Page 42 of Marry the Highland Villain
Holdenson scowled, but he knew Conall well enough to know that he meant what he said. He took one last step back, then turned and stalked away toward his men, his shoulders rigid with anger.
Conall watched him go, a grim feeling settling over him like a gray cloak.
Whatever he’s plannin’, it isnae over yet.
Brigid wasn’t sure why she felt the need to follow Conall as he made his way out of the Great Hall. Perhaps it was the tension in his shoulders or the grim expression on his face that told her that whoever was at the gates, they weren’t exactly welcome. Whatever the reason, she found herself creeping out the side door of the castle as soon as her betrothed was out of sight, then across the grounds to a vantage point between the stables and the walls, where she could clearly see the front gates.
By the time she got there, Conall was standing in front of the gates, surrounded by guards and facing an older man Brigid hadnever seen before. The newcomer wore the torc of a laird and the same colors as the men who’d abducted her from her home—a sight that made her body turn cold with fear. His hair was almost the same shade of gray as the slate-colored walls around them, but his eyes…
Brigid sucked in a breath when she saw his eyes. They were the same green shade as her own. And his build… it wasn’t hers, but she could see the similarities to Lily and Megan’s builds. The man’s features were more angular and far more weathered, stamped with a sort of coldness she’d never seen in her sisters. But even there, she could see the faint resemblance.
He must be her grandfather, the man she’d been told she was going to meet almost ten days ago. Laird Auchter.
She crept closer until the low murmur of voices resolved into words. “… life for a life. Ye have nay right to draw so much as a drop of my blood.”
Conall said something in response, but Brigid could barely stand to listen. Even from where she stood, she could see the icy expression on the older man’s face. She understood, with sick certainty, that he was not here for her sake—that he cared nothing for her, despite the tie of blood between them. She was simply a tool with which to secure a truce, however hard he tried to convince Conall otherwise with clever words and a honeyed tongue.
She was so focused on the two men she was watching that she didn’t realize anyone else was there until a strong hand closedabout her upper arm with enough force to bruise the tender skin. She gasped as the person turned her roughly around, and she came face to face with Oliver.
The younger man’s face was set in a sharp scowl, his eyes fierce and so dark with anger and suspicion that they looked almost black. “’Tis nae polite nor wise to eavesdrop, lass.” His voice was a low growl, anger and derision thick in every word.
Brigid winced, both at his cutting tone and his tight grip on her arm. “Please. Ye’re hurtin’ me…”
His grip loosened ever so slightly, but he didn’t let her go, and his eyes softened not a whit. Brigid bit her lip with frustration.
She’d only interacted with Oliver Barr a few times since she’d arrived here, even though she and Emily were becoming fast friends. The few times they had spoken, he’d said as little as possible, his words short and clipped and his tone hostile. He seemed angrier every time he saw her—angry and disgusted by her very presence. She understood something of it, after her confrontation with the guards, but even so, his dislike hurt.
“What?” Oliver snapped. “Why are ye starin’ at me like that? Disappointed I caught ye spyin’ on my brother, are ye?”
“Nay. It isnae that.” Brigid took a breath. “It’s just that I dinnae understand why ye seem to hate me so much? I ken there’s bad blood between ye and my grandfather, but?—”
“Ye ken nothing, or ye’d nae have to ask,” Oliver snarled.
Brigid would have quailed at the venom in his voice, had he not been holding her so tightly.
“Yer grandfather murdered my younger brother in cold blood, for nay reason other than the pleasure of fightin’. And now he throws ye to us like a man throwin’ a dog he’s beaten a bone and expects ye to tame us. It may work on Conall, but I’m nae so easily swayed. And I’ll never forgive him for what he did.”
“I… I dinnae…” Brigid swallowed hard. “I ken ye’re angry. But I dinnae even ken that man. ’Tis the first time I’ve ever so much as laid eyes on him. ’Tis nae as if I have any loyalty to him—nay more than he’s ever shown to me. And I didnae choose this fate, nor do I intend to help him. So, why must ye continue to hate me so much?”
“Because ye’re Auchter’s blood,” Oliver replied simply. “I dinnae need any other reason. But if I did, my brother’s death would be reason enough for me to hate ye and every last one of yer bloody-minded kin.”
Tears stung Brigid’s eyes. First her father, now her grandfather.
Will I always be judged by the sins of others? By things I have nay control over? My father, I almost understand, for he had some say in our upbringing afore his death, even though he was gone much of the time, voyagin’. But I dinnae even ken my grandfather! He might be my kin, but I dinnae ken him from a seventh cousin three times removed. He’s a perfect stranger,and one I have neither love for nor loyalty towards, seein’ how he abandoned us to the hardships of bein’ clanless, even after my father died!
“Stop.” Oliver shook her slightly. “I’ll nae be softened or fooled by false tears any more than I will by yer pretty face.”
“I—”
“Oliver,” a new voice interrupted, and both of them looked around to see Emily glaring at her husband, her arms folded. “Let go of her this instant,” she said in an icy tone that Brigid had never heard from her before. “There’s nay call for ye to be terrorizin’ poor Brigid so.”
Oliver’s scowl deepened, but he did at least obey his wife and let go of Brigid’s arm—albeit reluctantly. Emily came and put a soothing arm around her friend’s shoulders.
“Never mind my husband,” she said gently. “He’s been in a temper—nae unfairly, mind, for ’tis how some men mourn—since his brother passed. And havin’that manat the gates willnae improve his mood.”
Something had happened while they were talking, because even as Brigid, Emily, and Oliver watched, Laird Auchter turned and strode away, his steps hard and heavy like those of someone who had failed to achieve whatever it was he had come for.
Brigid found herself somewhat amused by the man’s petulance.
