"I should have dealt with ye years ago," Conall said, his voice dropping to something quieter but infinitely more dangerous. "Should have broken ye properly instead of indulgin' yer foolishness. Should have married ye off tae the first man who'd take ye and been done with it."
"Then why didnae ye?" Ada managed to gasp out. "Why keep me around at all if I was such a burden?"
"Because I thought ye might be useful eventually. Thought maybe ye'd develop some sense." His laugh was bitter. "But I was wrong. Ye're useless. Worse than useless. Ye're a liability. And the only way tae fix a liability?—"
His hand went to his sword.
Ada's blood turned to ice as she watched him draw the blade. The steel caught the firelight, gleaming red and orange as he raised it.
This couldn't be happening. Her father, her own father, was actually going to kill her.
"Faither, please—" Her voice came out small. Broken. "I'm yer daughter. Yer only daughter."
"Ye stopped bein' me daughter the moment ye chose him over me." Conall's eyes were cold now. Empty. "And I'll nae have a traitor in me family. Better ye die here than live tae shame the MacTavish name further."
The sword rose higher. Ada stared up at it, frozen not from fear of death, though terror certainly flooded her veins, but from sheer disbelief.
He was really going to do it.
Her father, the man who'd given her life, was going to end it right there in front of everyone.
Some distant part of her mind noted how fitting it was. How her entire life had been leading to that moment. All the years of trying to earn his love, his approval, his attention—and this was what it came to.
His sword raised above her head, ready to strike her down like she was nothing more than an animal to be slaughtered.
Time seemed to slow. Ada saw the muscles in her father's arm tense, saw the blade begin its descent. Saw her death coming and couldn't seem to make herself move.
Then a roar—Magnus's voice, raw and desperate—cut through everything.
"ADA!"
A figure crashed into Conall from the side, steel ringing as blade met blade. Her father stumbled, his strike deflected, and suddenly Ada was free.
She fell backward, landed hard on the ground. Looked up to see Torvald standing between her and her father, his sword steady.
"Get up," Torvald said without taking his eyes off Conall. "Get up and run, lass."
But Ada couldn't move. Could only watch as Magnus appeared through the smoke, vaulting from his horse before it had fully stopped. He landed in a roll, came up with his sword ready, his face a mask of cold fury.
"Get away from her," Magnus said, and his voice was deadly calm.
Ada had never been so grateful to see anyone in her entire life.
Conall turned, his face contorting further with rage. "Ye. This is yer fault. Ye turned her against me. Poisoned her mind with yer Norse filth."
"I did naethin'." Magnus moved forward slowly, deliberately, positioning himself between Conall and where Ada still lay. "Ye did this yerself. Treated yer own daughter like property. Like a tool tae be used and discarded. She was never the problem, MacTavish. Ye were."
"She's mine!" Conall's voice rose to a shout. "Mine tae dae with as I please! I gave her life."
"And she gave ye loyalty. Fer years. Despite yer cruelty. Despite everythin'." Magnus's grip tightened visibly on his sword. "But ye threw that away. Sold her tae save yer own ambitions. And now ye want tae kill her because she finally chose herself over ye?"
"She choseye." Conall spat the word like a curse. "A murderer. A savage. She betrayed her own blood fer..."
"Fer a man who actually values her." Magnus cut him off. "Fer a man who sees her as more than just a means tae an end. And that's what really eats at ye, isnae it? That she found someone who treats her better than her own faither ever did."
Ada watched through tears as the two men faced each other. Her father, who'd never loved her. And Magnus, who'd given her everything her father never had—respect, protection, genuine care.
Conall lunged forward, his blade aimed at Magnus's throat.
