Evander’s hackles rose. That was not a sentence a boy should utter.
Before he could respond or react in any way, Jim lunged forward. Reflexively, Evander tightened his grip on his sword, prepared for an attack.
He needn’t have wondered.
Jim forced himself upwards and pressed his neck against the tip of Evander’s sword. The blade, carefully cleaned and sharpened, slipped through with ease, severing an artery. His eyes widened, then rolled back in his head. He slumped back, sliding off the blade. He was dead almost before he hit the ground.
Evander choked, staggering backwards. For a moment, he was sure that he must have imagined it. No one had ever deliberately impaled themselves on a sword.
Skye shuffled up to stand at his side. He could hear her ragged breathing, high and panicky.
“Are me eyes deceiving me?” she whispered.
“They arenae,” he managed. Crouching down, he wiped the blade on the grass. “Jim here decided that he would rather die than give me information.”
“But why?” Skye exclaimed, her voice trembling. When he cast a quick look at her, her hands were shaking, and her face was pale as bone. “Did he think ye would torture him? Ye would never do that… would ye?”
There was no missing the uncertainty in her voice.
Evander gave a tight smile. “Nay, I wouldnae. But me guess is that he didnae ken that. Many lairds do resort to torture. He was determined nae to give up whoever sent him.”
She shivered. “This is awful.”
Evander said nothing. He stared at the boy’s body, blood pooling beneath him.
Is it me they are after, or Skye?
It seemed possible that Skye was the target. Evander had not noticed any particular attempts on his life, and no laird was foolish enough to let his guard down.
Clenching his jaw, he turned away from the carnage, meeting Skye’s gaze. Or at least, he tried. She stared past him, fixated on the boy’s body. Gently, he placed his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to look at him.
“We did what we must,” he said quietly.
“I couldnae save him,” she whispered. “The driver. Angus, was it?”
“Aye. His name was Angus.”
She nodded tightly. “If I’d been quicker, perhaps I could have?—”
“Enough,” he interrupted. “There is no good in thinking of what might have been. Besides, I’ve seen injuries like that before. There was nothing ye could have done. Are ye hurt?”
She shook her head mutely.
He stared at her, wrestling with a sudden desire to grab her and pull her tight against him. He could do it, couldn’t he? He could hug her tight—press her against his chest and wrap his arms around her.
He could tell her that it would be all right, that he didn’t mean to hurt her, and that nobody would ever hurt her again.
If somebody ever lays a hand on her against her will,he thought suddenly with a rush of vengeful fury,I will take off both of their arms.
Skye glanced up, her eyes wide, full of confusion and misery. A lump lodged itself in his throat.
“I’m afraid,” she whispered. “They’re here for me, are they nae?”
Evander hesitated. It would be easy enough to lie, to tell her that there was no danger and that she had nothing to worry about.
If I lie to her, even once, she’ll never trust me again. And nor should she.
He decided on honesty instead.
