“It happened years ago!” Gregor screamed, his voice raw with panic. “How were we to ken if yer uncle was lying?”
William’s restraint had finally snapped after years of holding back. His rage boiled over in one violent breath. He didn’t temper it, letting his sword slice the air with a furious swoosh.
Gregor stumbled back with a cry.
Suddenly, Fergus laughed. William turned his head to see him holding a small sword that he must have snatched off the mantelpiece.
Like a man who had placed his hand on something that could save him, he laughed louder.
“Ye think ye can kill us?” he growled. “Ye think we didnae come prepared in case ye ran mad?”
That did it.
William barked a laugh. Perhaps the day was a masquerade, after all.
The sound echoed so loudly that even Myles stiffened. He had known William since boyhood, had seen him bleed, had seen him grieve. But never laugh like this. There was nothing human about the sound.
William stepped closer to Fergus, showing no fear despite the weapon in the other man’s hand. The distance between them shrank in no time.
Fergus faltered. His shoulders dropped. His grip loosened on his sword.
William tilted his head slightly. Calm again. Terrifyingly so.
“Ye are quick to think that everyone is like ye,” he uttered. “I have learned that nae everything should be solved in bloodshed.” He lifted his sword. Not to threaten, but to prove certainty, to prove effortless authority. “I will give ye the justice ye deserve. A proper trial. It is for the Crown to decide whether yer lives should be spared or nae.”
Gregor gasped loudly, as though stunned by the mercy. Instantly, he fell to his knees with a thud that echoed across the hall.
“Please!” he sobbed, clasping his hands together. “It wasnae me fault! I was tricked—tricked by yer uncle! I swear it!” Tearsstreamed down his face. “I am ready for the trial! Please, spare me life!” His voice broke with desperation.
William watched him without pity.
Keegan clapped once, standing behind Fregus as if he were a shield. His dry laughter followed, and the sound grated on William’s nerves.
“Look at ye,” he sneered at Gregor. “Beggin’ already.” He turned his glare on William. “Ye have nay shame. Ye inherited yer uncle’s wife and now his lands, hidin’ behind a pretty lie about betrayal.”
William’s jaw tightened.
Keegan stepped past Fergus, his eyes flashing. “Ye are a bastard orphan who deserves death.”
The words landed like fire.
He didn’t give William time to register them or react. His hand moved fast, too fast, snatching the sword from Fregus’s grip. The blade gleamed as he raised it, assuming a threatening stance.
“Before ye kill me,” he snarled, “I will kill ye meself. And I will marry that woman ye cherish so much. I will even raise yer parents from the dead and kill them all over again!”
Those last words shattered something inside William.
He moved forward, raising his sword with the intent to kill. Myles followed him.
“Daenae,” William growled low without looking back. “This is me battle to fight.”
Before Myles could argue, Fergus attacked, having seized another sword from one of the statues lining the hall.
Gregor scrambled to his feet and ran for the doors, sobbing. Myles broke away instantly, accosting the man before slamming him into the stone.
Meanwhile, William dodged Keegan’s wild strike and spun away from Fergus as he came from behind. Steel clashed against steel. Fury and revenge guided his movements, but two against one was never fair.
Fergus’s blade soon sliced through his arm, drawing blood.
