Chapter 23 #2
Fergus shouted something, but Evander couldn’t quite make out what it was. His blood pounded in his ears.
“Do ye ken what the funny thing about all of this is, Andrew?” he rasped, his teeth gritted.
“Do enlighten me, me Laird.”
“I might have let ye live, even after all of this. But ye dared to take what’s mine from me.”
Andrew’s brow furrowed. “What on earth are ye talking about?”
Evander smiled tightly. “I am talking about her.”
He swung his sword sideways, only a few inches above the table’s surface. It was a move Andrew had blocked several times already. This time, however, he was a split second too slow.
The blade bit into the side of his ankle. He gave a strangled scream, toppling sideways. His blade fell from nerveless fingers, clattering across the floor. Fergus leaped upon it, snatching it up and out of the way.
Silence fell.
Andrew crouched on the floor, groaning. Evander watched him, waiting. He couldn’t stand on that ankle, that was for sure.
Growling, Andrew pushed himself up onto one knee. Tipping back his head, he met Evander’s gaze squarely.
“Come on, then,” he hissed. “Finish it. I’ve had enough.”
Wordlessly, Evander brought up his blade. It sliced through the air, razor-sharp, and neatly took off Andrew’s head at the shoulders.
There was a moment of silence. The councilmen stared on in horror. Andrew’s body fell forward with a sickening thud and lay still.
“That was a more merciful death than he had planned for ye, I wager,” Fergus said, breaking the silence first. “Or for Lady Skye.”
At the mention of her name, Evander’s whole body stiffened, his heart lurching in his chest. Slowly, he turned to face the rest of the councilmen, packed up in the corner of the room, their eyes wide as owlets.
“If any of ye have any other grievances against me, anything to confess, then now is the time to speak up,” he said wearily.
One by one, the councilmen mutely shook their heads. The balding fellow who’d spoken earlier took a tentative step forward.
“Forgive me, me Laird,” he ventured, “but now that it’s safe, will our Lady return?”
Evander swallowed, tightening his grip on his sword. “I daenae ken. Probably nae.”
The man deflated a little and shuffled back, crestfallen.
Evander turned, meeting Fergus’s eyes. His man-at-arms remained as alert and stoic as ever, lifting his eyebrows in question.
Evander jerked his chin toward Andrew’s body. “Clean up this mess, will ye? I need a drink.”
Skye tumbled out of the litter. She was so tired she could hardly move. Her limbs had gone stiff, joints aching. She hardly dared ask how her mother was feeling.
Twilight had turned the world into a sketch, draining the color and adding charcoal-black smudges of shadow in every corner. In the courtyard of Keep MacCrimmon, however, torches blazed, filling the space with an angry yellow light.
A few soldiers were waiting, and of course, Hunter stood in the middle, his arms folded tightly. At his nod, several servants hurried forward, ready to help Helena out of the litter.
Skye found herself surplus to requirements, standing awkwardly off to the side, watching the servants expertly maneuver her mother down to the ground.
“So ye are back, then,” Hunter murmured, materializing at her side. “Is it going to be war?”
“War?” Skye shuddered. “Nay, I hope nae. Why should it be?”
“He sent ye back like a parcel, with a few soldiers to guard ye.” Hunter sniffed, wrinkling his nose at the litter. “Didnae even come himself.”
She clenched her jaw. “Ye daenae understand.”
“Are ye going to explain? Are ye going to help me understand?”
Without warning, her throat tightened, tears pricking at her eyes. Angrily, she swiped the back of her hand across her face.
Had Hunter noticed?
A quick glance up at his face showed that he was staring off rigidly into the distance, where their mother was being helped up the front steps. She, of course, knew the whole story. Not all of it, not the intimate moments, but the rest of it.
Knowing her mother, Skye wouldn’t have been surprised if she had guessed that, too.
“I’m sorry, lass,” Hunter murmured, still not looking at her. “I can write to him. I can visit.”
“Nay, daenae. I havenae been sent off in disgrace. This is… This is how it was always going to end,” she sniffed, lifting her chin. “I’m glad to be home, Hunter. I’m nae a failed wife being sent home in disgrace. I want ye to uphold the treaty. I daenae want war.”
“Nor do I, but the insult to ye—”
“There’s no insult,” she interrupted tiredly. “No insult at all. It’s nae like that. Besides, I havenae even told ye about Mason.”
Hunter stiffened. “What has Mason done?”
“Oh, he’s been a prize fool. For now, though, I want to take some fresh air and stretch me legs. I’m just so… so tired. I’m so tired, and I’m sick of that litter. I’m sick of everything. Sick of me, sick of this place, sick of that place. Sick of everything, Hunter.”
He was quiet for a moment.
“Aye, I ken how that feels,” he sighed. “Tired. Ye are tired, but daenae fret. Ye will go back to yer room; I’ve got it all ready for ye.”
“Maither’s tired. The journey was hard for her.”
“I’ve got healers all ready. I ken how to take care of Ma. Just… Just take care of yerself, Skye, please.”
She let out a long, ragged breath and closed her eyes
“I’ll do me best,” she mumbled. “Come on. Let’s get inside.”
He wrapped his arm wordlessly around her shoulder, and they trudged off toward the keep.