Page 67 of Abducted By the Highlander
All he’d done was offer friendship. And Hugh had never fully accepted it because Symon was a MacGregor, and Clans Campbell and MacGregor were enemies.
Hugh gripped Symon’s limp hand as he faced the bitter truth too late.
Symon had always been more than a friend. He had been a fellow brother-in-arms, a trusted compatriot for all they swore fealty to different clans, and the reason Hugh had shied away from acknowledging the friendship wasn’t because Symon was a MacGregor.
It was because Hugh couldn’t reveal the truth about himself. And because he couldn’t face witnessing the certain contempt on Symon’s face, should he learn Hugh was working for the Earl of Argyll.
He leaned close, hoping it wasn’t too late for Symon to hear. “The honor was mine. And aye, ’twas a good day indeed when we met in Eire. Ye are among the best of men, Symon, and that’s God’s own truth.”
Symon gave the faintest smile. “Don’t let the bastards get ye, Hugh.” He exhaled a rattling breath and went silent.
Hugh clamped his teeth together and carefully crossed Symon’s hands on his chest. Then he grasped his sword and stood, his eyes fixed on the man who had killed Symon. He stepped over his body, just as Darragh hit the ground, his lifeblood soaking the sodden earth, and his assailant swung around as though he knew of Hugh’s approach.
Shock punched through Hugh’s chest and a red mist filled his vision as his brother Douglas faced him. For an endless heartbeat, nothing stirred. Then, scalding rage burned through him, obliterating everything but the knowledge Douglas had not only ruined any chance Hugh might have had with Roisin, but he had murdered one of the most loyal friends he’d ever had.
His fingers tightened around the hilt, and he took a menacing step forward. “Ye drunken, misbegotten bastard.”
A muscle flexed in Douglas’s jaw, the only indication Hugh’s insult had touched him. “’Tis good to see ye too, brother.”
“Where have ye been hiding this last year? What the hell did ye do to make the earl so goddamn mad at ye?”
Douglas’s gaze didn’t waver, even though Hugh angled the tip of his sword at his brother’s throat. “I work for the earl, Hugh. I always have. And for his father before him.”
“Ye lie.” Douglas, eight years older than him, had been a genial, lying drunkard for as long as Hugh could recall. The earl barely even acknowledged his existence.
“I’ve been in the network since I was sixteen.” There was no trace of the usual slur that accompanied Douglas’s words, and a chill inched along Hugh’s arms. This Douglas was one he scarcely even recognized. A man who had been living a double life for seventeen years. Had he ever been drunk in his life? Or was that all part of his act? “I didn’t want ye dragged into this world, Hugh, but the earl was certain loose threads could be found in Eire that would lead us back to Torcall MacGregor’s remaining kin.” He paused for a heartbeat. “And so it did.”
No matter how he burned to avenge Symon’s death, he couldn’t kill his own brother. But the rage and grief, and the gut-wrenching sense of betrayal, ate through him like a canker. Before he could stop himself, he transferred his sword to his left hand and sent a thunderous punch to Douglas’s jaw.
His brother reeled back, and Hugh placed his sword on the ground before taking another step closer. He couldn’t run a blade through his brother’s heart but by God, he’d gain some small satisfaction by cracking a multitude of bones, both his and Douglas’s alike.
The sound of horses entering the clearing had him swinging about to see the earl and his men, and he glowered at the earl, daring him tocomment on the scene. But before he could say anything, Roisin appeared on her mare.
Christ, no.What the hell was she doing here? He was in no fit state to pretend all was well in front of her, when murder throbbed with every beat of his heart. Yet more than that, she risked her reputation by coming here to see him. It was already in peril by the very fact she’d spent almost two weeks in Darragh’s camp without anyone casting aspersions on what may have occurred between him and her. But as she dismounted and hurried towards him, a stricken expression on her face, he could no sooner turn his back on her than he could bring Symon back to life.
It might be the last time he ever saw her.
*
Horror streaked throughRoisin at the blood that smeared Hugh’s shirt and plaid and coated his hands. Her only thought was to ensure he was all right, and she scarcely even realized she had raced across the clearing until she came to an ungainly halt in front of him.
There was no smile of welcome on his face. He simply stared at her, his blue eyes filled with weary resignation, as though she were little more than a stranger. And she was suddenly, excruciatingly, aware that every eye was upon her.
Her face heated, but she refused to slink back to her sister and hide. “Are ye hurt?”
It was a foolish question to ask a man covered in blood and yet he didn’t appear wounded. And neither did he mock her. He merely sighed heavily and shook his head. “No.”
She saw the furtive way he glanced to the side and the barely perceptible shudder that inched through him. With a foreboding of dread, she followed his glance, and a pained breath caught in her throat at the sight of Symon.
“I’m so sorry, Hugh,” she whispered. He briefly closed his eyes before focusing on something over her shoulder. She wouldn’t be deterred by his remote attitude. He was grieving Symon and just because he had been a MacGregor didn’t mean they hadn’t been good friends. After all, she had only known Innis for two short weeks and yet by the time they parted ways, she considered her a friend, too.
“Ye shouldn’t be here, Lady Roisin.” He kept his voice low but the note of finality in his words as his gaze caught hers struck her more forcefully than if he had snarled in her face. “’Tis no place for a noblewoman. I’m thankful ye are returned to yer kin, and I wish ye well.”
With that, he bowed his head, dismissing her as if she were no more than a passing acquaintance. A wild rushing sound filled her head as the trees spun around her, and she sucked in a sharp breath, agonizingly aware of how silent the clearing was and how everyone had just witnessed her humiliating snub.
Freyja appeared by her side and wrapped her arm around her shoulders, guiding her back to their mares. The earl was speaking to Hugh, perhaps, but she couldn’t make out the words and didn’t object when Freyja and Alasdair, along with several warriors, surrounded her as they left the clearing.
They returned to the glen where Grear and Ecne waited, and she nodded dutifully when Freyja told her they were staying at the earl’s manor until the morning. She didn’t care where they stayed. All she wanted was to hide away where no one would talk to her.
