Page 62 of Married to the Ruthless Highlander
Stupid to back yerself into a corner.
“Come out,” he growled.
A twig snapped inside the peat mound, chased by the sound of harsh breaths.
“Ye can come out and face me, or ye can die like the rat ye are, in yer hole.” Doughall did not pull the bowstring taut. Not yet. “One lantern thrown in there and ye’ll burn alive.”
He had neither torch nor lantern, but he had his tinderbox. It would not be difficult to turn that peat hut into an oven.
He heard movement inside the mound, and then a pale-faced figure emerged from the hole.
It had been a while since Doughall had set eyes on Lewis Brown. The man had lost some weight, the lower half of his face shrouded in a coarse beard to which small leaves clung, but as he stood to his full height, he was unmistakable as Laird Orkney’s former man-at-arms.
Doughall slung his bow over his shoulder once more and drew his blade. To shoot the wretch with an arrow would not be nearly satisfying enough. He wanted to see the light leave Lewis’s eyes, up close.
“I suppose I shouldnae be surprised that ye finally found me, eh?” Lewis asked in a voice as rough as his appearance.
Doughall said nothing, centering himself, allowing that familiar sensation of chilling calm to freeze in his veins.
“Dinnae suppose ye’d believe me if I said I was just here for the good fishin’?” Lewis let out a croaky laugh, his hands still up.
Doughall glowered at the bastard. “It’s only ye that’s bein’ reeled in at last.”
“For what reason? I havenae done aught to ye.”
Tightening his grip on his sword, Doughall resisted the urge to run Lewis through right there and then. “Ye meant to.”
“Ye dinnae ken what I had planned,” Lewis sneered. “All I ken is that someone has to pay for what happened to M’Laird, and thatwhore’s blood will serve well enough. She caused this—she can end it with her life. It’s only fair. Och, ye’re lucky I’m nae set on killin’ the lot of ye.”
“Lucky?” Doughall spat.
Lewis shrugged. “She got M’Laird killed because she couldnae let it lie. She deserves the same fate.” He took a few steps forward. “But I dinnae see what concern it is of yers. What is she to ye, eh? As far as I ken, she’s nothin’ to ye other than yer ally’s sister.”
It was a relief to hear that James Stewart was not alive, but it provided no balm to soothe Doughall’s ire. He did not want to use his sword anymore, he wanted to use his bare hands to strangle the life out of the despicable creature.
She’s nothin’ to me? Och, ye couldnae be more wrong.
“I’ll tell ye what she is,” Doughall snarled. “She’s me bride.”
He lunged, but as he did, Lewis drew a blade of his own.
24
The clash of steel rang out across the loch, echoing the past. Lewis had plucked a sword from the tangle of foliage around his peat dwelling, unseen by Doughall’s eyes in the darkness and the camouflage. More to the point, Lewis was no green squire without the faintest notion of how to wield it.
“That’s the plan, eh?” he rasped, swinging his blade upward.
Doughall sidestepped the blow, oblivious to the dirk in Lewis’s other hand. Even so, he barely felt the blade slicing his arm as he leaped forward and swung his broadsword with all his might. Lewis yelped and ducked, a clump of auburn hair falling from his head. A moment later and he would have lost his head entirely.
“Despite yer best efforts, aye,” Doughall growled, kicking him hard in the chest while he was already off-balance.
Lewis toppled backward, hitting the ground with a thud. Considering the bastard’s size, Doughall had assumed that he would rely more on brute strength than agility, but Lewis was surprisingly nimble, up on his feet again in what seemed like an instant.
“A pity that nae one of ye will survive to the weddin’. First, I’ll kill ye. Then, I’ll kill her.” Lewis smirked. “Might get the rest of ‘em, after all, then go back to Orkney to live out the rest of me days in peace.”
Doughall lunged and swung again, slicing Lewis’s thigh. As the man stumbled backward, his eyes flashing with pain and fury, he hurled his dirk in Doughall’s direction. If it struck him, Doughall did not feel it. He marched forward, spurred on by the heat of his anger.
Clutching his thigh, wielding his broadsword with a clumsier hand, Lewis flashed him a crooked grin. “Is this nae where yer ma and da died?” He laughed darkly. “Nice of ye to want to join ‘em in the same spot.”
