Page 57 of Ashes of Betrayal

He nodded before turning on his heel and heading toward where Bree waited.

“Wait!” One of the other slaves—a short, broad man with a lumpy nose that looked as if it had been broken countless times—stepped forward then. “So, we belong to you now, do we?” There was no mistaking the belligerence, the bitterness, in his voice.

Cailean halted and glanced over his shoulder, his gaze shifting between the faces of the men before him. “You’re all free now,” he told them tersely. “Find yourselves a smith and remove those collars.”

Enya stared at Cailean, her face draining of blood. “Youkilledhim?”

“Aye,” he replied, waiting to see relief and vindication illuminate his sister’s eyes. It was slow arriving. “I cut off his head.”

Standing within the fight master’s lodgings—a cottage tucked in behind the fighting enclosure—he wondered if he should have delivered the news that he’d just beheaded Eilig with a little less bluntness.

Enya was blinking at him as if he’d been speaking another tongue. Meanwhile, her three sons, the eldest of which looked around eighteen, stood behind her. The lads were all big for their ages and muscular like their father. And like their mother, they all now wore stunned expressions.

For his part, Cailean was still reeling from the discovery that his sister was still alive, still Eilig’s woman. He didn’t want to dwell on what she’d been through over the past two decades. The thought made his gut ache.

They stood in the main living space of the cottage. It was a simple yet comfortable dwelling, with sheepskins covering the dirt-packed floor, and faded wall hangings obscuring the stacked-stone walls.

Behind Cailean, Bree shifted slightly. Before they’d entered the fight master’s lodgings, she’d warned him that his sister might not be pleased to see him, and as such, he’d braced himself for a cool welcome. Nonetheless, he’d been initially encouraged when joy had flared in his sister’s gaze after he’d stepped through the threshold.

Moments passed, and then high spots of color rose to Enya’s cheeks, and her blue eyes—the hue of woad like his—glittered. Time had been kinder to his sister than he’d expected. Life as Eilig’s slave hadn’t worn her out. Her black hair, long and lustrous, fell in a curtain over her shoulders, and she held herself tall and proud.

And as their stare drew out, he realized that it wasn’t jubilation that brightened Enya’s eyes and brought color to her cheeks, but grief … and rage.

His breathing grew shallow as realization dawned. Unlike years earlier, Enya didn’t wear an iron slave collar. The long sleeveless midnight-blue tunic she wore was of decent cloth, and upon her right bicep gleamed two bronze arm rings.

Gods … no.Dizziness swept over Cailean.

All these years, he’d imagined his sister enslaved, brutalized. Dead. But here she was, looking like a … wife.

Bile shot up, stinging the back of his throat.

“Youbastard,” Enya finally rasped, her hands fisting at her sides. “Youfuckingbastard.”

“He had it coming,” Cailean bit out the words, even as he started to sweat. This was all wrong. Why wasn’t his sister congratulating him for beheading the fight master? What had Eilig done to make her so compliant? Bree stepped up next to him then, placing a restraining hand on his arm. However, he wouldn’t be silenced. “That sack of shit destroyed our family. I did this for us … foryou.”

Enya’s hand shot out, her palm catching him across the cheek. The blow left a burn in its wake. “Liar!” she shouted in his face. “It was foryou.” Breathing hard, she shoved him in the chest. “It’s been twenty years, Cailean.Twenty.Years. Did you really think nothing would change?”

He stared back at her, stunned.

“Eilig gave me my freedom years ago.” She spat the words out at him now, while her sons shifted backward, as if cowed by their mother’s venom. “We made a family together … but now you come wading back into my life and destroy it.”

“Enya,” he rasped. “Don’t tell me youlovedhim?”

“Aye!” she shrieked, trembling with fury now. Her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides as if she was trying to stop herself from clawing his eyes out.

His chest constricted.What a bloody mess. You fucking clod-head.

“It’s your turn to bleed now, uncle.” The eldest son moved forward once more. This time, he gripped a carving knife—one he’d swiped from the large scrubbed table behind him. His light-grey eyes glittered.

“Put that knife away, fool,” Bree spoke up then, her voice sharp. “Before you cut yourself.”

The youth ignored her. Encouraged by their brother’s balls, Cailean’s other nephews grabbed knives of their own. All three of them now advanced on him.

He watched them, his gaze narrowing incredulously. These three idiots had more courage than sense.

“Lads,” Enya rasped, glancing over her shoulder at her sons. “Don’t—”

“Move aside, Ma,” the eldest ordered. “Let us deal with him.”

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