Page 64 of Marry the Highland Villain
Holdenson attacked again. Conall parried, wincing as blood dripped down his arm from the earlier wound. It was not a deep cut, but the blood from it flowed freely, making his grip on his sword slippery. He used his dagger to cut a piece of his sash and quickly wrapped it around his hand to absorb the blood and steady his grip.
Holdenson lunged. Conall dodged, parried, countered with the dagger, and scored a cut on his opponent’s upper arm. The older man kicked him hard in response, shoving him away and slashing out with his sword. It cut Conall’s shoulder, but not too deep. Not deep enough to make him drop the dagger.
The two Lairds danced back and forth for several moments, exchanging blows. The wounds burned as sweat entered them and cloth chafed the torn skin, but Conall stayed focused on Holdenson, watching his every move. No guards had come to rescue the older Laird, and Conall began to think there wouldn’t be any second wave of attackers.
Perhaps Holdenson had been arrogant enough to come alone. He seemed to believe, even now, that Conall wouldn’t kill him—not with the truce in effect.
Truce or no truce, though, Eric Holdenson was on his lands, and Conall had the wounds to prove that the fight hadn’t been one-sided. Between that and the threats the man had made to Brigid, Conall had every reason to kill him.
A shift in Eric’s breathing pulled Conall’s attention back to his opponent. His knife had gone deeper than he’d thought, and Laird Auchter’s arm was dripping a steady stream of blood. The older man’s breathing was harsh, his face pale, with sweat beading on his brow.
Eric Holdenson was healthy and fit, but he was older than Conall. Older and slower, and not as used to fighting his own battles, without a team of warriors ready to leap in and take over when he needed them. That was most likely one reason why he’d tried to get Brigid to kill Conall.
Renewed confidence sent energy through Conall’s veins. He tightened his grip on his knife, then feinted with his sword in ahalf-hearted lunge that left much of Auchter’s chest open to an attack.
The older Laird took the bait and attacked, lashing out in a move that would have put his sword in Conall’s heart if Conall hadn’t anticipated it and planned to counter it. He leaped back, pivoted out of the way of the sword, then brought his own up to counter the swing that followed.
At the same time, his elbow slammed Auchter’s other arm aside, and he plunged his dagger deep into Auchter’s side, driving it in at an upward angle that all but gutted him, with enough force that two ribs cracked and snapped under the assault.
Eric Holdenson, the Laird of Clan Auchter, coughed, choking on his own blood as his sword fell from his nerveless hand. His hand scrabbled weakly at Conall’s arm, a silent plea for mercy, begging to be spared. But it was far too late, even if Conall had been inclined to mercy.
Holdenson had threatened him. What’s more, he’d threatened his wife, tried to have him killed through treachery, and attacked him at his younger brother’s grave. Conall was in no mood for mercy. He shoved the older man off his blade, then down the hillside, away from the stone, so no more blood would stain Devon’s final resting place.
Holdenson crashed to a heap at the bottom of the hill, bright red blood seeping into his clothing as the light slowly went out of his eyes.
Conall stared down at the lifeless form, the malevolent expression still stamped on the older man’s face even in death. Then, he wiped his blades on the grass and sheathed them, a scowl on his face as he thought over all that had happened.
The old man had claimed he’d given Brigid orders to kill Conall. But Brigid hadn’t known her grandfather, Conall was sure of that. He may only have known her for two weeks, but he knew her ignorance had not been feigned. Not that first night, nor when Eric Holdenson had come to his gates two days ago. So, when would she have received such a command?
Then, another thought occurred to him, one that made him curse and hurry back toward MacKane Castle, leaving Aucher’s body where it had fallen.
Holdenson had come alone to their confrontation. Perhaps it was arrogance that had led him to do so, but it was also possible that he’d sent his men—and more troops if he’d managed to sneak them onto MacKane lands—to attack the castle while its Laird was distracted. Or even to sneak inside and try to kill certain people.
People like Oliver, Brigid, and Brigid’s sisters. He might have even sent assassins and spies to kill anyone and everyone who might claim control over Clan MacKane, either on the assumption that he would win the fight with Conall or that his soldiers would take vengeance on the clan if he died in the attempt.
Conall swore out loud and broke into a run, his wounds burning and his jaw clenched as he raced for home, hoping to arrive in time to prevent whatever final plan his enemy had set in motion.
Back at the castle, Brigid had been taken to a cell where she sat slumped against the wall, her mind endlessly going over all that had transpired since she awoke that morning, and trying desperately to reassure herself that there would be an explanation for all of it.
‘Twill be all right. I dinnae ken what’s happenin’ outside this cell right now, or where Conall went this mornin’, but I ken I didnae harm him, and he’ll ken it as well. That means that as soon as he returns, all will be well.
And at least my sisters are safely away, in the meantime. Valerie said they had Father’s men watchin’ over them, so they’ll nae be in danger.
But the thoughts were cold comfort, and dwelling on them did nothing to ease the torture her mind seemed intent on subjecting her to. It was no help at all that the cell was very bleak, and very small—smaller even than her childhood room. It was also dank and cold, and Brigid sat shivering on the small straw pallet that had been provided for her, staring at the walls and trying not to think about what had happened to her sisters or Conall.
Not thinking of Conall and her sisters, however, only brought to mind questions about her fate. What would happen to her if Conall did not return? She had no hope of convincing Oliver that she’d never intended to use the monkshood essence he’d found. And if she tried to explain, she was certain he’d only hear that she’d been conspiring to harm Conall—never mind that only Laird Auchter had been planning such things.
Oliver would never believe her, and she wished with all her heart that she’d knocked the vial of poison aside as soon as Auchter had given it to her, that she’d shattered it on the stone or tossed it into the fire. Anything other than sticking it in her pocket, as she had done. She’d intended to be rid of it at the first opportunity. But that opportunity had never seemed to arise, and before long, she’d forgotten all about it.
Why was I so stupid?
Even as she berated herself, Brigid knew it was not mere stupidity that had made her act the way she had. For one, she hadn’t wanted any more unpleasantness at her wedding celebrations than Auchter had already caused with his unwelcome appearance at the feast. With no idea what the man who claimed to be her grandfather might do, she simply wanted to be rid of him in the easiest and fastest manner possible. That done, she’d been distracted—first by the dancing and then by Conall—and she’d forgotten all about the poison he’d handed her.
Oliver, of course, would never believe her, no matter how often she insisted that it was all a misunderstanding—a matter ofmomentary forgetfulness on her part, rather than some sinister plan. Even Emily, who was far kinder and more reasonable in general, might assume the worst of her. People so often did.
And what of Conall? She had no idea where he was or what he was doing. Sooner or later, though, he’d reappear—and she had no doubt Oliver would rush to him with tales of his new wife’s supposed treachery.
Would Conall believe his brother? Would he kill her the same way he’d killed the two guards who’d dared to harm her? Would he even give her a chance to explain herself, or would he simply assume that she intended to follow Laird Auchter’s plan?
