Page 70 of Highlander’s Evil Side

“I never asked for this life,” Finnegan breathed. “I never asked to be yer twin, yet here I am.” Finnegan stretched his arms wide. “Here for all to see. And I will take back what is mine. Even if that means destroying a few obstacles in my way.”

Fraser shook his head. “We could have—”

“Ye could have done naething. Ye would have sent me away like all the others before or had me put to death.” Finnegan shook his head. “Nae, it is my turn now. I will be laird, and ye will be cast away to live a life of poverty, to live in loneliness.”

Fraser took a step back, his body shaking with anger and remorse as Beitris’s swollen red eyes flashed in his mind. “And Beitris? What will ye do with her? Ye cannot harm her!” Fraser shouted. “I will not let ye.”

“Oh, Brother.” Finnegan clucked his tongue while pacing back and forth. “Ye think she belongs to ye, do ye?” He shook his head. “She doesn’t. She’s never belonged to ye. I’ve always had my eye on her, watching and waiting until the time was right.”

Fraser shuddered, his insides twisting with worry at the implication in Finnegan’s words. “For how long?”

“Since before the celebrations at the Dunbars.” Finnegan chuckled. “I’ve been spying on them for the better part of a year while working for the Sire.” Finnegan gestured towards Murdo, who smiled bitterly. “And that’s when I saw her. Beitris. She visits them often. A fiery thing she is, like a wild mare waiting to be tamed. Strong-willed. Bonnie. Just the way I like them.”

Fraser’s skin ran cold at Finnegan’s words, his bones becoming brittle as if he had shattered through a frozen loch. There was hate in Finnegan’s gaze, a burning desire to consume and destroy. He would break Beitris. Fraser could see it. The thought of it made his legs wobble with fear, and his gaze search for any escape.

“I knew I had to have her. After being alone for so long, why shouldn’t I have her?”

“Ye keep yer hands off her!” Fraser shouted, lunging forward.

He knocked Finnegan to the ground before Murdo could step between them. Finnegan laughed as Fraser straddled him. He punched his brother, aiming for his face, but his arms were seized before he could do any damage. Finnegan laughed as Fraser was pulled off him.

Murdo threw Fraser into the stone wall. Fraser’s head knocked against it, making his vision blur. A dull ache surfaced at the back of his head, one that thudded loudly in his ears. Fraser stepped forward, about to tackle Finnegan once more, but the push of Murdo’s blade at his neck halted any movement. He hissed at the bite of steel cutting into his skin. Tears sprung to his eyes, and he couldn’t stop the influx of Beitris’s smile, her beautiful face, from assaulting him.

Finnegan chuckled while brushing the dirt from his leine, which did nothing to tidy the frazzled garment. “Mother was more than happy to aid me.”

Fraser’s heart stopped. All air left him.

Finnegan looked at his nails, picking the dirt and grime from underneath as he added, “But, I suppose, she doesn’t know all my evil deeds. She certainly doesn’t know about our father.”

Fraser gasped, choking on a sob as a tear slipped down his cheek.

“She wrote to Gordon, asking for Beitris’s hand. For me, ye see. Not for ye.”

“And the village?” Fraser asked hoarsely.

Finnegan ran a hand through his hair, slicking it back. “To lure ye away. I had to speak with our mother to know if my plan was coming to fruition.”

Fraser swallowed the bile rising in his throat. His own mother was against him—his men and his mother. This brother before him was like a disease, sweeping across his lands and taking whomever he befell with him. How could he win? How could he escape when his brother, Finnegan, had already taken everyone close to him? Including their mother.

Finnegan sighed. “I suppose she only wanted to see the good in me. Perhaps,” he said while sauntering towards Fraser, “she never recovered after giving me away. Her guilt was so great she would do anything to rectify the terribleness that befell me.” Finnegan stopped before Fraser. “Of course, she would only agree so long as ye lived. If we merely switched places and ye were sent off to the New World. She only wanted for ye to live.” He tilted his head to the side. “But, do I really wish that for ye?”

“Shall I slit his throat for ye, Finnegan?” Murdo asked, pressing the blade harder into Fraser’s neck.

Finnegan regarded him for a moment. Fraser held his breath, waiting for the word, waiting for death. His eyes turned to the dark ceiling of the cave, staring at the spikes. He prayed for Beitris, for her well-being, for there was nothing he could do. At least, not now. Not while Kenneth and Gavin were being held at sword’s point, staring death in the face themselves.

“Nae,” came Finnegan’s harsh voice. “Not yet.”

Fraser slowly closed his eyes. He still had time. He could still figure a way out of this.

“Take his clothes. If I’m to make the switch, they’ll be expecting me in finer garments, now, won’t they?”

Men surged around him. Men he recognized and men he did not. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Gavin and Kenneth were led in at sword’s point. Gavin teetered on his feet. Blood soaked his leine where the arrow pierced through. He needed a healer, but there was none to come by, and he doubted Finnegan would offer any aid in the matter.

Fraser was very still as they stripped him, hoping if he obeyed they would leave Gavin and Kenneth alone. They took his leine and tights, donning him in Finnegan’s tattered garments and ill-fitting boots.

“And what of Beitris’s father?” Fraser called while watching Finnegan stalk towards the light at the end of the cave, where his horse and sword lay, still waiting for his return.

“He’s about to be rescued, dear brother,” Finnegan called without turning around. “By the honorable Laird MacClery.”

“And my men?”

Finnegan glanced over his shoulder, flashing an evil grin. “Oh, fear not, Brother. They will be released once I am good and wed. Off to the New World with ye.” He cackled bitterly while tossing back his head. “And of course, by New World, I mean dead and gone.” He nodded to Murdo. “Get everything ye can out of him about Castle Dunnegan and the elder lairds. If we’re to succeed in our plans, we must get all the information we possibly can. Then slit his throat.”

Murdo bowed his head. “Of course, Laird MacClery.”