Page 48 of Reviving Her Highland Spirit

Maggie ground her teeth. “Ye know that both of those things aren’t true.”

“Aren’t they? I know that ye are all liars, murderers, thieves. Common thieves. A thief is a thief, whether ye steal a penny or a throne. Ye all deserve to hang. Ye will hang, when I’m back in my rightful place.”

Maggie drew in a breath, forcing herself to stay calm. Rufus was just trying to goad her, to make her do something she shouldn’t. Maggie positioned herself between the two parties, Ian on one side and Callum on the other. Callum was eyeing Ian uncertainly, clearly reluctant to make the first move. Maggie wondered whether he’d delivered a wound to the arm of the soldier outside instead of killing him.

Either way, a low-ceilinged, cramped croft cottage was no place for a swordfight. If they fought in here, it would be a bloodbath.

“There is nowhere ye can go, Rufus,” Maggie said firmly. “No escape for ye. Ye think ye have friends, but ye don’t. Ye are alone. Go quietly, and ye will get justice, I promise.”

“Justice?” Rufus spat. “The only justice I will settle for is myself back on my rightful throne, and my traitorous brothers and their families’ heads on spikes along the keep walls. There is no other justice ye can offer me.”

Maggie pressed her lips together and turned back to Ian.

“Don’t kill Callum,” she said softly. “Take him back tae the keep. Take him prisoner.”

“Prisoner?” Rufus echoed, his voice reaching a hysterical pitch. “Ye think I will consent tae being the prisoner of ye wretched, thieving usurpers? Not likely. Kill them, Callum. Kill all of them. It starts here. Our war starts this moment, right here. Kill them, Callum!”

20

“Callum, no!”

“Callum, listen to me,” Rufus said smoothly, voice low in Callum’s ear.

Callum’s hand was sweating, palm slipping on the metal hilt. His arm ached from holding it out - he’d ridden like a madman to get here, only to find Ian and his warriors right on his tail. He’d barely had time to warn Rufus before they were here, and there was no chance of escape.

They were backed into a corner - literally - and there was no way out. Callum considered himself a half-decent swordsman, but he doubted he could fight off all of these men. Certainly not Ian.

Callum didn’t know much about the McAlister Captain of the Guard, but he knew that he was a powerful, grizzled warrior with years of experience under his belt. He was also larger and stronger than Callum, and had more to lose.

Callum dragged his eyes from Ian, who was staying silent while Maggie spoke. He found himself looking at Maggie, hoping beyond hope that he hadn’t killed off her love for him. If he had, he had no one but himself to blame. He had done this, and no one else.

You’ll be dead one way or another, a small voice said in the back of Callum’s head, so ye might as well go out fighting, beside the man who saved your life.

Maggie drew in a deep breath, taking a step forward. She had her palms raised, signaling that she was unarmed, and kept her eyes on Callum. Ian stiffened, obviously unhappy with Maggie coming so close.

Ye needn’t worry, Callum thought to himself. I would not kill her. I would never hurt her. I couldn’t.

It was a strange realization; he would never have been able to do what Rufus wanted, because he couldn’t bring himself to murder the McAlister family in cold blood. He remembered Lady Lyla, who’d given him that poultice for his arm without being asked, and Lady Bonnie, so earnest and opinionated in her love of healing. He thought of Lady Amilia, who had a firm sense of what was right and wrong, and Lady Sola’s vivid, heartfelt love for her oldest daughter.

He thought of Maggie, sweet, beautiful Maggie, standing in front of him, eyes wide, begging him to put his sword down. It occurred to Callum that she must have ridden here - she could never have walked in time, it was too far.

“Did…” Callum licked his dry lips, his words seeming too loud in the cramped space, “Did ye ride Stardust tae get here?”

Maggie smiled. “Aye, I did. All by myself, just like ye wanted, Callum.”

Callum’s heart swelled with pride. She’d done it. She’d finally done it. She’d faced her fear, rode on her horse again - and she must have gone fast, too - and she’d done it for him. To save him. That thought stuck in Callum’s throat like a wad of half-chewed meat, making his sword point waver. He glanced around the room, the first beads of sweat trickling down the side of his face despite the chill.

“Don’t listen tae her, Callum!” Rufus rasped, a cold hand landing on Callum’s shoulder. His fingers dug in, the points of Rufus’ untrimmed nails pressing through the fabric. “She’s just trying tae get ye onto their side. I’ll not allow us tae be taken prisoner by them, Callum. Even if they don’t kill us, do ye think we’ll ever be free? Ye will end your days prematurely, in a cold, dank dungeon, swimming in ye own filth with no memory of the sun. Oh, they will punish us severely.”

“That’s not true,” Ian spoke up, his voice calm and measured. “Laird McAlister is an honorable man, and so am I. If ye surrender, we will not kill ye. Our honor won’t allow us. We don’t keep people in our dungeons tae rot. Laird McAlister spared his half-brother once before.”

“I don’t want his pity!” Rufus spat, flecks of spittle flying out of his mouth. Glancing at his mentor out of the corner of his eye, Callum felt uncertain for the first time. Rufus didn’t look like a noble laird, the victim of injustice and cruelty. He looked like a madman. His eyes were wide, and his sharp teeth dug into his lower lip. His hand, still on Callum’s shoulder, dug in painfully, fingertips pressing into skin and muscle until Callum wanted to cry out.

“Ye were fourth in line tae the title of Laird McAlister,” Ian continued, meeting Rufus’ eye squarely. “Now ye are even further down the line of rightful accession. Do ye really think that ye were wronged? The clan and the lairdship were never for ye. Ye mother took what she should not, and she took it by foul means. She murdered ye own father, Rufus.”

Rufus was shaking his head, eyes wild. “My mother was a saint. Everything she did, she did because she knew I ought tae have the lairdship. My weak, dull brothers could never have managed.”

“But they have managed,” Maggie spoke up. “Clan McAlister has never had such peace. No famine, no plague, no war. People are happy. Say what ye like about my Uncle James, but he has done a wonderful job of running his clan. Ye could not have done better. And what is a lairdship really about, if not the people?”