“I don’t see ye fighting him,” Eithne muttered quietly, her voice filled with hate.
She’s as cold as winter’s ice when betrayed. I pray to God that I never end up on her wrong side.
“Why would I?” Walter asked, a little smugly. “Once he’s overthrown me pathetic father, he’ll allow me to continue running the clan.”
The Laird stepped forward, and Ivor could now see the look of pure horror on his face. Clearly, he hadn’t thought that things would go this far. He’d thought that by complying, he and his clan would be safe.
Fool. Ye trusted MacDuff to keep his word?
“So, I’m giving him these girls for nothing, then?” Laird MacDonnell asked in a hollow voice. “He still intends to kill me? He still intends to slaughter me people?”
“Mepeople will survive,” Walter said unconcernedly. “Only those who resist will be hurt. And I asked him nae to kill ye, Faither. Ye’ll just spend the rest of yer life in the dungeons.”
“Gregor will stop ye,” Laird MacDonnell snapped. “He’s a good lad. Yer big brother is the only one ye’ve ever listened to.”
As Ivor watched, Walter turned pale and looked away. A second later, the Laird seemed to understand.
“Oh…nay. Nay, nay,” the Laird muttered. All the color had drained from his face leaving a thin, sickly pallor and gaunt bones behind. It was like his life had drained away with the realization that his son was gone. “Walter, tell me that it isnae true.”
“I didnae slay him,” Walter said, though Ivor detected a shake to his otherwise proud tone. “Anyway. Enough talking.” He pulled on Eithne’s arm. “It’s time to go.”
“I’d rather die,” she snapped.
“Dinnae tempt me,” Walter growled. He pulled, the other soldiers following, dragging both protesting girls along with them.
Myrna screamed, and Ivor longed to run out after them. But even if he could kill them all, would it be enough? Could he guarantee the lassies wouldn’t be killed in the meantime?
Nay. I cannae risk it.
And so, though it tore his heart in two, he stayed put while they dragged his love and her sister away. He stood there, watching, feeling genuinely lost for the first time in a long time.
* * *
Ivor finally emerged from behind the tapestry only when he was sure that none of MacDuff’s men or Eithne’s traitorous cousin would return. Two men remained in the room – Jonah, standing in place looking as though he’d been slapped, and the Laird, who had sunk to his knees in what Ivor assumed was grief and guilt.
They both looked up as the tapestry moved. Neither seemed surprised.
“You betrayed them,” Ivor said in a low, steady voice. His fingers itched above the handle of his sword. “I should have both yer heads.”
“Ye should, and more,” the Laird whispered. His voice was broken, and tears flowed unchecked down his cheeks. “Me son, me son. All I wanted was to protect me people. When I die, I’ll go to hell, and I’ll never see any of them again. God forgive me. God forgive me.”
The Laird, who Ivor had once thought so strong and powerful, curled in a ball and wept on the floor. Ivor turned away from him, sickened by the sight, and looked at Jonah.
The younger man still stood, his eyes blazing, his expression nearly blank. He met Ivor’s eyes without flinching, but Ivor could see the extreme depths of shame there.
“Why?” Ivor asked softly.
“Me faither was captain of the soldiers ye attacked at that inn,” Jonah said brokenly. “He was stabbed in the stomach. By a dagger. It was left inside his body.”
Ivor ruffled his brow. “First of all, they attacked us. All we wanted was to get away. And second, I didnae use me dagger once during that battle,” he said. “Ye ken that. Ye saw me with it only the other day.”
All of Jonah’s energy seemed to fade at those words, and the boy’s whole body seemed to sag. “Rory MacDuff killed me faither.”
“Most likely,” Ivor replied.
“And I just handed him Myrna,” Jonah whispered.
“And Eithne. Myrna might be the lucky one. He might just kill her,” Ivor said roughly. The lad flinched, but Ivor couldn’t feel pity or shame for what he’d said. How could he? Even now, soldiers had Eithne once again.
