Chapter Twenty-Six
Catriona felt the pressure of his hand on her shoulder. Grant knelt beside her at the edge of the gap, pushing hard enough to shove the breath from her. She tried to roll away, but he held her there as he leaned to call again.
“Kildonan!”
In the shadows below, she saw Evan dangling at the end of the knotted rope. Her heart clenched with terror. Grant only needed to kick the iron claw free, and Evan would fall to his death.
She twisted insistently, but Grant held her fast. “What do you want?” she gasped out.
“I want what is mine by right. Now is the time to make that claim.”
“What claim?” She could hardly get the words out, with Grant yanking her fiercely, the wind shoving hard, and her heart thundering in her chest.
A glance showed Evan clambering up. She would have helped pull the rope up as he returned, but she was trapped. Instead, he climbed the rope relentlessly, hands and feet and muscles working fiercely. At any moment, Grant could end that climb.
“I could send you both over the side,” Grant muttered, as if he knew her thoughts. “Two lovers lost in the Black Notch, too close to the edge.”
“Why?” she rasped, breathless. “You have been so angry with Evan, and me. Vile and ferocious, but why? Was it because I married Evan, or something else? You have no cause to hate Evan, nor cause to hate my brother and threaten to expose him. What is it?”
“Have you never guessed?” he snarled, snatching at her when she tried to twist away again. “Are you blind? Look at me!”
She stared at him, her chest heaving. And suddenly, it became frighteningly clear.
He had the thick brown hair, the classic features that reminded her of the Kildonan Mackenzies. He was tall and lean, and his voice was deep and mellow. He was the image of the portraits hung at Kildonan Castle of Evan’s father and grandfather too.
Suddenly she recalled a rumor she had heard in childhood, a rumor that had made her father angry with Lord Kildonan, causing a terse argument outside her father’s church one day.
The next day, young Kenneth Grant abruptly left the glen, taken to live with kin somewhere else.
His father, the earl’s factor, carried on alone, for his wife had died some years before.
Then the earl’s wife and children left too, while surly old Kildonan stayed for decades.
Eventually Grant returned, having attended university to become a physician.
He served the glen, though he was surly too, never again the pleasant lad he had been.
“But—surely you are not—”
“Kildonan’s son? I am your precious earl’s half brother,” he said. “The old earl’s eldest son.” As he spoke, he jerked her arm as if punctuating the revelation.
“Evan—never said,” she gasped.
“Either he does not know—or chooses to ignore it.”
In the crevice, she noticed that Evan was rising closer. His face, pale in the darkness there, looked cold and hard with anger. He would be furious and on his way to help her—but had he also heard what Grant had just said?
Grant kept a brutal grip on Catriona as he leaned toward the gap. Extending an arm, he reached for the iron claw just below the cliff edge.
“No!” Catriona bucked, desperately trying to pull Grant back so he could not dislodge the iron piece. He shoved her away, but was off balance enough that he used his free arm to brace himself as he looked down at Evan.
“Kildonan! One good pull and the iron hook comes loose!”
“Let Catriona go,” Evan growled, pulling himself higher, hand over hand with mighty effort, boot toes finding sure holds, fingers hard grips.
Throwing herself backward then, Catriona tried again to pull Grant away from the edge, away from the lifeline rope. But Grant’s greater size and weight held him in place, too near the edge. Again, he reached down, scrambling for a hold on the hook.
She tugged at him, pushed, beat her fist on his forearm. Though he tried to shrug her off, she felt ferocious, relentless, as she pummelled and struggled. If she had to, she would even push Grant over the cliff edge to save Evan.
“Stop!” she said breathlessly. “Stop! Why are you doing this?”
“I thought he would never come back to the glen,” Grant grunted, prying her hand from his arm. “I meant to buy land and sue for the rest in the courts, hire solicitors. But he came back, and then—he married you!”
“That had nothing to do with you,” she gasped, pulling on him with all her weight.
“It is my business if he claims the lot—the glen, the title, the woman, all that should have been mine.”
Even as he spoke, Catriona struggled with him.
His strength was greater, his determination dark and fierce, but her love for Evan felt bright and powerful.
She would never give up. Tugging at his arm as he reached over the cliff edge again, she stretched to pry his fingers loose.
Evan was closer, his face upturned, hands fisted on the rope.
Cold wind blew upward from the gap, so that her hair flew about her face.
