Chapter 25
“She’s no better today, then?” Hunter murmured.
Helena shook her head tightly. “She said she wasnae hungry at breakfast. I made her eat a little, which she did under protest, but then she said she was tired and wanted to sleep more. I’m at me wit’s end.”
Hunter clenched his jaw, thinking.
They had met up on the top of the keep walls, where it was less likely they’d be overheard. Already, rumors about what might be wrong with Skye were flying around the keep. Servants whispered in corners, and a few braver people even tried asking her or Helena direct questions.
Nobody except for his councilmen was bold enough to speak to him about it, and rightly so. He couldn’t remember the last time he was so seethingly furious about a thing.
“Ye arenae helping,” Helena added.
Hunter shot her a shocked look. “Me?”
“Aye, ye, lad. Ye are prowling around the keep in the blackest mood we’ve ever seen. Skye has told me that she’s terrified ye will declare war on Clan Bryden.”
Hunter tightened his jaw mulishly. The truth was that he’d been considering exactly that. And why shouldn’t he?
“He humiliated me sister,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “He sent her back to us like a parcel.”
“He didnae humiliate her. Ye are just so keen to be offended. Ye are prickly lately, son.”
Hunter growled. “Maither, I would like nothing more than to punish him. To… To hurt him the way he hurt her!”
Helena said nothing for a moment. She limped over to the wall, resting her elbows on the thick stone and staring out at the landscape.
Even on the warmest, stillest days, a brisk breeze generally blew over the top of the keep walls. Today, with the gray sky above threatening rain, a harsh wind raked them both.
There was rain on the way too, he was certain of that. He could taste it in the air. And maybe a thunderstorm, too. They were long overdue one of those.
“Yer sister doesnae want him hurt,” Helena said, her back still turned. The wind tugged at stray strands of her hair, whipping them about her face.
Hunter felt goosebumps climbing up his limbs in the wake of such a cold wind.
“She isnae thinking clearly,” he answered. “I’m the Laird, and surely I should ken what is best for her. For us. And revenge—”
“She’s nae interested in revenge. And since it’s her who has been hurt, it’s her who should make the choice.”
“Should she? As I said, she’s nae thinking straight. She—”
Helena turned to face him. “War isnae what she wants, lad. None of us wants that.”
Hunter pressed his lips together, resisting the urge to pout like a child. Frustration tangled itself inside him, forming a hard knot.
“I cannae just do nothing,” he mumbled.
“Ye could comfort her. Be there for her, ye ken?”
“I am here for her. But if she’s such a fool as to keep moping over a man she barely kens, then—”
“A fool? Ha!” Helena chuckled, shaking her head. “One day, Hunter, ye will be in love. Ye will fall in love, and yer whole world will turn upside down. Ye will understand then how quickly one can catch the plague, as it were. Ye’ll understand that love makes fools of us all.”
He folded his arms tight across his chest. “Nae of me. I mean it, Maither. I have no interest in falling in love.”
She quirked an eyebrow. “Ye speak about it as if ye have a choice. I can assure ye that nothing is further from the truth.”
He sniffed, moving over to stand beside her at the wall. Below, a horde of people snaked in and out of the keep, coming and going all day long.
That was a good sign. Hadn’t his father once said that the comings and goings from a keep were like the lifeblood of the place? Blood had to flow, and people had to keep moving.
“I daenae ken how to help her,” he murmured, the wind whipping away his words. “I keep thinking of things we did as children. Games we played, stories we told, things like that, and I want to share those things with her. But then, that’s childish, is it nae? How would that cheer her up?”
“It’s worth trying, son.”
Helena placed her hand on his shoulder, and he leaned toward her almost without thinking. She wrapped her arm around him, and it occurred briefly to him that they must look like a funny pair, a tiny old woman and her hulking son.
He didn’t care how they looked, not one bit.
“There’s been no word of the annulment he promised,” Hunter whispered. “He told her he’d get one, but I havenae received any documents, or even any messages from him. He’s left her in limbo.”
“What will be will be, son. All we can do is support her.”
“It’s been seven days!” he burst out, shaking his head. “I thought…”
“Ye thought what?” Helena gave him a wry, amused smile. “Ye thought that she’d shake off her heartbreak within a week? Oh, Hunter, ye are in for a rough awakening one day.”
Hunter didn’t bother insisting that he would never marry. It was hardly relevant, anyway.
“Perhaps we could arrange…” he trailed off, peering down with a frown.
