Page 68 of Highlander’s Evil Side

“Move, now, my laird,” a brigand said bitterly, flashing rotten yellowed teeth.

Murdo chuckled while crossing his arms. “Don’t forget his sword. We can’t have him starting any fights, now can we?”

Fraser stared at the man, his hands still at his side. Murdo tilted his head, waiting for Fraser to move. With a sharp inhale, he unsheathed his sword and threw it on the ground, watching as the brigands quickly picked it up and pointed it at him.

Fraser followed Murdo into the darkness. A man was waiting at the cave, holding out a torch for Murdo to take.

“Ye see, Laird MacClery,” said Murdo, his voice echoing within the cave. “I’ve known of ye for longer than ye think. I’ve seen that face of yers, much longer than I would have liked. ‘Tis a face that has helped me and hindered me.”

“Oh, really,” Fraser said darkly, not knowing what exactly to say to the man—to a man who burnt down villages, who clearly had no conscious guiding him. “I’ve only learned of ye recently.”

“Oh?” Murdo glanced over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow at Fraser. “And how’s that?”

Fraser smirked. “Ye left behind a piece of gold, one that was recognizable by someone under my employ.” He didn’t want to offer Beitris’s name, worried it would only get her into more trouble.

“I will need to be more careful in the future.”

“If ye have one, that is,” Fraser said threateningly.

“The lad has quite a sharp tongue, now doesn’t he,” came a dark voice, one he recognized. It reminded him of his father when he was in a foul mood from long days and stressful nights. The torch flickered in the dark, highlighting a figure standing at the cave’s wall. There was nowhere else to go. Water seeped into his boots and soaked his socks, making Fraser shiver as he squinted into the darkness, trying to see the man staring back at him.

A torch flashed in front of him, making Fraser rear back at the heat nearly biting into his skin. Dots speckled his vision while his eyes adjusted to the other torches being lit in the cave. At first, he thought it was his father smirking back at him, but not quite. This man was younger—Fraser’s age in fact. It was as if the man stole Fraser’s face and was wearing it before him. He had never seen such a dark look on his face, such a bitter sneer.

“Who are ye?” Fraser breathed, lowering his arm and straightening as he stared in his face.

The man laughed darkly.

“This is Finnegan,” said Murdo. “Finnegan, ye must be overjoyed to finally meet Laird MacClery.”

Finnegan smiled darkly, the fire gleaming in his eyes. “Aye, I am. ‘Tis been a long time, Brother.”