Chapter 21
The punch was clean.
Evan barely had time to brace before Niall’s fist connected with the bridge of his nose, a sharp crack of cartilage that sent white light bursting across his vision. His head snapped back. For half a heartbeat he tasted nothing but copper and heat.
Then the blood came. It spilled hot over his lip, down his chin, dripping onto the polished floorboards of the study. He staggered once, more from surprise than pain.
Niall flexed his hand and muttered under his breath, “God’s teeth. That hurt.”
Evan blinked the sting from his eyes and let out a breath that was half laugh, half hiss. “That hurt ye? Bloody hell, Niall, ye’d have made a fine dockside brawler.”
Niall knelt by him. “Shite. Sorry. Are ye—”
“I’m fine.” Evan pressed his fingers to his nose and winced. Not broken. Just bloodied. “I’ve had worse.”
Which was true. Ruby crossed the room in three swift steps, a cloth in her hand. She reached for his face, her fingers gentle as she tilted his chin upward.
“Hold still.”
She pressed the cloth beneath his nose, her other hand cupping his jaw to keep him from flinching. Her touch was cool and careful, and he found himself wanting to lean into it.
“Was that really necessary?” she asked.
“Aye,” Evan replied. “We already known MacInnes has people watching us. He mustnae suspect I’m working with Niall and Bryce. He must think our relationship fractured beyond repair.”
“Well this looks pretty convincing,” Ruby said, her voice radiating disapproval. “You’re going to have one hell of a shiner in the morning.”
Bryce had already stormed out an hour earlier—slamming the door and growling curses as he went. The servants would talk. The locals would speculate. By morning the estate would hum with the story of brothers who could not forgive old wounds.
Good. They needed the rumors to reach the right ears.
Ruby dabbed carefully at his upper lip. The cloth was already soaked through. She folded it, pressed a cleaner section against his skin.
He caught her wrist. “Ruby.” She looked up at him and he saw the turmoil in her eyes, the fear. “Ye understand why I have to do this? It has to look as though I have nothing left.”
Her throat worked. “I know.”
Evan drew the cloth from Ruby’s hand and pressed it to his own face, more to have something to do than from need. This was the part he had not planned for properly. Leaving her. He wanted to say something clever. Something reassuring. Something that would make this easier.
But nothing came.
“It’s only ten days,” he said finally. “Until this is over.”
“Ten days,” she echoed. “Any longer and I’m coming after you. That’s a promise.”
He pulled her to him, arms tight around her shoulders, breathing in the scent of her hair, memorizing the shape of her. Then he straightened.
“Tell Bryce,” he said to Niall, “that he better be ready.”
Niall gave a sharp nod. “I will.”
Evan grasped the door handle, pulled the door open and then slammed it behind him hard enough to rattle it in the frame. The sound echoed down the corridor. Good. Let it carry. Let the game begin.
As he stepped outside, dark was beginning to settle over the land. Clouds rolled low and heavy across the sky, swallowing the last of the light. The air smelled of damp earth and coming rain.
Evan stalked away from the house and padded around the back, towards the outbuildings.
The plan was simple in design, dangerous in execution.
He would give MacInnes what he wanted: a man cut off from his family.
A man with grievances. One who no longer had anything left to lose—and sowing those seeds would start here.
The store room he needed sat at the rear of the property, thick-walled and windowless and with a door bound with chain. Evan took the keys from his pocket and paused only a moment before unlocking the door and pushing it open.
Three men sat bound against the far wall, wrists tied. They looked up sharply at the sound of the door.
“Ye,” Fergus Key spat.
Evan shut the door behind him and lit the single candle he’d brought with him. Its light revealed the men’s faces: bruised. Angry. Defiant.
He crouched before Fergus Key. “MacInnes wants to use my lands? Fine. I’ll let him.”
“Ye think he’ll trust ye now?” Key growled. “After betraying us to yer brother?”
“I betrayed nothing,” Evan snapped. “Hamish was the one who informed Niall. I said not a word. Nor will I. My brother can burn for all I care.”
Key took in his bloodied nose, eyes narrowing. Evan reached down and began untying the rope that bound Key’s wrists.
“What are ye doing?” Key demanded.
“Freeing ye.” He moved to the next man, untying the rope with deliberate calm.
“Ye expect thanks?” Fergus hissed, massaging his wrists. “We ought to gut ye where ye stand!”