“What is it?”
“There’s a man on horseback down there,” he muttered, squinting. “He’s moving fast. That…” His eyes widened. “Oh, that bastard. It’s him. It’s him, Maither. It’s Laird Bryden!”
“Mercy me,” Helena responded placidly. “Aye, it does look like him.”
“I’ll have the gates dropped. He’s nae coming in.”
“Might be a wee bit late for that.”
Hunter growled out a curse, dropping his hand to the hilt of his sword. “Then I’m going to make him regret coming here. He’ll pay for what he’s done to me sister; I can promise ye that.”
The crowds parted before Evander and his galloping horse. Cries of surprise and alarm rang out as he shot past.
Generally, in a crowd like this, a person on horseback wouldn’t get above a polite trot. It was safer, and an unwritten rule.
He ignored the annoyed shouts of pedestrians, fixing his gaze on the yawning gate ahead. At any moment, the sharp portcullis could drop, leaving him locked outside.
And then what should I do? Write a letter?
Clenching his jaw, he spurred his horse the last few feet, bursting through the gateway and past a handful of surprised-looking MacCrimmon soldiers. He came to a clopping halt in the middle of the courtyard.
From his vantage point on horseback, he could see a little better.
People filled the courtyard. Servants rushed to and fro with bags and barrels and boxes, and vendors called out their wares. Men in MacCrimmon tartan strolled around, monitoring the goings-on.
The great question was, where next? What now?
He slipped down from his horse, trying to catch his breath. He’d ridden through the night to get here, and exhaustion weighed down his bones. His poor horse would need a good rest and plenty of food and water. If he could just find—
“Laird Bryden! Evander!” A familiar voice rang out over the hubbub of the courtyard.
Evander turned in the direction of the voice, along with half of the other passers-by.
Hunter, Laird MacCrimmon, stood halfway down a stone staircase that led up to the top of the walls. Ignoring the hubbub around him, he walked down the rest of the steps.
“I saw ye coming,” he said, his jaw tight. “Ye shouldnae be here, Evander.”
“I’m surprised ye didnae pour boiling oil on me head.”
He gave a bitter smile. “If I had some on hand, maybe I would have.”
He reached the bottom of the steps and began to walk toward Evander, cutting a swathe through the crowd. People moved respectfully aside, creating space for their Laird.
By the time Hunter reached Evander, a growing circle of space had been left for them both. People didn’t move far away, however. They stayed nearby, staring.
Hunter didn’t seem to notice. He kept his eyes fixed on Evander, fury contorting his face. It was easy to notice if you knew what you were looking for. His eyes were narrowed, his jaw tense, his lips pressed together in a taut, thin line. He stepped too close to Evander, almost nose to nose.
His hand rested on the sword strapped to his hip. Evander pointedly did not reach for his own.
“I heard that ye murdered one of yer councilmen during a meeting,” Hunter breathed. “And that me sister’s guard, Mason, is still in the dungeons.”
“I killed the man who arranged for Skye’s kidnapping,” Evander responded. “Mason was just a tool. He’s sorry for his part in it, and in a way, he saved Skye’s life. Me councilman wanted her dead.”
“Yer councilman.”
“Aye, mine. Me problem. I dealt with it.”
Hunter gave an incredulous huff. “Ye seem pleased with yerself. What are ye doing here, Evander? Ye shouldnae have come.”
“I had to come.”
“Why? Have ye brought news of the annulment? I want it over and done with. I want me sister to be free.”
Evander let out a ragged sigh, forcing himself to meet Hunter’s eyes. He kept his arms hanging loosely by his sides.
Show him that I’m nae here to fight.
“I’m here to see Skye.”
Hunter blinked, missing a beat. “Ye what?”
“Skye. I want to see her. I want to talk to her, if she’ll agree to it.”
He let out a harsh laugh. “Like hell ye will.”
“Hunter…”
“Nay. It’s nae up for debate. Ye arenae seeing me sister. Nae now, nae ever. She doesnae want to talk to ye.”
Evander clenched his jaw. “Then let me hear it from her.”
“Absolutely nae. Take yerself out of me keep, Evander, before I cut off yer head and spike it on the keep walls.”
High above, the gray clouds that had been gathering all morning seemed to turn darker. A lazy roll of thunder rumbled through the air. Several people in the crowd flinched, eyeing the sky with trepidation. A few backed away from the chaos, wisely heading toward shelter.
