Chapter 19
Tilly screamed all the way down to the dungeons, but neither Magnus’s hold nor stride loosened or slowed.
His face was vengeance and rage as he tugged her through the door to the dungeon.
Her feet dragged over the dirt floor, trying to stop her fate from coming—but it was no use.
Magnus wasn’t letting this rat scurry around his Keep for another minute.
Opening a cell door with his free hand, Magnus hurled her inside the dark, cramped room.
The door of Tilly’s cell slammed so hard that the iron bars let out a high-pitched hum for a few seconds after it closed.
Her hands wrapped around the bars as she sank to her knees, tears springing from her eyes.
“Alan! My Laird! Please, forgive me. I failed. I failed, I’m so sorry,” she wept.
“I did all I could to help ye… Believe me. Believe me, M’Laird. ”
Magnus’s eyes grew dark as he watched the pathetic display of loyalty that was wrapped in the package of tradition but was nothing more than delusion. Did she even know that Alan was still alive? That he was there and could hear her? Or was she crying out to the heavens for her supposed Laird?
“Aye, Alan,” Magnus said, his tone thick with mockery. “And I’m sorry for unearthing yer disgusting minion and ensuring she never sees anything more than these cold, dark walls.”
He spat at the floor in front of her cell in disgust before turning to leave, his mind still buzzing with fury and a need for retribution—but he needed to get back to Hannah. He wanted to be there when she awoke; he needed to be.
“Harassing an old woman? Not very Laird-like,” his brother’s voice called from a cell, a weak chuckle to follow the words.
“How pathetic of ye, manhandling an old maid. When it’s yer fault for letting her live under yer roof all this time.
How stupid can ye be? Ye ken she always loved me more.
And yet ye never suspected her until now. Daft, daft little brother of mine.”
Magnus stopped in his tracks, the blood in his veins running cold.
Slowly, he approached his brother’s cell and looked through the bars while Tilly continued to wail in the background.
It was the same room that Alan had held Hannah in, the blood splatters and traces of her all wiped clean from the space during the days following her release.
He was glad that Alan didn’t even have a trace of her in there, but such a clean space felt like much more than Alan deserved.
But there was satisfaction simmering in his chest still as he looked at his brother slumped against the wall, his neck bandaged but already bleeding through. And he wasn’t about to holler for a healer to see to his bandages. He could suffer.
“Even now, with all yer might and glory,” Alan said, his voice dripping with condescension, “ye’re still the weaker one.”
Magnus held his brother’s gaze. “I’ve never been the weaker one. Ye’ve been a coward all yer life. A coward that uses an old woman’s fondness to play yer sick games.”
Alan laughed maniacally, but weakly from his current state. “Me? Weak? I’ve had this clan in the palm of my hand, under the rule of my thumb, since I could walk. Ye’re just a dirty usurper.”
“Nay,” Magnus said smoothly. “Leading by fear and abuse of power is something only a weak man does. And the fact that men would follow me, the second son of a Laird, into their own clan’s Keep to overtake it—that’s what true power and strength is, Alan.
The hard-earned respect and trust in people that they will even lay their lives on the line for me and my decisions.
Have ye ever had that? A willing underling that ye didn’t dangle mercy or power in front of to urge them to act? ”
Alan’s eyes were wide, his face draining of all humor. Then, his lip snarled and had he been in a better physical state, Magnus was certain that he would be at the bars right then, barking in Magnus’s face. “Hold yer tongue, little brother,” he hissed. “This clan will fall under yer weak rule.”
“Perhaps,” Magnus replied. “But ye won’t be around to see it. So ye’ll never ken.”
“So that’s it then? Going to execute me at last? And here I thought, ye dinnae have it in ye,” Alan taunted.
“Ye dinnae deserve it. Death is too merciful for ye,” Magnus said, his eyes dark and serious as he stared down his brother.
Alan was deranged at heart, mind, and body.
He was dirty and unkempt from his time spent in the wild after Magnus’s siege, and it reflected the state of his internal world.
“Ye will rot away in here, forgotten. Lost to time. A momentary blemish on our family name and nothing more.”
Alan snarled, his teeth bared. “Ye think ye’ve won. But it’s nae over. Ye will nae beat me!” His voice echoed off the stone walls, the shrill notes carrying throughout the entire dungeon.
“I’ve already won. I have the respect of my people, trusted men who will follow me into battle, and a wife that loves me. Ye? Ye have nothing but yer own cruel heart to keep ye company for the rest of yer days.”
Magnus turned on a heel and headed out of the dungeon, Alan screaming in vain after him, demanding his release for another fight just the two of them.
But Magnus didn’t so much as look back, letting any remnant care for his brother die with each step.
A sharp inhale sounded from Hannah as she roused from the deep unconscious state she had been in.
Pain overtook her senses, the searing, agonizing ache where the dirk had pierced her all too prominent in the forefront of her mind.
Her blurry eyes blinked as she tried to bring the world into focus again.
She was back in the Keep. The familiar ornate details of the ceiling of their bedchamber came into focus. She breathed slowly, adjusting to the pain in her side, trying to think around the ache. When her hand moved to touch it, she found it weighed down with something.
Looking to her side, she saw him then. Magnus.
His large hand covered hers while his broad form was slumped against the bed; he was sitting on a stool with his cheek pressed to the mattress next to her as she dozed.
