“I’m all right,” she replied, her voice rough yet steady. “Thank ye.”
His chest tightened. Macquarie would pay for this.
The chieftain moved then, profiting from his moment of distraction. He reeled back from the point of Craeg’s claidheamh-mòr and lunged for the sgian-dubh that lay just a few feet away. His fingers grasped the grip, and he rolled away.
Even injured and bloodied, the bastard moved faster than an eel.
But Craeg’s threat hadn’t been empty.
The savagery that tugged like a wolf on a leash surged free. He didn’t hesitate.
The broadsword rose and sliced sideways—severing Hamish Macquarie’s head from his shoulders.
Hazel’s shocked gasp filled the silence that followed.
The chieftain’s headless body slumped onto the road, limbs twitching. His right hand clutched convulsively upon the sgian-dubh’s grip.
Hamish’s head rolled across the earth and came to rest. Mouth still a rictus of hate. Blue eyes, wide and staring.
Breathing hard, Craeg straightened up. His gaze then swept over the bloodied knot of Macquaries and came to rest on the youngest of the group. Cameron Macquarie. Craeg remembered a diffident lad, gawky and lacking in confidence. That wasn’t so now.
Bloodied and panting, his face slick with sweat, the chieftain’s son stared at his father’s severed head. Face rigid. Jaw locked.
“Do ye wish to try yer luck as well?” Craeg ground out.
Fury still pulsed through him, looking for an outlet. He’d take every last one of these whoresons on, if they challenged him.
“Craeg,” Hazel said softly. A warning.
He ignored her, his attention never leaving Cameron’s face.
He was young, but he’d followed his father. He’d been a part of this, would have watched Macquarie cut his own daughter’s throat.
Cameron didn’t answer.
Craeg’s fingers flexed around the hilt of his broadsword, even as a red haze clouded his vision. “Ye shouldalldie for this,” he ground out each word as he stared the chieftain’s son down. “Starting with ye.”
“No!” Hazel rushed forward. Her hand fastened around his right arm. “Put down yer sword, Craeg!”
His gaze cut to her, fixing upon her ashen face. Their gazes fused.
“The bloodshed ends,” she rasped. “Now.”
Craeg stared back at her. The urge to kill, to maim, still hammered against his ribs, yet Hazel’s touch drew him out of his fury. He was back in control.
Dragging in a lungful of air, he gave a tight nod.
“The man responsible for this is dead,” she went on, her fingers digging into his flesh as if she still needed to make sure that he wouldn’t lunge at Cameron Macquarie. “That is enough.”
He dragged in a lungful of air.Is it?
Moments passed, and then Hazel released his arm and stepped back.
Wordlessly, he moved over to where he’d tossed the claidheamh-mòr’s scabbard to the ground. Picking it up, he sheathed the weapon and strapped it to his back. He was aware that all eyes were on him.
The silence that had settled over the road held a tense edge.
And all the while, his pulse thundered in his skull. Despite Hazel’s intervention, his blood was still up. The urge to cut down the surviving Macquaries still pulsed through him.
