“Humph,” Blackwell grunted. “There’s nay way.”
“For the past two years, ye hunted me and me daughter. All the clans in the Highlands ken this. Tell me, husband, and tell everyone here how ye instructed yer hunters to identify me.”
Blackwell fell silent. Everyone sat in tense anticipation.
“Ye daenae have an answer? Well, I will tell yer guests then,” Helena said and then turned to the guests. “He told each hunter that I had a very notable scar that ran from the top of me forehead all the way to me right eye. That was how they’d ken me.”
She dropped the hood of her cloak, pulled her hair back from her face, and showed the thick scar to the crowd. She then turned to the priest and Lilias.
“Care to tell yer bride how I got this scar, Grayson?”
The priest didn’t give Grayson time to answer. “Do ye deny this is yer wife, Laird MacKeith? Because ye cannae marry another if yer wife is still alive.”
The guests shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Lilias looked from Blackwell to Helena, her eyes wide and fearful. She then looked out over the guests and cried out, “Is there anyone here besides this low-born woman and this traitorous guardsman who can identify this woman?”
“I can,” Magnus said. “I am the enforcer for the council. Many’s the time I dined at Castle MacKeith, aye, at Castle MacArthur, too. I rarely saw Lady Helena Blackwell because she was often confined to her rooms. But I saw her often enough to say for certain that this is she, and that Laird MacArthur’s wife is her daughter, Skye. They put about the rumor of her death in the hope that Grayson Blackwell would trouble her nae more.”
“Then it is not even a decision. I cannae marry ye, Grayson. Ye are, after all, still married.” She turned to Helena and took her hand. “Thank ye, Lady MacKeith. Ye have saved me from unwittingly becoming a bigamist.”
Skye smiled and released the breath she’d been holding. She took a step toward Lilias but stopped when she heard Laird MacKeith spew fury at her mother.
“Ye wench,” he spat, his face twisted with anger. “How dare ye show yer face here and spread lies about me!”
Helena started at his hurtful words but stood her ground. Skye looked from Blackwell to her mother. Where there was once an abused, scared wife, now stood a strong, self-assured woman.
“Ye daenae scare me now, Blackwell,” Helena said, her voice trembling slightly but growing stronger with each word. “Yer taunts and cruelty nay longer hurt me.”
The tension in the kirk was palpable as Magnus stepped forward to stand beside her. His presence was a silent declaration of support, and his gaze fixed on Blackwell with a steely resolve.
Magnus knew of the damage Blackwell had caused. He knew but had never spoken up, and Skye saw him standing ready for whatever her stepfather might do.
Helena continued, her voice steady now. “I’m done with living in fear. I’m going to live me life happily with Arran and Skye at Castle MacArthur. I’ll read stories to me grandchildren and enjoy every moment, free from yer grasp.” She paused, and then added, “And that’s something all yer riches can never buy.”
Blackwell’s face turned a deep shade of red, his anger boiling over. “Ye think ye can defy me and walk away unscathed?” he growled, his chest heaving.
With a sudden, violent movement, he grabbed a large metal candlestick from the altar. A collective gasp and then screams rang out as he lunged for Helena. His intent was to bludgeon her with the candlestick, but before he could reach her, Arran’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, stopping him in his tracks.
“That’s enough,” Arran said, his voice low and menacing. “Ye’ll nae harm her. They are me family now, and yer grubby, evil hands willnae scar their skin again.”
Blackwell struggled to free himself from Arran’s iron grip. His eyes were wild with rage, but Arran held fast. The two men locked eyes.
Magnus stepped closer and placed his arm around Helena’s shoulders. “I’ll see that ye stay safe, Helena,” he reassured her,his voice firm. “And, Blackwell, ye will face the council for yer crimes.”
Arran nodded, his grip on Blackwell’s wrist tightening briefly before he shoved him back hard. Blackwell stumbled but remained standing, his face a mask of defeat and simmering rage.
The priest, who had been watching the scene unfold with an expression that was a mix of dismay, surprise and disgust, finally spoke. “This is a house of God,” he said sternly. “There will be nae more violence here. Blackwell, ye are nae welcome. Ye will leave this hallowed hall and face the consequences of yer actions.”
Blackwell glared at the priest, then at Helena, Arran, and Magnus. Realizing he was outnumbered and outmatched, he spat on the ground, which elicited more gasps, accusations of blaspheme, and even a few boos from the guests as he turned to leave.
Once he was gone, the atmosphere in the kirk began to lighten. Skye stepped forward, pulling her mother into a tight hug, and then she motioned for Lilias and her son to join them. A young lass scrambled to her side that Skye assumed was her daughter.
“Ye’ll have a new family with us, Lilias. We’ll take care of each other,” Skye reassured her.
Mary ran to meet them, and Skye and Helena immediately pulled her into a hug.
“Ye were brave to speak up, Mary! I will be forever grateful. If Blackwell was able to convince everyone ye were lyin’, it wouldnae have ended well for ye,” Helena said once they pulled away from their embrace.
“I couldnae stay quiet any longer. I was prepared to run if I had to.”
