Duncan’s brow darkened with displeasure, and he began to pace.
“If Richard is guilty of something,” she continued, “let him be arrested and dealt with according to the law. You should not darken your soul any further to ensure justice is served.”
“But my soul is already destined forhell,” he growled.
She shivered. “I don’t believe that. There is always hope. People can change.”
But did she truly believe there was hope where Duncan was concerned? He was the Butcher of the Highlands. He’dkilleddozens of men.
They said nothing for a long time; then he shot her an irritated look. “You remind me of my mother sometimes. She was beautiful, and she was a stubborn idealist. She didn’t approve of violence, and she worked tirelessly to convince my father that she was right and he was wrong.”
“Did she ever succeed in convincing him?”
Duncan laughed bitterly. “Nay. That was a futile ambition.
She and I both ended up bruised and battered over it. My father was a warrior. He had no interest in diplomacy, and I was stuck in the middle, between her and his crushing, iron fist.”
Amelia sat back. Had Duncan protected his mother against his father’s brutality?
Not wishing to provoke him any further than she had already, Amelia waited a moment for his anger to cool.
“My father was a warrior, too,” she said in an effort to calm him, “but he could also be kind. He believed in peace.”
“He was a soldier, Amelia. He fought and hekilled.”
She shuddered, for she had never thought of her father in that light, nor had she ever imagined him actual ykillinga man. She did not want to imagine it now. “He fought for what he believed in.”
“As do I, lass, and for that reason, I cannot let your fiancé live.”
The comment struck her hard, like a punch in the stomach.
Alas, when Duncan had mentioned how he once tried to stand between his mother and his father’s iron fist, Amelia thought she might be able to draw him away from his murderous quest. But looking into his eyes now and seeing the fury that dwelled there, she knew he could not be persuaded.
«Willyou deliver me to Moncrieffe Castle?” she asked, needing to know howallof this would play out. “I know we are traveling in that direction, but even if Richard has left the castle and gone elsewhere,willyou leave me there in the earl’s care? The earl was a friend of my father’s. Wouldn’t it be best if—”
“Nay!” Duncan said harshly, facing her. “Iwillnot leave you anywhere! Not while your fiancéstilllives.”
He breathed deeply for a moment, as if struggling to control his anger; then he moved around the fire. “You should sleep, lass, but I’m awake now, so I’llsit against the stone and keep watch.”
He sat down, picked up the flask he’d left in the grass, but it was empty, so he tossed it onto the pile of saddlebags.
Shivering from a suddenchillin the air, Amelia lay down again and wrapped the fur around her. She closed her eyes and wondered miserably if she would ever feel sure of anything again.
* * *
The lass wanted him to spare Richard Bennett’s life. How disappointed she was going to be when he ended it.
No, it would be much worse than that. She would see him as the savage that he truly was. She would be repulsed by the blood on his hands, and the stench of death and despair thatfollowedhim everywhere. She would loathe him, far more than she did now.
He should not have tried to slake his lust for her tonight. If he’d been listening to his brains instead of hisballs, he would have kept her at a safe distance—perhaps even bound and gagged the entire time. He should not have revealed anything of himself to her. She knew too much as it was.
What was he to do, then? he wondered wretchedly as he watched her final y drift off to sleep. Let Richard Bennett live for the sake of her courtly, idealistic principles about order and justice? Let him continue to rape, murder, and destroy?
Duncan tipped his head back against the standing stone and stared up at the sky. If only he could feel some sense of peace again, or even hope to feel it one day in the future. Not long ago, he thought he would achieve it when Bennett was dead.allhe felt now, however, was a heavy yoke of doubt and a deep, unfathomable emptiness.
He thought of his real mother then—the whore he never knew because she’d died giving birth to him—and the bishop who’d been slaughtered for his opinions on the matter of Duncan’s existence in the world as a bastard child.
That bishop should have known better than to pay insult to Duncan’s father. He’d ended up without a head.
