He reached for the leather-bound folder resting beside him and pushed it to the center of the table. Sheets of parchment slid out, thick and sealed with the Laird’s crest.
“The will,” he said evenly. “Each of ye will receive a fair share.”
The men’s reactions were immediate. Gregor leaned forward eagerly. Fergus reached for the first page without waiting. Keegan snatched the corner, a grin stretching his lips.
“Well then,” Gregor said, lifting his cup, “to the late Laird!”
They laughed again. The sound was too loud this time, too greedy. They began to flip the pages, reading eagerly.
William watched the exact moment everything changed.
Gregor’s smile fell first. His eyes darted across the lines faster, his lips parting slightly as though he couldn’t believe what he was reading.
Fergus stiffened next, all color draining from his face. “What is this shite?” he muttered under his breath.
Keegan’s face twisted, and his fingers trembled as he read further, his eyes widening.
By now, the silence was so thick that they could have heard a pin drop.
Slowly, the men lifted their heads to look at one another. Their faces contorted with several emotions—confusion, fear, and guilt—all crashing together in a storm of realization.
William continued to watch, patiently waiting for them to realize that they had all fallen into a well-laid trap. Eventually, one by one, they lifted their gazes to him.
He rose, his chair scraping across the stone floor like thunder.
“I hope ye enjoy the will,” he said calmly, his mouth curled into a sinister smirk. “It states quite clearly that yer time on this earth ends today.”
Gregor shot to his feet. “This is madness!”
“Is it?” William asked mildly. “For treason against me faither. For aligning yerselves with me bastard uncle. For murder. For lies. For dragging me family’s name through the mud.” He gestured to the pages in their shaking hands. “All the evidence is there. Letters. Payments. Signed confessions ye never thought would surface.”
Keegan snarled. “Ye cannae do this!”
William’s chin lifted. “I can,” he said softly.
He drew his sword in one fluid motion. The blade caught the light, reflecting his sharp gaze.
Gregor knocked his chair down as he scrambled away. Fergus ducked instinctively. Keegan raised his hands, his eyes widening in panic.
William swung his sword. Not to kill. Not yet. But to expose their cowardice in broad daylight. The blade cut through the air, making a sharp whistling sound. It sliced so close to Fregus that he cried out, falling on his behind.
Myles stepped forward to block them from running away, his sword already drawn. “Nay one leaves,” he declared coldly.
“William, listen to reason!” Gregor’s voice cracked.
William advanced on him slowly, his boots thudding against the stone. “Where was yer reason when me faither begged for mercy?”
“Yer uncle planned it! Daenae blame us!” Fergus spat.
“And ye helped him,” William snapped, a vein popping in his forehead. “Ye stood by while me maither died!”
Keegan darted away from the table, knocking over goblets in his panic. “That wasnae meant to happen!”
William swung his sword again, this time driving the blade into the table, splitting the wood in two. “Everything that happens today,” he gritted out, “was meant to. Was planned by ye people!”
The men backed away, their faces deathly pale. William stood tall among them. His blade gleamed before him, his eyes burning with a fire he had long denied himself.
The time to serve justice had come home, and it would not be gentle.
