Chapter Nineteen Munro
I stood frozen on the threshold as my uncle hauled Murieall from the room.
The image of what I’d just seen flashed in my mind.
James, with his arms wrapped around Murieall, and her body pressed against his chest as if she belonged there.
A red haze crept along the edges of my vision as I struggled to draw breath, my hand instinctively moving to the dirk at my belt.
My oldest friend. The woman who had shared my bed. The betrayal knocked the wind from my lungs more effectively than any sword blow I’d ever taken in battle.
“Munro,” James said, stepping forward with his hands raised in that placating gesture one might use to calm a wild beast. “This is nae—”
“Do nae speak my name,” I growled, cutting him off. “Ever again.”
He shook his head, desperation clear in his eyes. “Ye have to listen. We were nae—”
“Nae what?” I spat, taking a step toward him, my body vibrating with the effort to keep from launching myself at him immediately. “Nae conspiring behind my back? Nae planning to make me appear mad to the clan? Nae betraying me and bedding Murieall.”
James’s expression shifted from desperation to dawning horror. “Is that what ye think? That Murieall and I—” He broke off, glancing toward the doorway. Was he looking for his lover? My blood boiled at the thought. “God’s blood, Munro,” he said, glancing back to me, “ye could nae be more wrong.”
“I saw ye with my own eyes,” I snarled, moving closer. “Yer arms around her. Her body pressed against yers. Do ye deny it?”
“Nay, I do nae deny holding her, but ’tis nae what ye think,” James insisted. “She nearly collapsed. I was simply—”
“Enough!” I roared, my patience snapping like a dry twig. “Enough of yer lies!”
My vision narrowed to James’s face, everything else in the chamber fading to shadow.
The sounds from the corridor—Murieall’s muffled protests, my uncle’s low, urgent voice—receded until all I could hear was the rush of blood in my ears and my own ragged breathing.
All the pain of the past days—Murieall’s confession about her curse, her claims to hear Isabella, the lasses speaking of ghosts—condensed into a single point of fury directed at the man before me.
James took a step back, his hands still raised. “Munro, think. We’ve been friends since we were lads. Would I betray ye like this? Use yer reason, man!”
But reason had fled, replaced by a primal need to hurt as I had been hurt. My hands curled into fists at my sides, every muscle in my body coiling with tension. I shifted my weight, preparing to spring.
“All these years,” I said, my voice low and dangerous, “trusted ye above all others. I made ye my right hand. I shared with ye my doubts, my fears.” I took another step forward, forcing James back again.
“And all this time, ye’ve been waiting for yer chance.
Watching me drown my grief, waiting until I was weak enough to challenge. Well, do ye find me weak now, James?”
“This is madness,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve nae ever sought to usurp ye. I suspect yer aunt and uncle have poisoned yer mind against me.”
I took another step forward, my anger beating a rapid tattoo within me.
“I’ll nae hear anymore of yer lies or stand any more of yer schemes,” I said.
“Ye brought my lasses back without my consent. Ye dismissed Duncan. Ye told him I’d sent ye to fetch Murieall.
Ye’ve set her in my path as much as possible since she arrived here.
I do nae have any doubt that ye thought if she could seduce me, and then get me to believe her wild tales, that I’d repeat them and look mad. ”
James’s expression hardened, a rare anger breaking through his usual calm. “Is that what yer uncle’s been telling ye? And ye believe him over me?”
“I do nae need anyone to tell me these things,” I snarled. “I have seen much with my own eyes. My uncle has been loyal when ye have nae.”
A bitter laugh escaped James, harsh and humorless. “Loyal? God help ye, Munro, ye are either a fool or ye are choosing nae to see the truth. Listen to me—
“Nay!” I bellowed. “Ye listen to me. I trusted ye with everything. Everything!”
Something shifted in James’s eyes then, a hardening, a decision made. “And I trusted ye to be a good leader, but mayhap I should nae have.”
A roar of animal rage tore from my throat, and I lunged forward, my fist already swinging in an arc toward James’s jaw.
The impact shuddered up my arm as knuckles connected with bone.
James’s head snapped back, but he did not go down.
Instead, he staggered, regained his footing, and barreled into me, sending us careening into a chair and tumbling to the floor.