Page 112 of The Highlander Steals a Virgin
But he didn’t look at her. He was focused entirely on her father. And his sword lifted slowly.
Then he smirked. “Here he is. The beast of the North come to save his whore.”
The word snapped like a whip through the room.
Amara flinched.
Rhys’s knuckles whitened around the hilt.
He took a step forward, voice like gravel. “If ye say that again, I will bury this blade so far into yer chest ye’ll choke on the steel.”
Her father’s grin widened. “Och. Touched a nerve, did I?”
Rhys advanced another step. Amara could see the way his shoulders coiled, how the tip of the sword shook just slightly with the sheer effort of restraint.
She reached for him. Her fingers brushed the back of his tunic.
“Rhys. Daenae.”
He didn’t move. But his breathing changed. Slowed. Thickened with fury.
She tugged gently. “He’s nae worth it.”
He just laughed.
“Och, I’m worth more than ye think,” he drawled, stepping back now, arms open as if to welcome the blade. “Especially since I’m the only one in this room that kens the truth.”
Rhys turned his head, just enough to glance at her from the corner of his eye.
“What is he on about?” His voice was low. Controlled.
“I — I daenae ken. He’s been spewing insults and nonsense,” she said honestly. “He hasnae said anything straight since I walked in.”
Her father’s grin twisted, wild almost, as he lunged toward her as if to silence her for good. “How dare ye —” dripping from his snarl as he did.
Callan grinned like a devil under Rhys’s blade, his crooked, wine-stained teeth gleaming in the firelight.
His smugness reeked worse than the stench of the blood that still dripped from Rhys’s side.
Rhys’s blade pressed harder against the man’s throat, just enough to break skin.
“Ye think this is a game?” he growled. “Ye sit there smirkin’ as if ye’ve bested us.”
Callan’s voice dripped with mockery. “Oh, I daenae think. I ken it.”
Rhys’s blade twitched. One inch more and —
“I’d nae waste that stroke, O’Donnell,” Callan went on, eyes flicking toward Amara. “Nae when there’s more truth to uncover. Seems there’s more rot in yer halls than even ye imagined.”
Rhys didn’t dare look at her. Not yet.
“Speak plainly,” he barked.
Callan’s smirk widened. “I would’ve thought ye’d figured it out by now. I dinnae ken the truth meself — well, nae until yer sweet cousin paid me a visit… six years ago, or so.”
“Finn?”
“Oh aye,Finn, the master strategizer.”
