Chapter 19
Dust rose in a choking cloud as Evan dragged the rotten shutters out through the front door of the manor and tossed them into the grass with the rest of the debris. There was a lot of it. This was going to take longer than expected.
Undeterred, he wiped his brow with his sleeve and went back in, pausing in the doorway of the main room.
Light spilled through the tall windows now he’d taken some of the shutters down, although the window glass would need replacing.
Dust lay thick on the floor and cobwebs hung in the corners, but he could still picture what it would be.
Floors sanded, long table set near the fire.
Ruby’s laughter bouncing off the walls, her boots kicked off by the door.
Ours.
The word had felt reckless when he’d said it. Now it felt possible.
He bent and lifted another warped plank. For the first time in longer than he could remember, he wasn’t calculating escape routes. He wasn’t scanning the horizon for pursuit. He was thinking about furniture. How strange was that?
A faint crunch sounded outside, and Evan straightened. “Hamish?” he called, assuming the headman had returned as promised with some tools and perhaps a few of the village lads to help. “Have ye come to do a bit more ‘supervising’?”
Silence.
“I’ve nearly finished the front room,” he shouted. “So if ye’ve come to criticize, ye had best have brought some ale!”
More footsteps. And three men stepped into the room. They wore travel-stained coats, pistols at their belts, swords strapped to their hips.
“Afternoon, Campbell,” said the man in the center. He was short and squat, with a scar tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Evan felt his face twist into a snarl. “Fergus Key. What in all the hells are ye doing here?”
Fergus’s cold gaze swept the room. He didn’t answer Evan’s question. “Ye look busy. Renovations, is it?”
The other two men followed as Fergus stepped further into the room, spreading out, blocking the exit. Evan glanced at the window, at the door, measuring the distance to each and calculating his chances of escape. They weren’t good.
“What do ye want?”
Fergus smiled. “Ye know exactly what we want. Or rather, what Seoras MacInnes wants.”
“MacInnes can go to hell.”
Evan caught a flicker of movement in his peripheral vision just as the man on his left lunged at him.
Evan spun and drove his fist into the man’s ribs, doubling him over.
Another man grabbed him from behind, pinning his arms behind his back.
Evan slammed his head back, felt bone and cartilage shatter, but before he could break free, Fergus stepped forward, driving a fist into his gut.
Air exploded from Evan’s lungs, and he doubled over as far as his captor’s grip would allow.
“Still scrappy,” Fergus observed mildly, crouching before him. “Ye were always more of a brawler than a warrior.”
Evan fought against his captor’s grip but couldn’t break free. “If MacInnes wants words, he can come himself.”
Fergus’s smile thinned. “Words? I think it’s gone a little further than that, dinna ye? Ye have led us on a merry chase, and that was not a good idea. Seoras MacInnes’ patience is at an end.”
Seoras MacInnes. Evan had slipped from his grasp twice—once by the coast and then again during the journey with the merchant caravan. He’d hoped he wouldn’t dare follow him this far south, this close to Edinburgh and the authorities that would see him hanged if they caught him.
He’d clearly underestimated the man.
Fergus stood and wandered toward the window, peering out at the land beyond. “Nice stretch ye’ve got here. Shame if anything happened to it.” He turned back. “Wouldnae take much. Accidents happen. A hearth fire left unattended. A candle knocked over.”
“I dinna take kindly to threats,” Evan growled.
He struggled, but his captor twisted his arm a fraction higher. Pain shot white-hot through his shoulder.
“And that village,” Fergus continued as if Evan hadn’t spoken. “Full of good, hardworking folk. Families. Children. Such precarious lives. So easy to lose everything in an instant.”
Rage flared in Evan’s chest. “Ye will leave them be.”
Fergus crouched again, bringing his face level with Evan’s. “Perhaps. If ye give us what we want.”
Evan glared at him. “Fine. Take me to MacInnes.”
Fergus laughed. “Ye think yer miserable life is what MacInnes wants? Ye think that is enough to repay all yer treachery? Oh no, my friend. Seoras MacInnes is a practical man and understands opportunity when he sees it.”
“What opportunity?”
Fergus shrugged. “This estate of yers sits conveniently close to Edinburgh. Routes in and out. Land quiet enough not to attract questions.”
Evan gave a sour laugh. “Are ye making me an offer?”
“Like I said, Seoras MacInnes is a practical man. He wouldnae allow personal vendettas to get in the way of business—not when he sees a better way to get what he wants. Allow us occasional use of this place. Storage. Transit. Nothing that need trouble yer sleep. In return...” He spread his hands.