Hunter didn’t spare the crowd a single glance. He kept his gaze fixed on Evander. “Leave. Now.”
“I cannae leave, Hunter.”
“Where are ye soldiers? Ye cannae have come here alone.”
“I did,” Evander answered simply. “Let me see her.”
By way of answer, Hunter took several steps back, drawing his sword with a neat flourish. He aimed the point toward Evander.
“If ye stay, we’ll duel,” he hissed. “Those are yer choices. Leave or fight.”
Evander did not flinch. “I choose neither.”
Hunter’s brow creased. “That’s nae an option.”
“Nevertheless.”
“Nay, nay, daenae ye nevertheless me, Evander. If ye stay here, I will kill ye. Yer only choice is to defend yerself, so draw yer sword.”
Evander held Hunter’s gaze for a long moment. He sensed the crowd holding its breath. A few soldiers had gathered, sweating, but held back, not wanting to interrupt. One brave soul tried to step forward, but Hunter stopped him in his tracks with one sharp, livid look.
The message was clear: their Laird would be the one to deal with Evander.
Slowly, Evander dropped his hand to the hilt of his sword. Slowly, he pulled the blade free. Hunter’s eyes glittered. His stance widened, preparing for battle. His grip on the hilt tightened. His shoulders lowered, core tightening, feet shifting.
Hunter was a good fighter; Evander knew that. It would be a hard-won battle. The only possible ending was blood and death.
Well, perhaps nae the only possible ending.
Evander held out his sword at arm’s length, out to the side. Fixing his gaze on Hunter’s face, he let it go.
The sword clattered and clanged across the uneven cobblestones, coming to rest with its shiny silver point submerged in a muddy puddle. Gasps rippled through the crowd, everybody craning their necks to get a good look at the weapon.
Hunter’s eyes widened. A muscle in his jaw pulsed, probably in annoyance.
“What are ye doing?” he hissed. “Pick it up. Pick it up now.”
“Nay,” Evander answered simply.
“Ye must pick it up. I willnae kill an unarmed man. This is a duel. We are having a duel, ye and I.”
“Nae exactly. Ye are trying to duel with me. It’s nae the same.”
With a hiss of fury, Hunter stepped forward, sword still poised.
The point now rested against the center of Evander’s chest. Evander could feel the pinprick sharpness of it.
If he glanced down, he could see the stormy skies reflected in the polished-glass shine of the blade.
As he watched, a single, fat drop fell, splattering across the metal and blurring the reflection.
More drops followed, landing heavy and cold on the top of his head, on his shoulders, and trickling down his collar. They fell on Hunter too, rapidly dampening his dark hair.
This time, nobody from the crowd left despite the bad weather.
They hunched over, pulling up their hoods and squinting against the worsening rain, focused on the scene before them.
The cobbles rapidly grew dark and slick, new puddles forming.
The rain, a shivering susurrus, filled the silence. Nobody was talking.
“Pick. Up. Yer. Sword,” Hunter hissed through gritted teeth. “If nae, I will have to kill ye. Do ye think I willnae?”
“I daenae ken what I think,” Evander responded, honestly enough.
“But I’ve told ye why I am here. I must speak to Skye.
Please, let me speak to her. It… It matters.
She can send me away if she likes, and if she sends me away, I’ll go at once.
I’ll nae complain. No arguing. I’ll leave, and I’ll never come back. I’ll arrange the annulment. I’ll—”
“Ye havenae already begun to arrange the annulment?” Hunter burst out. “Oh, ye are a selfish bastard, are ye nae? Listen to me now. I’ll nae let ye speak to her. I willnae let ye hurt her again. So, this is yer final chance. Leave.”
He leaned forward, just a little. Just a few inches, but it was enough for the razor-sharp point of the sword to dig into Evander’s skin. The pain increased, sharp and focused. Warmth slid down from where the point pierced his skin, and he knew without looking that it was blood.
It would take little effort for Hunter to finish it all and push forward, driving his sword all the way through Evander’s chest. The blade was sharp enough, and he was strong enough. There’d be no real resistance.
Evander kept his arms by his sides and met Hunter’s gaze squarely.
“I willnae leave, Hunter,” he answered calmly. “I must speak to her. I must see her.”
Hunter blinked, surprise flashing in his eyes.
He really thought I was going to give in.
“Very well, then,” he said, shifting his stance. “Ye leave me no choice, Evander. I will have to kill ye.”
A panicked voice rang out through the tensely silent courtyard.
“Hunter, nay! Wait!”