Page 72 of A Highland Rogue to Ruin

James will never understand. Her sister had said it. Owen had said it. Tormund had said it. The Reverend Father had spoken of clans that didn’t want power consolidated. Tormund had lied. He’d “killed” the lad in a letter to the Crown to save him, so people wouldn’t endanger him. Tormund hadn’t betrayed her at all. He’d loved and honored his brother’s union to Marjorie, and sacrificed everything for the lad. He’d claimed the lad as his own instead, to give him a succession. Gave the lad the idyllic life in a quaint monastery filled with art and literature and song like he and his brother had had. Protected him with every fiber of his being.

“Marjorie’s wee bairn.”

James fell silent.

“Please, brother. It is nay like that. He has nay hurt me at all. I simply feel hurt, for I went to Inverness today—”

“Ye what?” James erupted. “With him? ’Tis half a league and unaccompanied by a guard?”

“Alone.”

James looked even more furious. “Why? I told ye nay to go anywhere without escort.”

She took a deep breath. “I went to find answers. I found documents about Marjorie and I could nay ask ye about it. The Blackfriars have such a large boc-hord and, and, I was made a godmither. Jamie, ye were an uncle, and me, an auntie. All this time.”

“They said she was barren, that she’d displeased Owen.”

She shook her head violently, delved into her explanation, but as James’s fury seemed to rise and he nodded to Angus to mount up, she chased him, gripping his arm.

“Do ye nay see? This is exactly why Tormund kept the lad a secret! Everyone goes to war over the slightest disagreement! This is what Marjorie meant when she was dying!”

He froze, his scowl trained on her.

“Sister. Nay prod this old sore,” he growled ominously.

No, she was going to prod it. Enough silence and secrets and grief! “She said to help him! She meant, help Owen! Owen and Tormund rode to ye for help, but ye and Da attacked them! She said ye’d never understand. So did Tormund! And ye prove them all right! Cease this! He has protected the boy all this time from the likes of everyone who gathers their torches and pitchforks! Because he kens ye’ll never stop aggressing long enough to listen! Ach!”

Frustrated, she threw up her hands and whirled away, the need to find Tormund before her brother did intensifying in her belly, when the thundering of horse hooves rattled the earth, and her demon burst from the trees atop his proud Nykr, flanked by his uncle and Reaper, who had kept true to his word.

…

James and his men rushed toward Tormund on foot as he took in Brighde’s bedraggled constitution, but Brighde made chase.

“Ye dare to come here so boldly,” James seethed, as nearby clans gathered in clusters at the growing discord.

Tormund’s eyes swung to hers as she fought her way through to the front of her clansmen.

“She told my man she needed me,” Tormund seethed back, and he swung down from his saddle, claymore sheathed across his back, the score of red tartans lurching forward as Reaper’s and Niall’s mounts cavorted behind him, energy for a fight ramping up between them.

Tormund dragged her to him with no regard for James watching this time, gripping her upper arms, dipping his head to read her expression. “What has happened, lass, that ye summon me in such distress?”

“I did nay ken if ye’d come,” she breathed back.

“Christ, lass. I’d do anything for ye. Do ye nay believe that?”

At his declaration, he realized…he would. He loved her. He’d do whatever he must to keep her safe, and when Reaper had intercepted him returning from tracking Ghost, alarm in his voice about Brighde in tears, something had snapped within him. All he’d wanted was to get to her, to make sure she was well. He sensed James pause in his periphery at his declaration, holding up his fist to his other men to halt. Yet Tormund’s gaze remained trained on his woman, and his brow furrowed tighter as his eyes roved over her body. She looked exhausted and travel weary. Gone was her sunshine smile. She was always so cheerful and smiling, but her eyes, sore and puffy, infuriated him. Marred by tears were her sparkling blues.

“Who dared to put tears in my angel’s eyes?”

All conflict about the ambush and Ghost vanished. He’d found where Ghost had set camp the night before after making off with all their supplies, nearly an hour from here and yet, abandoned now, and his whereabouts could wait a few moments more while he put Brighde at ease.

“Ye did.”

What? He froze. His mind raced, pricking with unease at her accusation as it mingled with familiar mettle rallying to fight his MacDonald adversary.

“We ken about Goraidh,” she breathed. Silence. His heart began to pound like beaters. Christ. What the hell did Brighde know, exactly?

“I’m right, am I nay?” Her blows kept coming, and it was as if he stood stripped bare before her, for he had no shield for them. “He was born to our siblings? And he nay died?”