Page 54 of A Rogue and a Noble Lass

She was still alive!

He roared, bringing his sword to bear with so much power it could have shaken a mountain. The guards did not stand a chance.

Blood dripped from his sword and his wounds. Logan held his sword in a tight grip and turned his head, angling it towards Warnock. The man had hauled Beitris towards him, a blade at her throat. Her neck was tilted back and Warnock’s fingers dug deep into her skin.

“I wondered if ye would return tae me, son.”

“I am nae here for ye.”

“I see that. Ye hae turned yer back on me, traitor,” Warnock hissed. Then, he laughed. “I should nae hae expected anything more from ye. Yer blood was always tainted, but at least when Beitris becomes my wife our child shall be pure.”

“She will never be yers,” Logan rasped.

“She already is. Just as ye are mine. Now, put that sword down.”

“Let her gae,” Logan replied, maintaining his grip on his sword.

He took a step forward, but as he did so, Warnock pressed the blade more tightly against Beitris’ throat.

“I can kill her quicker than ye can get tae me, and believe me I will nae hesitate tae dae it. If I must I’ll make a wife of Knox’s widow after I kill him, since ye failed in yer task.”

“The mission was false. Abigail dinnae kill herself because of him. It was because of ye. Ye forced her intae a marriage she dinnae want. She was miserable,” Logan snarled.

Warnock’s eyes widened. “Nae! She was a good lass. She did my bidding, unlike ye. Ye were always disobedient nae matter how much I tried tae teach ye. Perhaps a night in the pit will help remind ye of yer place.”

“Logan…” Beitris said in a strangled voice.

Her words were silenced as Warnock tightened his grip. The sound of Logan’s name emerging from Beitris’ lips emboldened Logan. It dispelled all the trauma he’d suffered at the hands of Warnock over the years and reminded him that he was more than the boy who had been shaped by Warnock’s cruelty. He could make his own decisions and live his own life.

“It’s over, Da,” Logan spat the word like an insult. “The others are on their way. Soon the Gilmours will join them as well. Yer army will be destroyed, yer lands seized, and this Keep shall be left abandoned. Yield and answer for yer crimes. There may yet be mercy for ye, even if ye dinnae deserve it.”

“There is nae such thing. But if I am tae be defeated I can at least prevent ye from getting what ye want. Never forget that I gave ye life. I am the only one with power here, and I will finally claim the debt that is owed tae me.”

Warnock must have understood that he wouldn’t live long enough to make Beitris a bride, and so the only use she had was as a way to torture Logan again. He stiffened with tension but knew that even he couldn’t span the distance between them quicker than Warnock’s blade.

But Beitris was Beitris. She was a Knox, and she did not fear pain.

She screamed as she twisted away from Warnock. In her movements, Logan noticed the marks of his training. She turned her head, the blade scraped against the bottom of her jaw, leaving a deep gash from which blood poured. He hated to see her fair skin painted crimson. She tumbled to her knees and shook as she clutched her broken face, but she was free, and pain was better than death.

“Nae!” Warnock said, turning to her, but Logan was already sprinting towards him.

“Ye are mine!” he cried, raising his sword.

Warnock turned, blocking the blow. Logan was close enough to look into the man’s black eyes.

“Ye think ye can kill me? Ye are naething but an insolent pup. This time I’ll bury ye,” Warnock hissed, bringing his blade to bear with all the strength his evil heart could summon.

Logan felt a lump in his throat. Even though he was a grown man, he forgot himself as he looked into the eyes of his father. That malevolent gleam was so familiar to him, taking him back to when he had been on his knees as a boy, hauled around because he hadn’t been strong enough to resist. His mind creaked and cracked and his hands started to tremble.

He had fought so many men over the years and none of them had given him pause like this, but none of them were his father.

And Warnock sensed his hesitation.

“Aye, look at ye,” he cackled in a mocking laugh. “Ye think ye can make yerself a hero by turning yer back on yer kin? They will hae ye after they are done with me. Dae ye think she will ever love ye? Ye should never hae been born, Logan. Ye were a mistake. She is bleeding, and soon ye will join her.”

Warnock thrust his sword forward in a savage motion. Logan only just managed to deflect it at the last, for he was stilled by Warnock’s words. The voice twisted in his mind and touched something deep, something he would much rather have forgotten. He could feel his resolve failing and he wondered if he was strong enough to go through with this, if, after all his bluster, he was really what Warnock thought.

“Ye failed her just as ye failed Abigail,” Warnock hissed.