Page 78 of Highlander’s Evil Side

Chapter Thirty-Three

Fraser

Fraser stared at the people crowding the kirk. They stared at him in confusion. Several of his men were already unsheathing their swords. He found Ian, looking between him and Finnegan, his mouth ajar.

“What is this?” Laird Gordon shouted while stumbling towards him. “Who are ye?”

Men gathered around Finnegan, brandishing their swords, a cruel smirk on their faces. Fraser’s eyes narrowed at the men wearing his colors—Logan, Wallace, and Finely. They were the same men who had taken the gold, the same ones who had turned him over to Murdo. They were not the MacClery Clan’s men. They were thieves and brigands, those belonging to Finnegan.

“That man,” said Finnegan while pointing a finger at Fraser, “is the one who burnt down the western village.”

There was a pregnant pause as men and women stared at Fraser, their mouths hanging open. Several maids clutched at their chests. The silence swallowed everything whole. All Fraser could hear was his heart thudding against his chest.

“That is a lie,” said Fraser while stepping forward.

The whistle of swords being unsheathed gave him pause. Scott lunged forward, pushing his body between Fraser and the MacClery men, those who wore the MacClery colors and had not given him over to Murdo and the brigands. They stared back at him with confusion and worry. Ian had his sword in hand, yet he looked between Fraser and Finnegan, not knowing where to point his blade.

“He speaks the truth!” Scott shouted. “Listen to yer laird and not the scoundrel before ye.”

“Listen to me!” shouted Finnegan while dragging Beitris towards him. “For I am yer laird.”

“Mother,” Fraser pleaded, his eyes landing on Helga standing in the corner of the room. “How can ye help him?” He gestured to Finnegan. “He killed Father, Mother. Please, only ye know the truth. Tell them.”

Helga gasped, her hand clutching at her chest. She turned towards Finnegan, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Is it true?” she whispered.

Finnegan did not answer. His eyes narrowed, and his hand went to his hilt.

“Please, tell me it’s not true,” Helga sobbed.

“Please, Mother,” Fraser pleaded. “Speak the truth. Tell them it is I, their laird, and not this man before them.”

Helga grasped her hands in front of her. All eyes turned to her. She took a step back, bumping her shoulders against the wall. Her eyes held Fraser’s. He knew she knew him, knew exactly who and what he was. Fraser reached for her, but the shake of her head made him pause.

“Come, dear Mother,” said Finnegan while holding out his hand towards her. “Speak the truth. Ye know it is I, Fraser, Laird of the MacClerys and not this fool of a man.”

“I-I—” Helga stuttered. Her trembling hands grasped her face as she looked between Fraser and Finnegan.

“Tell them,” Finnegan ground out, his gaze going dark.

“Please,” Fraser begged.

Helga bent forward, wailing into her hands as everyone surrounded her.

“Lady MacClery?” Laird Gordon whispered, coming to her side and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Please, tell us what is going on.”

Helga peaked through her fingers. Her hands slowly slipped from her face, and she stared in horror at Fraser. He had never seen her look so broken at that moment, and now, knowing everything that had happened, Fraser felt pity for his mother—pity to have her husband taken too soon from her and having to keep a secret for so long, one that could destroy the MacClerys.

Helga batted Laird Gordon’s arm away from her and stepped forward. She pressed a hand on the guard’s arms, putting down their swords as she stepped towards Fraser. “I can nae longer lie,” she said bitterly as she turned to Finnegan.

“Don’t ye dare, woman,” said Finnegan, his hand grasping the hilt of his blade. “Ye promised me a life of my own.”

“Aye,” Helga said with a curt nod. “I promised ye a life before I knew what ye did.” She shook her head. “Ye killed yer own Father? Ye hit yer future bride?” She made a face. “How can I help ye now? After everything ye have done.”

“Then it is true,” said Laird Gordon while nodding towards Fraser. “He is the true Laird MacClery.”

Fraser watched his mother striding towards him, looking upon him with love and sorrow. “It is true,” she whispered, stopping in front of Fraser. She stroked the side of his face while smiling sadly up at him. “This is Fraser, Laird of the MacClerys.”

“Mother!” Finnegan shouted, releasing Beitris and stalking forward. “Ye cannot do this to me.”