Page 49 of Reviving Her Highland Spirit

Rufus bared his teeth. “Shut up, ye slattern! Your precious Uncle James stole more than the lairdship from me. I should have married Lyla, although she was a worthless whore and I’m better off without her.”

Callum flinched, eyes automatically going down to the little scar on his wrist, where Lady Lyla’s poultice had drawn out the badness from his cut and soothed his pain. He remembered her talking to him that morning, before he and Maggie went out for their morning ride.

“Ye are a good man, Callum. Ye have made her so happy. What can we do tae return the favor?”

Callum shifted, not meeting her eye. “I can’t think of anything.”

“Maybe ye have family ye would like to have cared for? Elderly parents, siblings? We owe ye, Callum. I won’t forget that.”

She had been so kind, but not condescending. She’d treated him like a person, like somebody who mattered. Not useless, not a tool, not someone to be ignored. Not like a thing. Callum swallowed hard, glancing sideways at Rufus.

“Lady Lyla is a good woman,” he said, before he realized he’d said it. Rufus’ head whipped around, eyes boring into Callum.

“Hold ye tongue,” he snapped.

Callum sucked in a breath, anger surging up inside him. “Ye ought not tae talk tae me like that, Rufus. Have I not done enough for ye?”

Rufus stared up at Callum as if he were a dog that had suddenly learned to talk. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.

“Callum,” Maggie said, her voice small. “Please, put down ye sword. Ye won’t be hurt - neither of ye,” she glanced sideways at Ian for confirmation. “I can promise ye that.”

Callum swallowed again. His mouth was so dry. He longed for a sip of water. Sweat was trickling into his eyes, and he kept blinking it away.

“Oh, I see how this is,” Rufus said, his voice deceptively soft. “It’s this wench, isn’t it? Little Lady Margaret McAlister. Ye want her, don’t ye, Callum? Oh, I cannot believe it. I spent all my time and energy and what coin I had on raising ye, and ye end up being a pathetic, weak-willed man, swayed by a woman. Is it true, Callum? Look at me when I talk tae ye!”

The hand on Callum’s shoulder was a painful, burning brand down, and he just knew that there’d be an awful bruise there later.

“Callum!” Rufus roared. “Do as I say and kill these worthless usurpers. Start with the whore. Do it now!”

Callum had had enough. Every man had his breaking point, and Callum had met his, straight on. He yanked his shoulder out of Rufus’ iron grip, whipping around to look him in the eye. Rufus’ eyes widened, and he backed up as far as the wall would let him.

“Don’t ye speak tae me like that!” Callum hissed. “Don’t speak tae her like that! Maggie was right - how could I have been so stupid? Ye words are poison, and ye have been dripping them in my ears since I was five years old! All ye want is bloodshed and revenge, and ye wanted me to think of ye as a noble hero. Well, ye are not. Ye are a liar, and a murderer. Ye are the usurper, Rufus.”

Rufus blinked, swaying back on his heels. There was a moment of silence, then he broke into a mirthless sneer.

“Well, even the worm turns, it seems. If only I’d left ye on that battlefield tae die. Maybe I’d have found someone more grateful. Still, too late now. I suppose ye plan tae put up ye sword now?”

Callum lifted his chin. “There is nothing else tae do. I’m sorry, Rufus. There is nowhere else for us tae go.”

“Ah, no, Callum, lad. That’s not the attitude.”

“Callum,” Maggie spoke again, and all eyes turned to her. She held out a hand, palm up. “Come on, Callum. Come with us. Please.”

Callum let his sword fall, tip dropping to scrape the filthy stone floor. He reached out tentatively, his eyes fixed on Maggie’s hand. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath.

Then there was a flurry of a filthy, ragged dark cloak and a flashing silver blade, and the scene changed.

Rufus had Maggie pulled back against him, an arm wrapped around her shoulders, pinning her arms to her sides. He had a viciously sharp dagger in his other hand, and the point pressed against Maggie’s exposed throat.

“Well, now,” Rufus said conversationally, “I think we ought tae have a proper discussion about this situation, eh?”

21

It was as if time had stopped. All Callum could see was the wicked point of Rufus’ knife, resting against Maggie’s throat. He watched Maggie swallow, throat working, making the knife glitter in what gloomy light there was in here.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move. All Callum could do was stand and stare, his heart beating and his mouth dry as seasoned firewood.

Ian moved forward, sword raised, but Rufus swiveled around to face him.