“If you loved me, Torin, you would have told me the truth. Are you such a coward?”
“Aye,” he told her. “Aye. I am. I was afraid of losing you. I knew you would never—”
She stepped forward and slapped his face. The crack sounded throughout the outer ward and drew two other men from the shadows, and then another.
His brothers. Galien.
“You knew I would never stay with you. You deceived me and used me for your own selfish desire.”
“No,” he contended. “I fell in love with your smile and your spirit. I did not know what to do. I was a coward. Forgive me, Braya.”
“What do we have here?”
They both turned at the sound of Bennett’s voice. Geoffrey Mitchell stood slightly behind him as he stepped into view. He shoved another man forward and held a knife to his throat. It was Rowley Hetherington. He’d been beaten, his left eye swollen shut.
“Father!” Braya rushed toward him and ended up in Bennett’s arms instead.
“Bennett,” Galien shouted. “I will kill you!”
“You will stay where you are if you want your family to live.” He was finished with Galien and turned his attention to Braya. “Miss Hetherington.” He closed his arm tighter around her, capturing her arms so that she could not move them. “I have sent for the priest.”
“Bennett,” Torin’s voice was like an axe falling on the back of someone’s neck. “Let her go before I kill you where you stand.”
The warning was menacing, making Braya’s eyes widen.
“I have her and her father, Gray. Whatever you do, one of them will die.”
Braya stomped on his foot, but he moved it swiftly and her heel just missed his toes.
Bennett smiled at her struggle to be free and held his knife to her throat with the hand he no longer wanted. His cheeks grew round and red. “Oh, I have imagined you in my bed for a long time, little pigeon. I have wanted you beneath me crying out my name—”
Little pigeon.Torin didn’t move. He wasn’t certain he was breathing. His vision was filled with red. Bennett. Bennett was one of the men in his house eighteen years ago. He was the one who…
Torin’s eyes were wide and unblinking as he charged like a wild bull set loose.
Bennett turned his attention to him, horrified at the speed at which Torin moved. Her captor had no time to do anything to Braya with his blade.
Torin clamped his fingers around Bennett’s wrist at her throat and pulled his arm away. His eyes were like flames. He could feel the fire rising up in him, spilling out with the rage of twenty-two years.
Still holding Bennett’s wrist, he moved to block Braya with his back as he raised his sword and swiped off Bennett’s arm.
Blood splattered across Torin’s mantle.
Braya quickly moved away when Bennett released her, screaming and trying to grasp his wound and not her.
Geoffrey Mitchell released Rowley Hetherington and leaped forward. Torin took him by the collar and plunged his blade into Mitchell’s throat.
He was vaguely aware of Hetherington rushing to his daughter and her brother joining them.
He turned back to Bennett, pointing his bloody sword at him. He felt as if he were going mad. Finally taking the plunge over the precipice. He would show no mercy this time.
“Twenty-two years ago ye burned down a small cottage in Invergarry.” He pushed the tip of his blade under Bennett’s chin. He could no longer control how he spoke or how he looked. “D’ye remember? Ye will answer or I will cut off yer other arm.”
Bennett whimpered and closed his eyes.
“Ye raided the home of a man and his wife and their three young lads,” Torin said, helping him remember. When Bennett said nothing, Torin raised his sword.
“Aye. Aye, I remember,” Bennett cried, opening his eyes to look at him. He must have known he wasn’t going to get out of this alive, for he grew bold to ask. “Which one are you?”
