Page 71 of The Highlander's Temporary Bride
I should have never trusted ye.
Deep down, Grant had always suspected, had always known. And yet he’d hoped like a fool that Reuben would forgive and forget. That his love for their mother, who’d tried to protect them from their father, would win out.
“Just when I think ye cannae sink any lower, I find ye on yer knees in front of aSassenach.”
Reuben lifted his blade, forcing Grant to look up at him as he came around, his pale green eyes wild and his lips pulled back in such a terrible sneer—it was as if the former Laird Ronson had not perished at sea.
“Tell me, is this how she likes ye?”
Grant snarled, and Reuben laughed. Grant used the opportunity to cast a glance at Emma, willing her to run. He thought he could hold off his brother for a bit before he’d be able to go after her. She’d managed to escape and survive before—she could do it again.
Go to Kyla,he screamed in his head.Run.
“What are you doing?” Emma cried instead. Fear flashed across her face, and she stepped forward, her panicked gaze fixed on Grant. “Reuben, please.”
“Dinnae speak to me,wench,” Reuben spat, glaring at her.
Go,Grant mouthed at her, but she shook her head, her eyes flicking between them.Go now.
“If only I’d kenned that ye dinnae care for mushrooms, Emma,” Reuben sneered. “I would have taken more care with preparin’ the delicacy.”
Another jolt went through Grant, duller and more predictable. He stared up at his brother, who was twitching and brimming with a frantic triumph.
“So, it was ye,” he said.
“Aye.” Reuben turned back to Grant, all pretense gone. “I meant for it to look like a romantic suicide pact—that ye chose the English lass over yer people. And the clan would ken, as Faither did, thatIwas his true heir.”
“Is that why ye waste so much time doin’ nothin’ instead of helpin’ run the castle and village?”
For a moment, Reuben’s mouth dropped open, and he seemed uncertain. But then, he composed himself.
“I will be thrice the Laird ye were, Grant. I just had to bide me time.” He shook his head, contempt etched into the lines of his face. Grant did not understand how he had not seen it before. “When Faither died and Maither fetched ye, I told meself that I wouldnae let such a pathetic man and his rotten offspring takemeplace.”
“Rotten?” Grant snarled. “Ye sound like those mad English who speak of us as though we have cursed blood.”
“Aye, they’re useful,” Reuben said with a chuckle, and Grant’s blood ran cold. “I mean, look at ye—the great assassin of Clan MacCabe, me boot. Ye cannae even speak. Ye are always tryin’to die, Grant. I see it—and yet ye never seem able to save yerself.” He jerked his head toward Emma. “The first time, it was Maither. Last time, it was theSassenach. Always wrapped in apron springs and women.” His lip curled. “Faither was right about ye.”
“Fine,” Grant spat. “He was. Let Emma go.”
“Och, nay, nay,” Reuben drawled. “She has caused me far too many problems—and she kens too much. I dinnae understand it, but she has become popular in the castle. They might believe her.”
With that, he kicked Grant hard in the chest.
Grant fell down, gasping for breath. Meanwhile, Reuben twirled his sword and leveled it at Emma, grinning.
“I shall enjoy watchin’ ye watch her die, Braither,” Reuben crowed. “And then ye shall join her. How romantic, eh?”
Emma fell to the ground as he approached, her hands clenching in the dirt, and Grant let out a hoarse roar.
Nay, nay—God, please nay. Kill me instead!
As Grant gasped for air, he watched Reuben swing his sword almost idly and lunge. Only, his brother jumped back with a scream when Emma threw a handful of sand in his face.
Grant’s heart soared with admiration for her cleverness while his brother screeched in pain.
Reuben stumbled toward the water, spitting out the sand and cursing, while she scrambled away.
She flew to Grant’s side and tried to pull him up.
