Page 5 of Marry the Highland Villain
The most important fact, as far as Brigid was concerned, was that he wasn’t someone she knew or had even heard of. That was unnerving. And when the soldier spoke of her as a promised gift to end the feud, her vague fear turned into terror, even though she had no idea of the meaning behind the words.
Then, the man stooped and met her gaze, his eyes sharp and cold. “I have some questions for ye.”
His voice was harsh, low, and rough like a blade scraped over stone. Exactly as she would have expected it to sound, going by his fearsome appearance.
Before she could even nod her acceptance, he continued. “First of all… who bound ye like that?”
That wasn’t the question she’d expected.
Brigid swallowed, trying to ease some of the dryness in her throat. “I dinnae ken his name, good s—” She caught sight of his torc and quickly corrected herself. “My Laird.”
“Point to him, then.”
His voice had somehow turned even colder. It made Brigid think of the sharp ice her father had sometimes mentioned in his stories, which could be used like knives.
Brigid gestured to the soldier who stood directly behind the leader. “That one. I believe it was that one,” she said, hardly daring to look at the man.
“And he’s the one who put those bruises on yer arm?” The Laird pointed to the rough handprints, where she’d been manhandled on and off her horse.
“That was… I cannae say for certain who did that.”
They’d taken turns handling her, and she had no idea whose hands might have caused the bruises. All of them, she supposed.
“Ye’re sure?”
“Aye.” She nodded.
“Alright.”
The Laird rose from his crouching position and then turned to face the warriors. He strode toward them, then, without warning, drew his sword and slashed it once across the throat of the man she’d indicated. Brigid gasped in shock as the man collapsed to the ground in a fountain of blood, dead before his knees hit the stones.
“What are ye…” The leader started forward, only to stumble to a halt as the blood-stained blade was leveled at his chest.
“A warning.” The Laird’s expression was hard. “A man who comes here with dishonorable intentions will get nothing from me, save the edge of my sword. And dinnae tell me that there’s any honor in what brings ye here. Dinnae even try. I’d gut ye all if I didnae need ye to deliver a message. Tell yer Laird that I dinnae accept humans as payment for his transgressions. Especially nae prisoners who look as if they’ve been kidnapped, rather than willin’ to serve yer Laird’s purposes.”
“A life for a life…”
“I dinnae accept such terms. Ever.” The Laird’s voice was hard like the steel of the blade still held in his hand.
To Brigid’s surprise, the leader of the soldiers had the audacity to sneer at him, apparently forgetting the fate of his companion. “So ye’d risk another war? And the life of yer other brother? Ye ken he might be the next one to die.”
The Laird moved like lightning. He lunged forward, slammed the man against the nearest wall, and put the sword to his throat. “Ye dare to threaten me in my own home?”
The rest of the soldiers shifted, but the clatter of weapons held by the guards around the room made them freeze, hands open and empty.
The man pinned against the wall struggled to take a breath, his words hoarse and barely audible. “’Tis a fair warning…”
“’Tis a threat, and we both ken it.” The Laird’s voice was a low, menacing rumble that made Brigid shiver, even though his ire wasn’t directed at her. “Tell yer Laird that his ‘gift’ isnae acceptable. And neither are yer threats.”
His sword pressed closer, and Brigid saw a thin line of blood trickle down the soldier’s throat.
Then, the Laird pulled back. “Get ye gone, and tell yer master what I said. If ye’re nae gone by the time I count to twenty, I’ll slit yer throats an’ send yer bodies back to deliver the message instead.”
The men wasted no time. The leader gestured, and all five of the remaining warriors were gone in the time it took for Brigid to take three breaths.
The Laird turned to the body on the ground, still leaking blood, the glassy eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling of the large room. With a scowl of disgust, he wiped his blade on the man’s shirt, then sheathed it, before gesturing curtly to one of the maids. “Ye, over there. Get one of the men to help ye tak’ this and dump it outside the castle. Then come back and clean the floor. I dinnae need to see some fool’s blood when next I eat.”
“Yes, My Laird.”
