Unless—“Captain,” she asked after Nicholas gave her his answer. “Did you know you were a Scot when they came to Berwick?”
When he didn’t answer right away, her heart lurched forward and fell at Nicholas’ feet. She wanted to scream at him to finish what he started and kill her, stomp on her heart until nothing remained.
“If you are a Scot,” she told hisbrother, “and you knew you were a Scot before they attacked, then chances are you were a spy. Please, tell me that was not the case, especially if you are Nicholas’ brother. Tell me that was not how they breached the walls of Berwick. That you are not the one responsible for so much death—even of the innocents.”
“Miss Feathers,” he began guiltily after a few moments. “What I did was fer King Robert. ’Twas war. Yer father knew ’twould be war when he refused to offer fealty to the King of Scots. My men were instructed to take the castle, not the village—”
She stepped up to him and clenched her jaw. “People I loved were in the castle.”
He nodded but she wasn’t done with him. “What was it that you did?” When neither he nor Nicholas answered her, she slapped her hands on the table. “Tell me, Nicholas!”
He looked as if his favored horse just died. “He—”
“I pretended to be Captain Gray,” the captain interrupted to speak for himself. “I had been sent by the king to infiltrate Berwick’s strong defense and bring it down on the inside first.”
Julianna covered her mouth with her hands and stared at him, horrified. She didn’t think she could hate anyone more than Phillip, but she was wrong. This man had comforted her at the abbey by remaining calm. He pretended to sympathize with her, be her friend.
“My father trusted you. You were often at his table.”
She remembered him because, althoughWilliamwas the only one on her mind, the soldier stood out. Whether on the practice fields or in the great hall with the other men, his face was the most comely, his smile the most inviting, and his demeanor, the most graceful.
“Aye,” he confessed, crushing her thoughts.
“And you were only there for our destruction.”
“Aye,” he admitted again, looking away.
“Just one more question then,Torin,” she said on a quavering voice. She was doing all she could to hold herself together—for all their sakes. “How did you know my father’s last instructions? Where were you when he died?”
“Lass, I dinna think—”
“Whether you can think or not is not in question,” she said, clenching her teeth. “You know perfectly well what is. Are you trying to keep from answering?”
“Not at all,” he defended.
“Then, please do.”
She waited. She grew tired an instant later. “You killed my father.”
“Lass, ’twas war,” he reminded her with a gentle plea.
She stood up, enraged. Just because it was war didn’t mean she had to accept that he’d killed her father, her friends. She stuck out her hand and touched his wrist, sticking him with a poisonous fang.
Torin Gray/MacPherson, or whatever-the-hell his name was, slipped from his seat and hit the floor as if dead.
Before everyone else moved, she did, grabbing one of the knives under Torin’s belt. She yanked it from its sheath and aimed it at his throat.
“No!” Nicholas grabbed her wrist, staying her hand.
“He killed my father, Nicholas!”
“He is my brother!” he countered. “He saved your life!”
She opened her mouth but nothing came out. Nicholas defended him. Her heart broke. There was too much against them having any peace together. Phillip, the church, kings, and now this.
“They will not let you leave here alive,” he pleaded with her and motioned to the deceiving captain’s men. They were poised, swords ready to kill her. She let him go and he crumbled to the ground. “He sleeps!” she told them when they made a move toward her. “He is not dead!” Though he should be.
She dropped the knife and yanked her wrist free of Nicholas’ hold.
