“What stash?”
“The one I found buried in the back. I’ve been using that to hire the mercenaries. Did you take it?” He slapped Sholto hard.
“Nay. If I did, I’d be the hell away from you. What is wrong with you?” He rubbed his cheek and moved away from Dugan.
“We’ll have to wait. Fortunately, I kept enough of that coin with me. But we’re going to Duart Castle in two days. I’m calling him out to the gates to fight me. One on one.”
“Good, because I’ll not help you. I’m going for the bitch and then I’m going for the bairns.”
“The bairns can wait until later.”
“Nay, the first ship arrives in three days. I’m going for them, but not until I kill that bitch first. Then I’m heading to Iona. You take care of your foolish vengeance for your grandfather. I care naught about that.”
“Well, I do. And we’re going. And you’re going with me. Understood?”
“Understood.”
Sholto would go to Duart Castle, but he was after the lass. The hell with the Grants.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Brynja
The following day, Brynja found Hildi in the great hall, sitting by the hearth with a piece of embroidery in her lap. Her cousin looked stronger now than she had in days—the gray pallor gone from her skin, the awful stillness replaced by quiet vitality. She was healing. Slowly, but healing.
“May I join you?” Brynja asked.
Hildi looked up, her expression softening. “Please. I’ve been hoping you’d come. We’ve hardly had the chance to talk, since I’ve slept so much. But I’m finally feeling like my old self.”
“I’m so happy, Hildi. I’ve missed you so.”
Brynja settled into the chair beside her, noting the way her hands worked with the needle on a pair of leggings, confident and sure. Her old friend was back.
“How are you feeling?” Brynja asked, though she could see the answer in Hildi’s face.
“Better. Stronger.” Hildi set her needlework aside. “The headaches have mostly stopped. I can walk without getting dizzy. Lia says I’m healing well.”
“I’m glad.” And Brynja was—the guilt of Hildi’s injury still sat heavy in her chest. If Brynja hadn’t wounded Sholto, if they hadn’t traveled to Ulva, if she could have fired her dagger to stop him, Sholto would never have thrown Hildi against that tree.
“Stop that,” Hildi said gently.
“Stop what?”
“Blaming yourself. I can see it in your eyes.” Hildi reached over and took Brynja’s hand. “What happened to me wasn’t your fault. It was Sholto’s. Just like what happened to your mother wasn’t your fault. It was Dugan’s. Aye? You think it was him?”
Brynja’s throat tightened. “Aye. Dugan killed our mothers, and that is one thing. But if I hadn’t struck Sholto that night, this may never have happened to you.”
“If you hadn’t what? Defended yourself? Refused to be a victim? If those two men had found Sheona, they would have looked for another lass too. I’m certain they would have grabbed all three of us from our bed chamber.” Hildi’s grip was firm. “Brynja, you can’t spend your life taking responsibility for the evil other people choose to do. That’s not guilt. That’s giving them power over you even when they’re not there.”
The words hit something deep. Brynja had never thought of it that way—that her guilt was another form of Sholto’s control.
“I’ve been watching you,” Hildi continued, her voice soft but steady. “These past few days at Duart. I’ve seen you learning to ride. Training with everyone in archery and horseback riding. Laughing with Hagen Grant.”
Heat crept up Brynja’s neck. “It’s not what you think. I’m not in any kind of relationship with Hagen.”
“You are.” Hildi’s smile was knowing. “And I’m glad. You deserve happiness, Brynja. You deserve to heal.”
“I don’t know if I can.” The admission came out barely above a whisper. “Heal, I mean. I don’t know if I know how.”
