Page 67 of Marry the Highland Villain
“It doesnae matter where ye found it or what it contained,” Conall interrupted. “Even a blind fool could have seen that the bottle was still full. Untouched and unused. But ye didnae bother to look, did ye? Just like ye didnae bother to send anyone to see if I’d gone to visit Devon’s grave.”
Oliver flinched. “Devon’s grave? But why would ye go there?”
“Because I wanted to speak to him,” Conall said simply. “I often go there when I need to gather my thoughts. I thought ye kenned that.” He snarled at his brother, anger boiling through him. “But ye… ye never even looked for me, did ye? Ye were too determined to destroy my wife, too determined to hate her instead of lookin’ for the real enemy.”
“Conall… I…”
“Nay. Nay more.” Conall stalked forward, his hand on the hilt of his sword. “I’ve told ye and told ye, Oliver. I’ve asked ye to heed me. An’ ye refused, too blinded by yer headstrong anger to ken, to see or hear the truth. If I cannae trust ye, then I’ll nae beleavin’ ye to stab me in the back again the next time yer hatred blinds ye.”
He started to draw his blade, but a small hand on his own stopped him.
Conall looked around to find Brigid gripping his arm, her eyes filled with horror and sorrow. “Stop. Ye cannae.”
He stared down at her, startled by the vehemence of her cry and the determination in her gaze.
“But he threatened ye, Brigid. He’s done it time and again. I cannae let him continue like this. He’s a danger to ye.”
“But he’s yer brother,” Brigid replied appealingly. “Would ye kill yer only remainin’ brother, Conall? Yer own kin?” Tears filled her emerald-green eyes. “As angry as ye are, would ye really do it?”
Slowly, she released his arm and backed away. Then, without another word, she turned and walked away as quickly as she could, as if she couldn’t bear to witness whatever was about to happen.
Conall watched her go, then turned back to his brother, who was still standing before him, looking as if he couldn’t quite decide what to do with himself.
“Ye would have killed her,” he said.
It was a statement, not a question, and they both knew it was true.
“I thought she was plannin’ to kill ye,” Oliver replied, his voice shaking slightly. “All of the evidence seemed to point in that direction.”
Conall’s lip curled. “Auchter gave her the poison, but she never kenned him,” he pointed out. “She’d never even met him afore last night. She wasnae plannin’ to give him any aid or loyalty. And well he kenned it, for he came and found me at Devon’s grave this morn.”
“He came and found ye?” Oliver’s eyes widened, flicking down to the bloodstain on his brother’s arm.
“We always kenned he wanted me dead,” Conall said grimly. “And although he was perfectly happy to do it himself, it seems he thought it would be more effective to have her do it for him, kennin’ that ye would kill her in return. An’ ye fell for his machinations like a fool. Just like those guards who accosted her some nights ago.”
“The guards ye killed.” Oliver swallowed hard. “Then ye truly intend…?”
“Nay.” Conall shook his head and dropped his hand to his side. “Brigid was right. Ye are my brother, Oliver. As long as she’s safe, I’ll nae harm ye. But dinnae presume my feelings for ye will protect ye again. ’Tis Brigid’s care that earns my forgiveness.”
“Can ye fault me for nae wantin’ to lose ye?” Oliver’s voice was rough with emotion. “Would ye really kill me for wantin’ to protect my brother?”
“Nay.” Conall sighed, his anger slowly draining away. “’Tis yer unwillingness to listen, and yer willingness to wound me, even when I tell ye otherwise, that I have trouble forgivin’.”
Oliver flinched at the words. “Conall, I am sorry,” he said stiffly. “Truly, I am.”
“Just be glad that Brigid was willin’ to forgive ye when I was lost in my rage as deeply as ye were lost in yer hatred for her,” Conall replied, rubbing wearily at his face.
He was tired; his wounds hurt, his body ached, and the stench of Eric Holdenson’s blood was heavy in his nose. The partially dried blood clung sticky and stiff to his arms and shoulders, and he needed nothing more than a hot bath, one of Emily’s poultices, and a bottle of whiskey to wipe away the last few candlemarks from his memory.
All of that would have to wait, however, because the only thing he could think of when he turned away from Oliver was Brigid’s tear-stained face and what she must have suffered at his brother’s hand.
With a heavy sigh and a heavier heart, his stomach aching with apprehension, Conall went to find his wife.
Brigid stared at the walls of her room, her heart aching and her eyes burning. Everything around her looked exactly the same as it had only a few candlemarks ago. And yet it was all so different.
Just this morning, she’d stood here with her sisters, chattering excitedly about her new life as she changed her clothes, ready to go downstairs to break her fast. Now, her sisters were gone, and she had no idea when she would see them again. The ‘new life’ she had so much hope for now lay in tatters, and she had no friends or family to protect her. Even Emily, for all she knew, might side with her husband and suspect her of trying to kill Conall.
There was no one for her to trust or to turn to for comfort.
