Page 51 of Married to the Highland Devil
He slid the sheets over her body when he finished and took a long moment to watch her as she slept.
I must find out who did this.
He marched out of his bedchamber with intent now, and as he drew near the exit of the keep, he spotted Arran and Matthew conversing in Gaelic.
Arran hurried to him once he looked back. “The guards couldnae find anyone,” he said.
“I ken who did this,” Duncan growled as he walked past his friend. There was only one person he could think of that would try to ruin the slight happiness he now had.
Laird MacGregor.
“Duncan!” Arran yelled and ran after Duncan to meet up with his fast pace. “Duncan listen to what Matthew has to say.”
“The villagers are protestin’, My Laird. They say they want the witch ousted. The village heads from Plockton, Bune, and Kret have all come together. The rumor is that Lady Amelia is cursed by the sun and that she shall bring—”
Duncan did not let Matthew finish his words before he grabbed him by the collar of his leine and lifted him off the ground as if he weighed nothing.
“One more word about that insane curse and I will rip yer tongue out of that mouth of yers,” he threatened. His rage was all he could see and feel. It pumped through him and made nothing else sensible.
Duncan wanted his pound of flesh. He needed to make someone pay for this, and he knew just the right person to go to.
He released Matthew when Arran put a hand on his arm. “Duncan, Matthew isnae the one who yer angry at.”
“I shall ride for MacGregor,” Duncan told Arran as his veins pumped harder with his heated blood.
“And what would ye do when ye get there?” Arran challenged. “Are ye goin’ to kill him? Will ye have his blood on yer hands? Is that what ye want to do?”
Arran’s voice of reasoning barely cut through Duncan’s fury.
“He tried to hurt Amelia, Arran. I cannae sit back and do naethin’.”
“If ye ride out to MacGregor now, then yer ridin’ into his trap. He wants ye to come, Duncan, can ye nae see that? My faither is crafty. He might have started those rumors, and he will stop at nothin’ to see yer clan fall. What if yer ridin’ into a trap?”
Duncan breathed out deeply, and he felt his muscles slowly relax. “What do ye suggest, then?”
“Let me ride out to him,” Arran said. “He is my faither… I can speak to him and hear what he has to say. If, indeed, he is guilty of this, then I will make him pay.”
Duncan stared deep into his friend’s eyes and instantly knew the meaning of his words.
“Nay,” he barked and turned away from Arran, continuing in his steps towards the stables.
“Duncan—”
“Nay, Arran. I shallnae let ye fight yer faither or worse, kill him on my behalf.”
“Ye will have to,” Arran insisted, “because I ken things that ye dinnae ken.”
Duncan froze in his tracks. “What did ye just say?”
Arran’s face crumbled as he stared Duncan in the eye. “I have carried this secret with me for years because yer faither swore me to it, but it is time that ye finally ken what really happened between them those many years ago.”
Duncan did not think now was the time. He wanted his pound of flesh, and he wanted it now, but Arran had a point. If he rode out to MacGregor right now, he might well be riding into a trap.
For years, he had avoided a war with Laird MacGregor because he knew the bitter truth. He was greatly outnumbered by Laird MacGregor’s many allies and strong army. McLennan would be crushed in battle, and Malcolm would have the victory he had always wanted.
“What happened all those years ago?” Duncan finally asked his friend in a calmer tone.
“Yer faither convinced my faither to trust the wrong clan, and that led to my maither’s death.”
