His lips curled contemptuously. It was as if he did not know her. As if they had never met, never made love or held each other in the tender silence of the night. He was looking for his enemy. That was all that mattered to him.
She pointed toward the powder magazine. “I saw him go in there.”
Angus glared intently. “Is this a trap? Do you lie to me, woman?”
“No!”Her distress mounted to the surface. Her husband loathed her. She could feel it like a bitter winter wind. He blamed her for this, and he believed she had betrayed him.
Suddenly, her courage failed her. She could see in his eyes that he wanted only to fight. He needed to face her brother, who had taken his home and thrown him from the rooftop.
Angus was going to kill him. There was no escaping that fact, nor was there any possibility that Murdoch would defeat him. Her brother was not a skilled swordsman. That was why he kept Slevyn so close—to fight his battles for him.
He was a coward in many ways, and yet, she did not want him to die. Despite everything, he was still her brother.
“Please don’t kill him.” The words spilled softly over her lips, even while she knew it was the worst possible thing to say. But she had to say it. She had to plead for her brother’s life. She couldn’t simply send her husband to the powder magazine to hack him to pieces.
Angus’s pale blue eyes narrowed. A muscle clenched at his jaw, and his fist tightened around the hilt of his sword. He pointed at two Moncrieffe warriors. “Seize her. Take her to the prison in the South Tower and lock her up.”
“No, Angus, please!” She struggled against their hold, while a few brave and loyal MacEwen clansman rushed to defend her. They were quickly subdued, however, by Moncrieffe men, who held knives to their throats.
“Let me explain!” she shouted, while they dragged her away. “I didn’t know this was going to happen. I didn’t betray you. I didn’t know the wine was poisoned. It was all part of their plot, and they used me!”
Angus pointed his sword at her from across the distance. A harsh loathing darkened his voice. “I don’t wish to hear it. Not now. Take her away.” He started to go, but turned back. “Do not harm her! She carries my child!”
He strode off to find Murdoch, while Gwendolen was dragged in the opposite direction. She fought hard, struggling the entire way. In the end, it took four burly men to get her up the curved tower stairs and into the cell, where she finally collapsed to her knees on the floor and wept uncontrollably with frustration and despair.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Angus strode with steely purpose to the powder magazine, all his muscles flexed, his mind sharp and ready for another fight. He would not think of the agony he felt at seeing Gwendolen again. Not now. Not at this crucial moment.
He pushed the door open and stepped inside, but stopped dead at the sight of Murdoch standing over a powder keg with a burning torch in one hand, his fancy jeweled sword in the other.
“One step closer,” Murdoch said, “and I’ll blow this entire castle into the clouds.”
Angus eyed him shrewdly for a few tense seconds, then boldly marched forward. Murdoch sucked in a breath. His eyes grew wide with fear.
Before he had a chance to even contemplate the smallest defensive move, Angus snatched the torch out of his hand.
“You bluidy fool,”he growled. He returned to the door and handed the flaming torch to one of his men. “Get this out of here.” He faced Murdoch again. “I ought to run you through right now. You’re too stupid to live.”
Murdoch lifted his sword and lunged forward.
“What the fook is that?” Angus asked. “Have you been play-fighting? Did you think you’d be ready for me?” He shook his head with disdain, strode forward again with his heavy claymore, and knocked Murdoch’s decorative weapon to the floor with a light, bouncing clatter. Murdoch raised both hands in the air and stumbled backward along the wall of powder kegs.
“You won’t kill me,” he said in a shaky voice.
“You don’t think so?”
“Nay.”
“Why not?”
“Because of my sister. If you lay one hand on me, she’ll curse the day you were born, and everyone knows you are obsessed with her.”
“Move away from the wall,” Angus warned.
Murdoch moved to the center of the chamber. “All right,” he carefully said. “Let’s talk then. Clearly you have the advantage in a swordfight, but I have the advantage of social connections and the right politics. Your father was a known Jacobite. Surely you’ll consider joining me. We can rule here together, and when England’s war with Spain begins—”
“England’s war with Spain?” Angus replied irritably. “I want no part of that.”