Hannah’s heart squeezed at the sight and she couldn’t help but wonder just how long he had been there.
Her other hand lifted to brush some of the dark locks from his face, admiring the way he looked so strong even as he slept.
The touch made him stir and she watched as his eyes opened only a sliver before he was jolting upright.
“Hannah,” he breathed, moving to sit on the edge of the bed, his hands taking hold of her face.
“Thank God,” he murmured as he studied her, his fingertips brushing over her cheeks and jaw.
“I thought I lost ye. I… wasn’t sure if ye would ever wake. Thank God above…”
She smiled softly and placed a hand over one of his. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so happy that you stammer,” she commented, her voice hoarse from sleep still.
Magnus’s face softened a little, his eyes twinkling with affection.
“I dinnae think I’ve ever been this happy in my life.
Ye’re alive,” he said. He was still touching her face, his hands roaming her cheeks and into her hair, as though to convince himself this was real and not a dream.
“Foolish woman… Ye shouldn’t have taken that blade for me,” he added, his voice gravelly from emotion.
“I’d take the blade for you again just the same,” she told him easily.
His twilight eyes looked deep into hers. He sighed as he kept looking at her. She could tell that he wanted to lecture her, to never put herself in danger like that again, but at that moment, he didn’t have it in him. He didn’t want to chastise her and sour that moment—and she was grateful for it.
“I never kenned an English lass could have such bravery,” he said with a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Ye never fail to amaze me, Hannah.”
“I’ve faced crowds of drunken Lords and Barons at balls and soirees. A dirk to the side for my husband is hardly the bravest thing I have done.”
They both chuckled weakly, the tension in the room easing with the little joke.
He sighed heavily and took one of her hands in both of his, bringing it to his lips and kissing her knuckles.
“I… never meant for ye to be in such danger. I’m sorry that I failed ye.
Those responsible have been apprehended. ”
“They have?” Hannah murmured, surprised at the news. “Who… who was it?”
“Alan had Tilly wrapped around his finger all his life. And I failed to see it,” he said, his face falling dark and painful. “She was the one who let him in yesterday. And likely the one who gave ye the note at the wedding, if I had to guess.”
Hannah’s mind reeled at the news, thinking back to her interactions with Tilly.
She had seen her nearby at the wedding when she received the note, and she had been the last one Hannah had seen before Alan snuck into the Keep.
“That must be terrible for you,” she commented softly.
“That someone loyal to your family for so long betrayed you.”
He sighed heavily and shook his head. “She was loyal to tradition, never to me. Her mind… it’s almost as twisted as Alan’s. And I’m sorry I failed to see it. That it led to all this.”
“You couldn’t have known,” Hannah assured him. She reached and stroked his cheek then, trying to comfort him. “Don’t blame yourself for this.”
“I dinnae carry the blame alone. But I carry some of it,” he said gruffly. “She had said some things beforehand that should have been warning signs to me. But I ignored it. I…”
“You trusted someone and they hurt you. It’s never your fault for trusting. It’s the person’s fault for breaking it.”
He stilled at that, his eyes finding hers after looking away from shame.
A long moment passed before he spoke again.
“Hannah… I love ye. I love ye more than my warrior’s mind can manage to put into words.
And I want ye to be happy. I need ye to be happy.
And if happiness lies in England for ye, I’ll take ye back myself. I will nae make ye stay here.”
Just a week ago, Hannah would have leapt for joy at the words that Magnus was willing to let her return to England.
But right now, it was difficult for her to wrap her head around the notion that the man who had forced her to marry him and had always brought up clan politics, was willing to forgo all of it if she asked.
And what was more difficult still was that she wasn’t tempted by the offer.
In knowing this, Hannah couldn’t seem to resist the urge to taunt him a little.
“Is that so?” she asked quietly. Magnus took a deep breath and nodded once.
“Thank you. I can’t wait to get back to London.
The tea there is something that poetry is written about,” she began.
There was a pause as she realized she really had to think about what she could possibly want back in London when her whole world was right in front of her in that moment.
“And I might have hated balls back then, but a party so lavish… I think it could lift my spirits. The sweet music and all the brandy I could ever want.”
Magnus visibly swallowed. “If that’s what ye want… I’ll make it so. As soon as ye are healed.”
Her eyes softened, and her lips pulled into a small smile.
“Stupid man,” she murmured. His eyes searched hers, his brow furrowing.
She couldn’t believe that a man as sharp and observant as Magnus couldn’t tell that she was teasing him.
Her heart stilled at the way his entire expression had shifted to something somber and reserved.
It made her heart squeeze that even though it was clear he wanted her to stay, Magnus was willing to take her back to England if that was truly what she wanted.
Before she knew it, her vision was blurring with tears, her heart so full that she thought it would burst at the seams. “You silly thing… I-I can’t leave… I want to stay with you. I can’t see my life without you anymore, Magnus.”
His shoulders physically sagged, his body letting go of tension that had kept him rigid. He leaned forward, his touch cradling her head. “Mo ghràidh,” he murmured. “I love ye, Hannah. And I’ll never let ye go.”
His lips crashed into hers softly, gratitude and affection shaping every movement. She kissed him back gladly, lost in the feeling of him, knowing in her heart that there in his arms was where she belonged.