“Bluidy fucking hell. Nelson and Matthew.” Brodie plowed his fist into Michael’s face. “Why?”
“What does it matter? Ye’re free of the bitch now.”
“What did you call my wife?” Brodie’s deadly quiet voice made the others take a step back.
“Ye heard me,” Michael smirked, and with added sarcasm, “ma laird.”
“Och, I shall enjoy making your death the slowest, most painful torture I can imagine.” Brodie looked at Graham. “When’s the next ferry?”
“Not until tomorrow morn,” Graham said.
“Then we ride. Bind and gag him.” Brodie didn’t look back as he marched to the stables. He trusted his men would follow his orders. He’d seen how aghast they were when they learned other Highlanders had taken Laurel and heard Michael’s death wish. They were mounted and riding along Loch Earn’s coast within a quarter hour.
