“I am not Buchanan,” she said in wretched triumph.
MacKerrick’s head tilted as if he feared he had misheard her and for a moment he reminded Evelyn of Alinor, when she was listening intently.
“So you see,” she continued, flinging her arms wide, “your scheming was for naught! Your town is as damned as it ever was, for the child I carry ishalfScots andhalfEnglish—I am of pure English blood.”
“That canna be,” Conall stammered. “Minerva—”
“I knew Minerva Buchanan for but a week before my escape from England, and I accompanied her to this hellish land in order to avoid a return to the priory I hated.” Evelyn forced a laugh. “I knew just enough of her kin to save my own life when you would have abandoned me to die.”
“You’re not…” Conall shook his head as if he still did not comprehend what Evelyn was telling him. “You’re notat allBuchanan, lass?”
“Notat allBuchanan, andnot your lass,” she hissed in satisfaction as the truth dawned on him.
MacKerrick’s face seemed to transform before Evelyn’s very eyes as he fit the pieces together—the bones shifted, the flesh melted and remolded into a mask of such utter hatred it thrilled her broken, bleeding heart.
“You lied to me,” he whispered.
“That’s right!” she laughed. “Smarts, does it not?”
She could see his body tremble from across the room and, in a blink, he was storming toward her. Evelyn let the blade fall from her hand to clatter to the flagstones and did not so much as raise an arm to defend herself.
She hoped he would kill her quickly. She closed her eyes on his angry, twisted face.
Surely just before he could lay hand to her, Evelyn heard the hut door burst inward. She opened her eyes to see the black blur that was Alinor launch at the highlander, white fangs bared, and pin him to the ground by his throat.
Evelyn stood shuddering violently, staring down at Conall MacKerrick, who lay absolutely still save for his shallowly rising chest. Evelyn could see his amber eyes aflame with hatred as they pierced her over Alinor’s wrinkled muzzle. The wolf held him true, her long, pointed canines dimpling the skin to either side of the highlander’s windpipe, the low growl coming from her making clear her intent:
Flinch and I will tear out your throat.
Gone was the amicable, four-legged companion, to be replaced by a wild, vicious, deadly beast. As Evelyn stood over the wolf, she couldn’t help but note the commonality between herself and Alinor.
Gone was the happy, safe wife and mother with a bright future ahead. Conall had replaced her with this woman betrayed, and Evelyn realized at that moment her intentions were as potentially deadly as the wolf’s.
“Alinor,” Evelyn said, her voice aquiver. “To me.”
The wolf did not twitch, only sent her growl into a higher range.
“To me, Alinor!” Evelyn shouted.
Alinor reluctantly released MacKerrick’s neck, but kept her yellow eyes pinned to him as she backed awkwardly to Evelyn’s side. Evelyn was morbidly pleased to see the four round puncture marks—two each on either side of MacKerrick’s throat—bruises already blooming.
How many times had she kissed him there, in passion? Her stomach roiled.
Fool.
“Get up,” she commanded.
MacKerrick heaved himself aright and backed away, glaring at Evelyn, his eyes flicking to Alinor as if he feared she might attack once again.
His fear fueled her, focused her.
“Now, get out,” she said, eerily calm, glancing at the door. “If you ever think to return here, I will let Alinor kill you.”
“Eve, you doona know what you’ve done,” MacKerrick said in a gravelly voice. “You have nae—”
“Get out,” Evelyn repeated.
MacKerrick stood there for another moment. “I renounce you,” he said at last, looking steadily into her eyes. “You are nae my wife any longer.” He pointed—actually pointed—at her stomach, and shook his head. “Not my bairn. I renounce you both.”