“Yer past indiscretions are forgiven. And yer people can sleep soundly in their beds.”
Forgiven. As though MacInnes were a priest absolving sin instead of a criminal tightening his grip.
“If I refuse?”
Fergus’s eyes hardened. “Ye know the answer to that.”
Evan’s mind raced. If he agreed, he knew what would happen. His land would become a hub for MacInnes’ criminal undertakings. Stolen goods passing through. Smuggled contraband. His people—Hamish, the farmers, the women and children—would be unwitting shields.
And then there was Ruby. His bright, fierce Ruby would be dragged into his darkness.
What a fool he was to think he could outrun this. MacInnes would never stop hunting him. His past would never stop coming for him.
Fergus studied him. “It is a generous offer. This way at least ye get to keep yer life.”
Evan let his shoulders sag. “I’ll need to think.”
Fergus exchanged a glance with the others. The grip on Evan’s arms loosened—a little. “Think quickly,” Fergus said. “MacInnes isnae a patient man.”
Evan lowered his head as though in defeat, but his muscles coiled. He shifted his weight subtly, testing his captor’s hold. The man restraining him leaned in with the movement, slightly off balance.
And that’s when Evan struck.
He twisted violently, dropping his weight then slamming backward into his captor’s knee. There was a shout of pain as the joint buckled. Evan wrenched one arm free, drove his elbow up into a throat, then surged to his feet.
Fergus swung at him. Evan met him head-on, fists flying, the world narrowing. He caught Fergus across the cheekbone, felt skin split beneath his knuckles. A blade flashed, but Evan seized the man’s wrist, slammed it against the wall until the knife clattered away.
But the last man recovered quickly, tackling Evan from the side. They hit the floor hard. Pain burst through Evan’s shoulder. A heavy weight pinned him, and he tasted iron as he bit the inside of his cheek.
“Stubborn bastard,” the man growled.
Then another sound cut through the chaos. A roar.
Hamish MacLaren barreled through the doorway like a charging bull, a staff clutched in both hands. He swung without hesitation, catching the nearest man across the temple. The crack of impact echoed through the room, and the man collapsed.
Fergus staggered back, surprised by the sudden assault.
Evan surged up and drove his fist into Fergus’s jaw with everything he had left.
Fergus dropped. The third man scrambled toward the door, but Hamish intercepted him, shoving him hard into the frame.
His head struck wood and he crumpled. Silence fell, broken only by Evan’s ragged breathing.
Hamish stood over the fallen men, chest heaving. “Friends of yers?”
Evan wiped blood from his mouth and said nothing.
Hamish looked between the unconscious men and Evan. “Who are they, Evan?”
Evan swallowed. “Ye dinna want to know.”
“I do when strangers come onto our land bringing violence.”
“They work for a man called Seoras MacInnes. They came for me,” Evan said quietly.
He suddenly felt as if a hole was opening up beneath his feet and he was falling, falling, falling. MacInnes wouldn’t stop. He would keep hunting him. It was not safe for anyone to be around him. And that meant... Oh, God, that meant...
Hamish’s grip tightened on the staff. “If they want a fight, then we’ll give them one! One thing the people of this village have learned is how to stand up for ourselves. We willnae be bullied.”
Evan barely heard him. He glanced at the doorway and the fields that lay beyond, to the distant cottages. To the life he had begun to imagine. To Ruby’s smile in the sunlight. He had dared to believe he could have it all. He wanted to laugh hysterically.
Fool! You should have known this was coming.
“Nay,” he said, lifting his chin and meeting Hamish’s furious gaze. “This isnae yer fight. It’s mine. Only mine. I willnae put ye in danger because of my failures.”
Hamish said nothing, but his gaze was shrewd as he studied Evan, reading what he hadn’t yet spoken. “Ye are leaving.” It wasn’t a question.
Evan didn’t reply, which was answer enough.
It was the only thing he could do. He had to leave, even though the thought of it made him feel sick to his stomach.
If he stayed, MacInnes would tighten the noose, would do God-knows-what to the people he cared about just to get at him.
Leaving was the only way to keep his people safe.
To keep Ruby safe.
Evan swallowed hard, the room seeming to sway around him. “I willnae see this place burned for my sins. I willnae see anyone hurt on my account. If I leave, ye will all be safe.”
Ruby will be safe.
Hamish watched him for a long moment. “Where will ye go?”
“A long way from here.” He walked past the headman, past the unconscious men, but paused in the doorway and looked back. “Tell her...tell her I’m sorry.”