John had been alive when he’d fled with Elizabet. He was certain of it. He hadn’t even used his blade upon the lad, only the butt of his dagger. There was no way he could have killed him. No possible way.
His first consideration was for Elizabet; he had promised her that her brother was alive and well, that he would suffer no more than a headache. How could he return and tell her that he had been mistaken? That he had killed her brother, in truth?
Or had he?
Christ.
If someone had meant Elizabet harm, then so too could he have intended the same for John. Broc must have given the bowman a perfect opportunity.
Remaining at the forest’s edge, he moved closer to the party, trying to listen to their discourse, keeping to the trees. But he couldn’t get near enough to hear what they were saying, and he grew frustrated.
Who were they blaming?
Deep down, he knew.
This did not bode well for him. They would band together, he realized.
Were they all in league together?
A million questions hammered at his brain.
Montgomerie finished the parchment and rolled it very deliberately, fury evident in his gesture. One hand fell to his side, and he clenched it, forming an angry fist.
Broc moved closer, his heart hammering within his chest as Montgomerie spoke sharply to the menmounted before him. One of them rattled off an explanation that Broc could scarce hear—bits and pieces only.
“Came from nowhere,” he heard. And then, “Took us unawares... stole Elizabet... killed John and Edmund.”
Broc’s gaze fell once more to the bodies lying upon the ground.
Liars!
He moved nearer, as close as he dared without risking discovery.
“Fetch my horse!” Montgomerie shouted, his tone fraught with anger. “Gather men at once! Meet me before the stables!”
He spun toward the manor as his men scattered to heed his command, leaving Elizabet’s traveling companions to await his return. When he was gone, the three of them spoke in low tones to one another, though at this distance, it was impossible to hear what they were saying.
“I’ll gather my own men and search the north woods,” Colin announced and then turned to kiss his bride upon the cheek. He lingered, as though speaking softly at her ear, and then Meghan reached out to embrace her new sister in marriage. The two of them held each other as Colin turned and left them upon the stairs.
What the hell was he going to do about Elizabet?
Broc didn’t feel confident about going to Piers anymore. He scarce knew the man, and neither did Piers know him. Why should he take Broc’s side when it was Broc’s word against three of his own compatriots—one of them Elizabet’s own kinsmen.
Searching for the bowman, Broc looked closer, trying to make out their faces, but he could barely see more than their silhouettes against the torches lit behind them. He recognized Piers more than aught elseby his stature and voice. He was one of the few men who stood nearly as tall as Broc.
Should he come forward to Colin? If he did, he would be forced to hand Elizabet over to Piers. He was certain Colin would bid him do so. And in doing so, he would place Elizabet once more in danger. He couldn’t expect Colin to keep his confidence in such a serious matter. He would risk a blood feud between Piers and Meghan’s brothers.
In that vein, he couldn’t take Elizabet to Iain either. The last thing he wanted to do was force his own laird to take a stand against Montgomerie. This wasn’t Iain’s problem. Christ and be damned. It wasn’t his either, but what options did he have?
None, it seemed, except to return to Elizabet and tell her what happened.
Except that her brother was dead now, and Broc couldn’t prove it wasn’t by his hand.
The riders were beginning to disperse now, and he didn’t want to lead them to Elizabet, so he thought it best to go. Cursing himself for the mess he had managed to embroil himself in, he turned and fled into the woods. Not daring to look back, he raced through the forest, weaving blindly through the trees in the darkness, relying on instinct to guide him.
Only one thing did he know for certain. No longer at stake was her life alone. Regardless of whether or not he chose to let her go, the blame for her brother’s death would fall to Broc, and the peace that had fallen over the MacKinnon, Brodie, and Montgomerie clans would be no more.
No doubt, his laird would stand behind him, as would Colin. Piers might love his wife, but Elizabet and her brother John were his own flesh and blood, and he would surely champion them. Unless Broc could bring John’s murderer to light, his own clan would be forcedto take up arms against Montgomerie—and mayhap Colin against his sister’s husband.