Evan straightened slowly. “Ye could try,” he said evenly, “or ye could deliver a message.”
Key shifted, flexing stiff fingers. “What message?”
Evan crouched in front of him, letting the light catch the dried blood beneath his nose, the eye that was beginning to swell.
“Tell MacInnes I accept.”
The three men said nothing. Tension lay between them as taut as a bow string. If these men decided to repay him for his earlier attack, he would be hard-pressed to fend them off. He crossed his arms and waited.
Fergus Key studied him carefully. “We heard a fight,” he said at last. “Looks like yer brothers dinna care much for family reunions.”
Evan let something dark settle over his features. “They deserve what’s coming to them,” he growled. “All of them do.”
The men exchanged a look. Evan stood and opened the door, letting cool night air rush in. The men rose slowly, rubbing their wrists.
“If this is a trick—” Fergus began.
Evan turned back, letting the full weight of his stare land on the man. “A trick?” he said softly. “Why would I bother when all I had to do is leave ye to rot in here?”
They filed past him cautiously, glancing once toward the main house where faint candlelight flickered in upper windows. Fergus studied him. He couldn’t make out the man’s features, just the glint of his eyes.
At last, he spoke. “We’ll pass on yer message.”
Then they disappeared into the dark. Evan remained where he was for a long moment, listening to their retreating footsteps. The night swallowed the sound quickly. He was alone now. Truly alone.
He wiped the last of the blood from his lip with the back of his hand. The copper taste lingered. He straightened slowly, rolling his shoulders back.
He had ten days to walk back into a life he had clawed his way out of. Ten days to convince a predator that he was willing to become one again.
He lifted his gaze toward the dark horizon. Then he turned and walked into the night.
RUBY SAT AND STARED out the window.
Beyond, the night pressed close. There was no moon. No stars. Just a thick, unbroken dark stretching across the grounds and into the distant line of trees. The wind stirred the branches, and every now and then she heard the lonely cry of an owl.
Where was Evan right now? Was he already with MacInnes? She imagined him surrounded by hard faces. Saw a knife drawn to test his nerve. Saw cold eyes assessing him, searching for weakness. Her pulse skittered. What if they suspected? What if he had to choose between proving himself and protecting—
Stop.
She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. This was useless. All she was doing was imagining the worst and letting it send her down into a spiral—a spiral with no end.
Back home, when a project threatened to unravel, when markets shifted unexpectedly or a supplier collapsed without warning, she did not stand by a window and imagine disaster. She mapped the risk and mitigated it.
Okay. She pulled in a breath to the count of four. Held it. Breathed out for six. Again.
Slowly, she felt herself begin to settle.
Her thoughts began to slow, the panic to recede a little.
She turned from the window, the hem of her nightdress whispering across the floorboards.
The fire in the grate had burned low but still glowed.
Beside it stood a small table, holding an ink pot, and a stack of parchment.
She sat at the table, spread the parchment flat, and something inside her steadied. This she understood.
Dipping a quill into the inkpot, she wrote across the top in careful strokes: MacInnes risk assessment. If she were Seoras MacInnes, what would she do?
She stared at the words for a long moment, then began listing: test loyalty, isolate asset, escalate demand, remove external influences. He would want to be sure of Evan before he acted. Nobody had been able to catch Seoras MacInnes, which meant he was careful.
Testing Evan’s loyalty was the first and most obvious move. MacInnes would not accept Evan’s story at face value. He would probe. He would look for fracture lines.
What form would such a test take? Her pulse threatened to quicken again, but she pressed the quill more firmly to the page instead. At work, she identified vulnerabilities in a system—overexposure to a single supplier, lack of contingency planning, inadequate oversight.
She drew a line down the center of the parchment.
On the left she wrote risk. On the right she wrote mitigation.
She almost laughed at the familiarity of it—and the absurdity of doing it in this situation.
But it calmed her, helped her order her thoughts.
Under risk she wrote: MacInnes isolates Evan.
Under mitigation she wrote: maintain covert communication channel.
Evan would be closely watched and any overt attempt at contact could endanger him. So communication must be indirect. Next to what she’d just written she added, trusted intermediary.
She paused. Who? Niall and Bryce were out of the question. Charlie? Too obvious. Flora or Joseph? Again, too obvious. They needed someone close enough to Evan to move without scrutiny, but not so visibly tied to the family feud that MacInnes would suspect collusion.