A shaking hand rose to her lips.
Lachlan did not deny it. He did not deny being the cause of Neil’s disappearance five years ago. Did not deny the fact that he had practically handed his brother to the bandits.
“Aye,” he said, calm as a man speaking about the weather. “I told Neil that ye had Alex so he would leave. I couldnae let him settle. I couldnae let him have children and keep our faither’s curse alive.”
Bile rose in Kristen’s throat, and she pressed the back of her wrist to her mouth. Her pulse hammered, and she tried to swallow. The air, however, would not go down.
The bandit gave a rough snort. “We did as we were told. Held him. Broke him when we could. Starved him when we couldnae. Waited for orders. Then ye vanish and leave me with nothing but a rope and bad luck. Now, ye come down here with yer clean hands and say I ruined yer neat plan because I stabbed the wrong lass. Ye sound stupid.”
Lachlan did not flinch. “Ye were supposed to hold him long enough,” he said. “Break him down. Make him doubt himself.Folks already thought Alex was gone. If the Laird died in a bandits’ den, they might finally turn to someone worthy.”
“Someone like ye, ye mean,” the bandit snarled.
“Someone who wouldnae lead them where their faither led them,” Lachlan said. “A pirate’s son makes a poor shepherd. Ye ken that as well as I do. The former Laird was a terrible man. Out of his sons, I was the only one who saw it. And the old man despised me for it.”
Kristen’s fingers curled into her palm until they ached. Images flashed through her mind, swift and wrong. Neil at the lake with water on his skin. Neil in the courtyard with a blade in his hand. Neil in her room with thunder in his bones and shame in his eyes.
Five years gone because his brother had drawn a map for his enemies and lit it like a lantern.
Her breath came in a thin hiss.
The bandit shifted, and the chains clanged. “It wasnae like ye gave us a lot of choices,” he huffed. “What were we meant to do there? We cut him, we branded him, but he refused to speak. What else were we supposed to do?”
Lachlan’s answer was soft and cold. “I didnae realize it then, but I see it now. Kristen was the only blade sharp enough to makehim bow. He wouldnae break for me, but he would break for her.”
“So that is why ye wanted her gone?” the bandit asked. “Ye really have it all mapped out, do ye nae? Ye have everything to satisfy yer selfish desires.”
“I speak of the clan,” Lachlan said. “The clan comes first. Always.”
Kristen closed her eyes for a moment. Then she opened them and looked at the cell again. Lachlan stood easy, his weight braced on one heel. He could have been in the Great Hall, asking for more bread. The bandit bared his teeth and bled on the floor. The lamp flickered. The iron whispered.
The truth slotted into place like a blade finding its sheath.
It had been Lachlan.
It had always been Lachlan.
He had shown the bandits a path. He had pointed at Neil and at Alex and at her. He had told lies to get Neil out of the way.
That bastard.
Her body moved before her mind could catch up. She stepped out of the shadows.
Lachlan spun. For a breath, his eyes went wide. But then the shock vanished, and something colder slid into place. He measured her with a look, quick and neat.
The bandit lifted his head and grinned through split lips, savage with the glee of a man about to witness death.
“Ye bastard,” Kristen growled. “What did ye do?”
Silence held for a blink as the lamp wavered. Water dripped in the far corner.
Lachlan’s mouth curled. “Ah,” he said softly. “Sweet Kristen. Ye’ve learned to mind yer business, have ye?”
29
The lamp threw a narrow ring of light that made the wet stone shine. Lachlan stood inside it, calm as if they were having a quiet talk after supper. The bandit slumped against his chains behind him, his eyes bright with a sick interest.
Kristen remained in the passage, her palms clammy and her breathing shallow.
