this castle while I have me English wench whenever I want her, at me beck and call.”
Magnus drew in a shuddering breath, remembering his training and trying to calm his thundering heartbeat.
“Ye’ll ne’er have her. Ye die today,” he said.
Thompson cackled. “Ye think me men will let her go? They’ll scupper the boat so she cannae get away.”
Thompson was wallowing in his own arrogance now, and Magnus saw his chance. As the man’s sword lowered just a fraction, Magnus spun around in a great arc, bringing his sword harshly down on the man’s right arm, cutting a chunk of his flesh off his shoulder. Blood poured instantly from the wound.
Thompson howled as he stepped back, glaring down at the injury in amazement and, in his rage, brought the blade up too fast without calculating Magnus’s next move.
It took very little energy in the end. Magnus ducked, dodging the blade as the man lost his balance and stumbled forward, and then he plunged his blade deep into the man’s heart with a satisfaction that was almost euphoric.
“That is for me bairn, and layin’ hands on me beautiful wife,” he snarled.
He pulled the blade from the man’s chest, and Thompson tumbled to the floor, blood pooling beneath his body and spreading outward in a wide arc.
Magnus stepped back, looking down at him with dark satisfaction, taking in his final revenge. Then he ran out the door and went to find his wife.