Page 35 of Marry the Highland Villain
With one swift, brutal movement, Conall drew two daggers and slashed each man’s throat. Both guards staggered forward, weapons falling from lax hands as they grasped futilely at their gaping wounds. Conall gently pushed Brigid back, keeping her clear of the blood as it spurted into the night air.
Brigid was staring at the men, her eyes wide in her pale face. “Ye… ye killed them,” she said in a whisper.
“Aye,” said Conall grimly. “I did. I’ve nay use for men I cannae trust with my kith and kin’s safety, and even less for those who would harm someone under my protection and care.”
The men lay there, bodies still on the ground, and Conall stooped to wipe his blades on their clothing before sheathing them and turning back to Brigid.
He reached for her, but she shrank back, making him frown as he followed the direction of her terrified gaze.
Brigid had avoided the spray of blood, but he hadn’t fared so well. His shirt, kilt, leggings, arms, and hands were stained red. Now that he had stopped to think about it, he was also aware of damp spots on his face. He swiped at one with a clean finger, and it came away crimson.
He must be a gruesome sight indeed, even to a lass raised by Magnus Blackwood.
Conall grimaced. “We should return to the castle,” he said. “I’ll send someone to tak’ care of… this.” He gave the bodies of the fallen men one last glance, then gestured for Brigid to precede him, not wanting to touch her with his bloodstained hands.
She did so with wide eyes and several backward glances, her steps hesitant as if she feared one wrong move would result inher death as well. The sight of her obvious fear made Conall’s gut clench, but for the life of him, he couldn’t think what else he might have done.
Those men had been his guards. They’d known him for years, certainly long enough to know how he would react to having someone under his protection threatened. He’d trained with them, fought with them, and given them shelter, wages, and weapons appropriate for their task. He’d sent them to the healer for injuries and sent mulled wine and spiced rum to the wall tops for them in the worst of winter watches.
He’d done all of this without question, and yet they’d chosen to throw it away in a fit of drunken stupidity. After hearing them openly state that his decision meant nothing, how could he trust them again? The offense was punishable by death or dismissal from the clan, and the latter option only made it far too likely that they’d return as bandits, or riding at the side of his enemies. It was his responsibility to reduce the threats to his clan as much as he could, not add to them.
He and Brigid approached the front doors of MacKane Castle. The guard took one look at him and stiffened, clearly ready to sound the alarm.
“My Laird…?”
Conall held up a hand, his words curt as he issued orders. “There was a situation at the garden gate. Have Oliver send some men to clean up the mess.”
Brigid stood watching just inside the door. As the young guard hurried to summon a serving boy, she spoke, her voice low and curiously expressionless, “A situation. Is that what ye call it when ye kill two of yer men and leave their bodies on the ground?”
“Aye.” Conall shook his head. His rage had receded, and now he felt bone-weary and far too drained to face the unspoken accusations in her words. “That’s what I call it when I’m forced to deal with traitors who’d harm my intended, despite all the years we’ve fought side-by-side.”
Brigid blinked. In the light of the torches that lined the hall, she looked far too pale, and there was a glazed look in her eyes that he recognized as battle-shock. The same wide-eyed uncertainty she’d displayed in the Great Hall that first night.
He sighed. “Go and get yer maid to draw ye a hot bath, then send her to Emily to get ye some more salve for yer arm and a soothing tea. In the morn, the reminders will be gone, and ye’ll feel more yerself.”
She blinked at him again, and he sighed again and gestured to the boy who had just returned with the guard. “Tak’ the lady to her chambers and see that she’s cared for, then run the other errand ye were given.”
The serving lad nodded and led Brigid away.
Conall watched them leave, then scowled down at the blood drying on his clothing and his skin.
He needed a bath to get rid of the gore and time to relax after the shock of killing two men. And perhaps if he soaked long enough, he’d be able to wash away the pang of guilt and regret he felt every time he saw fear in his bride-to-be’s eyes.
Brigid’s arm was bruised, but the mark was easily hidden by the sleeve of her robe. The hot bath the maid drew for her, and the soothing, sweet chamomile tea that Emily sent to her chamber shortly after, did much to clear her mind and set her mood to rights.
She was still horrified by what Conall had done, executing two of his men like that. However, once her fear and the shock of their deaths had passed, she began to feel slightly ashamed of the way she had reacted.
Conall had saved her life, and she’d treated him like another threat to be wary of. Yes, seeing him splattered with blood had been horrifying, but he’d shed that blood for her sake. And if he hadn’t done so, there was no telling what those guards might have done to her—or if she would have survived it.
Besides, as much as she wished otherwise, she understood the reason behind his decision. In the stories Valerie told of her escapades, their father had made similar decisions to protect his own. In fact, now that she was calmer, Brigid could recall her sister telling her,“Never trust a man or a woman who’d betray ye in word or deed, for a snake that bites ye once and gets away with it will bite ye again.”
At the time, her sister had been attempting to encourage her to be more decisive in dealing with the cruel townsfolk, but she knew full well that Valerie had gained that wisdom from their father after an attempted mutiny. Either way, it applied well enough to her current situation.
The guards, little as she wanted to consider them in that light, had been snakes—of that, there was no doubt. Conall had dealt with them swiftly and decisively, in a manner that was far more likely to guarantee her safety than harsh words, or even a beating, might have. He had done what was necessary, in other words, and the fact that watching those two men die had left her feeling sick to her stomach didn’t change that truth.
She should have thanked him for saving her, rather than staring at him like he was some demon from the darkness, or a monster from Underhill. She shouldn’t have acted as if she was accusing him of doing something wrong, the way she’d asked if a ‘situation’ was what he called dead bodies lying on his castle grounds.
He deserved her gratitude. And an apology for her thoughtless words and actions when she had not been in her right mind.
