Page 68 of Marry the Highland Villain
Oliver, it was clear, would never trust her, never accept her. And yet, despite the way he’d treated her since she’d arrived, the thought that Conall might kill him for her sake filled her with horror. She knew Oliver disliked her, but she didn’t want him to die, especially not on her account. But when she remembered the look on his face when he’d come charging into the dungeons…
The sudden knock on her door made her jump.
“Aye,” she called out, her voice still shaky from her ordeal.
“Brigid, it’s me.” Conall’s voice sounded tired and heavy, and Brigid found herself calling out for him to enter before she had time to consider her actions.
Conall entered the room, his sash torn, his shirt covered in blood, and a piece of cloth wrapped around his hand. Brigid’s eyes flicked to the bloody wounds that were visible on his arm and shoulder. He was a fearsome sight, and she gulped at the sight of him, not knowing what to say.
“I’m sorry Oliver threw ye into the dungeons,” Conall began, before she could gather her thoughts. “It shouldnae have happened, and it willnae happen again if I’ve aught to say about it.”
Brigid’s eyes widened, her mouth dry and her throat aching. “And yer brother?” she said, hardly daring to ask.
“He’s alive and unhurt,” Conall said bluntly. “I didnae kill him, nor strike him, even though part of me badly wanted to. I was angry, but he is my only remainin’ brother, as ye pointed out. I’d nae kill him, Brigid, nay matter how much he might provoke me sometimes.”
“And how would I ken such a thing?” Brigid replied fiercely. “Ye killed two of yer men the other night because they hurt me. An’ now ye say ye didnae hurt yer brother, but ye’re covered in blood…” Her voice cracked on the last words, her eyes filling with tears.
Conall’s jaw clenched, his eyes wild with anger, regret, and pain.
“Aye. I did. And ye might as well ken that I was forced to kill another man today. Laird Auchter.”
Brigid fell on the edge of her bed as if her legs refused to hold her up any longer.
“My… Ye killed…?”
“Yer grandfather, aye. He’s gone, Brigid. And I’d tell ye I’m sorry, but the truth is, I’m nae. ’Twas his life or mine when he attacked me earlier today at my brother’s grave.”
Brigid gaped up at him, his words echoing in her head.
Her grandfather. He’d killed her grandfather. She’d had no love for the man, and she would not mourn his loss. But even so, he had been her kin, and what would happen if Conall came to agree with Oliver that her blood was proof of his legacy?
Everyone in her life, save for her sisters—the villagers, Oliver, the guards—held her accountable for sins she’d never committed. What would she do if Conall did the same?
And even if he didn’t, his temper made him feared by all. Could she live like that? Could she ever trust him fully? Could she repeat her mother’s fate?
“Say something, I beg ye.” Conall’s voice was curt and gruff.
The words spilled out of her without consideration.
“Ye saved my life, and I’d trust ye with it without hesitation,” she began, looking up at him from her position on the edge of the bed. “But everyone fears ye, Conall—and for good reason, it would seem. Ye’ve killed four men in the short time I’ve kenned ye, and ye would have killed a fifth one—yer own brother, nay less—had I nae been there to stop ye. How am I supposed to trust ye with my happiness and my heart when everyone around me fears ye? Should I nae fear ye too?”
Conall stiffened as if she’d struck him. “What are ye sayin’, Brigid?” he asked, his voice quiet. “Are ye sayin’ ye regret marryin’ me? Am I really that fearsome to ye?”
Brigid shook her head, trying to organize her thoughts, but all that came to mind was her mother’s final words to her.
“My mother,” she said, almost as if she were thinking out loud. “She loved my father, but she always regretted marryin’ a man whose reputation left us without a clan and kinfolk. She loved him, but she hated that all others feared him so. That her choice of husband made her children’s lives so hard. That’s why…”
A sob rose in her throat, and she forced it back. There was nothing she could do, however, to stem the tears that brimmed in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks as she continued, so she simply wiped them away with a shaking hand.
“My mother’s last words to me were a rule I was never to break,” she told him, her hands twisting nervously in her lap. “She toldme never to give my heart to a man others feared, nay matter what. And I promised her I wouldnae.”
“So ye believe…” Conall’s voice cracked. He stopped and cleared his throat. “I’ll ask ye again,” he said. “Are ye afraid of me, Brigid?”
Brigid toyed thoughtfully with a fold of her dress as she considered the question.
Was she afraid of him hurting her? Killing her? She wasn’t sure. But she was afraid of what his temper might do, and what it might cost her in the end. Of that, she had no doubt.
Her voice was small, cracking with her tears, when she finally spoke.