She felt dizzy, hanging over the edge, but she would not pull back, locking her leg and skirts around Grant’s leg, wrestling with him, desperate.
“I was—here—and he was not,” Grant rasped, his grip solid on the iron. “I visited the old earl, was his doctor, hunted with him too. We talked—about the glen. Where were you then, Kildonan?” he called. “When I was with our father?”
“I am closer now, damn you,” Evan growled, scrambling upward. “Leave her be!”
“She is a wildcat,” Grant said, and gave a heave that sent Catriona rolling. She heard the scuff of Evan’s boots on rock, saw Grant extend both hands to the iron claw.
Getting to her hands and knees, she lunged, leaped on Grant’s back like the wildcat he had called her, pulling at his shoulders, trying to drag him away from the edge, wanting to give Evan enough time to reach the rim and come up.
One of her boots had come undone, half off, in the struggle.
She reached back, yanked it from her foot, and hit Grant hard in the head.
That knocked him sideways, a bit away from the edge, and he scrambled to his knees, then pinned her, his back to the edge.
Grateful for that, she lay gasping, still, so that Grant focused on her.
“The old earl had such guilt,” he went on, pressing her down. She sensed anger rising in him, erasing reason, replacing it with resentment and fury.
“Guilt about you? Bastard son?” She fed his ire, kept his attention on her.
“I told him my mother loved him, told him he had done no wrong. Told him I loved him as a—as my father—”
“Your mother—who was she?” Catriona tugged on his jacket to hold him there.
“A Highland girl—died when I was a boy. Her husband Grant, the factor, was furious with her when he discovered it—beat her—” He pressed down on her shoulders, spitting in his rage.
“He knew I was Kildonan’s brat. He took money from the earl to keep quiet.
But the countess discovered it. She left and I was sent away.
Old Kildonan paid. He paid! Evan Mackenzie! He paid for it!”
No answer came out of the gap, only the rasp of rope and iron on rock.
“He supported you, gave you an education,” Catriona gasped. “You are respected in the glen. You have an estate at Kilmallie. Surely that is enough.”
“Enough! I am just a small laird, just the doctor, when I could be the earl! I was the son he depended on!”
“You cannot prove that.” Evan’s voice was close now. Catriona managed to roll under Grant and away, scrabbling over turf and rock to make him chase her.
“Come here, you,” Grant growled, yanking her back toward him. “Proof!” he yelled back over his shoulder. “I have letters from the old earl! Ask your mother why she left him! She will tell you. Oh—you will not have the chance to ask. Soon you will be gone.”
He pushed away from Catriona and crawled to the edge, wind whipping around him, coat blowing out. She followed, pulling at him.
“I should be Kildonan! I am the oldest! You do not even want to stay in this place, they say. And your bride is the one I would have taken for my own. The Plain Girl of Glenachan.” He reached out to wrench her toward him.
“Plain Girl no more. Beautiful woman, and I have loved her longer than you,” he growled.
“And I am not even in the will! But I have letters, promises! Injustice, but we can solve it here. Now.”
“Kenneth—please—” she gasped. “We can make an agreement—”
“I have made the decision,” he said, pulling her to him, “that I must kill you both. That hurts me worse than you can imagine.”
“Kenneth,” she said. “Please, listen to me—”
“Ah, he’s about to join us,” Grant said, looking down.
Evan had been climbing silently, stealthy, relentless. Now Catriona heard the close scrape of boots on stone, saw the rope shift, saw the dark crown of his head. She wondered why Grant allowed him to come so close—then her blood chilled. He meant to kill him.
“Evan, stay away!” She shoved Grant with feet and hands, anything to throw him off balance so that he could not attack as soon as Evan came over the edge. But she could not get loose of his grip, and she feared now he would send her over the rim with Evan.
“Kildonan, I would have married this girl,” Grant called. “But if I claim brotherhood to gain the land after your death, I cannot marry your widow. Pity,” he said. “So you both must go.”
He grabbed her then and kissed her, driving his mouth hard over hers.
The wind smacked and shoved. Poised at the edge with him, she felt wildly unstable, dizzy, furious, and frightened.
Instinctively she pushed hard, and he leaned back, then slammed her down beneath him, both of them on the very edge, rock cutting into her back.
But as she twisted, the weight of her skirts gave her better stability than he had. Her forceful movement tilted him toward the gap. He yelped in alarm, snatching at her.
Suddenly Evan’s head appeared very near hers, and his hand smacked rock and earth as he rose, then flung himself to safety.