Page 69 of Wicked Kilted Highlander

CHAPTERTHIRTY

Darragh began to stir.

"Wha… where am I?" he managed to rasp, blinking owlishly as his vision struggled to adjust to the dim light filtering through dirt-streaked windows. He realized he was in a building. But what was it? And why was he there? He went to move and found to his shock that he could not. He bucked and wriggled as his mind finally registered his predicament. He was tightly bound by ropes, and they were biting cruelly into his flesh.

"Ye've been a thorn in me side fer far too long, Darragh MacDonald," intoned a familiar voice. Darragh looked up to see Gregor standing over him, his pleased expression showing he was clearly relishing the situation. "Now, ye'll pay the price fer yer defiance."

Darragh's eyes flicked around the room, an animalistic desperation underlying his every movement. He tugged at the ropes, the fibers cutting into his skin as he fought against his bindings. But with each futile effort, the realization of his situation grew more apparent.

"Yer plan willnae work," Darragh spat, his voice barely more than a growl. "Me family will come fer me. They'll tear this place apart and find me… and when they dae, I'll be the one tae end ye."

"Bold words from a man trussed up like a pig for slaughter," Gregor taunted, his laughter bitter and cold. "But mark me, Darragh, yer family will suffer the same fate as ye. And when I'm finished, there willnae be a single MacDonald left tae mourn yer passing."

Gregor laughed again, while Darragh's chest heaved with each ragged breath. His mind raced, searching for escape, but he could see no way out of it. He was tied up tightly, powerless to fight against Gregor.

"Ye willnae get away with this," Darragh growled, sweat beads forming on his brow. His massive hands clenched and unclenched, straining against the taut ropes that bound them. Every flex of muscle sent an agonizing jolt of pain up his arms.

"Ah, but I already have, Darragh," Gregor replied coldly, allowing a sinister grin to spread across his face. He stepped closer to his captive, looming over him like a specter in the darkness. "Yer beloved Lara will be naught but a memory when I'm done."

Darragh's nostrils flared, and he shook his head violently, his blond hair whipping about. "Ye'll nae touch Lara!" The words were a snarl, revealing a primal fear beneath his bravado.

"Watch me," Gregor whispered, his voice low and menacing. He drew back his foot, then delivered a swift kick to Darragh's side, reveling in the guttural cry of pain that followed.

"Yer a fool if ye think I'll just lie here and die!" Darragh spat, blood now staining his lips. With renewed fervor, he continued to fight against his restraints. The fibers of the rope creaked under the strain as his muscles rippled with effort despite the pain.

"Then let me enlighten ye," Gregor said, stepping back to survey his handiwork. "Every moment ye waste here, struggling like a fish on a hook, is another moment I’ll spend hunting down yer precious kin."

"Ye bastard," Darragh muttered, seething with hatred. But Gregor only chuckled, clearly intoxicated by power.

"Perhaps," he conceded. "But it's a title I'll gladly bear if it means ridding meself of the blight of the MacDonalds and MacLeans once and for all. Ye and Lara ruined me plan when ye came here, but I’ll be the laird of the MacLeans soon enough. If When MacNeil kidnapped Lara, I realized maybe her disappearance was a blessing in disguise. It was easy to convince MacLean to betroth his other daughter to me. Once we marry, Gil and Quinn will prove an easy target, and Harris must die someday so why nae give him a helping hand, eh?" He chuckled, clearly pleased with himself. Darragh mentally kicked himself for not having realized what a threat the maniac posed.

"Ye willnae win, Gregor," Darragh growled, determined to show no weakness. Yet inwardly he was struggling against the terror that was chilling his marrow. To think of his own family being murdered and then Lara and her family too, by this monster’s hand, was unbearable. But he would not give in. "Even if ye kill me, someone else will rise up against ye. Yer reign will end."

"Ah, but that's where ye’re wrong," Gregor replied, bending down and leaning in so close that their faces were mere inches apart. The coldness in his eyes seemed to freeze Darragh in place. "For with each life I take, my power grows. And soon, nae man will dare defy me."

"Someone always will," Darragh said through gritted teeth. "And when they dae, ye'll fall twice as hard as ye've tried tae make us MacDonald’s fall."

"Bold words," Gregor mused, straightening up and turning away from his captive. "But ye'll be long dead by then, unable tae see how wrong ye were."

"Damn ye, Gregor!" Darragh roared, renewing his struggle against the ropes. It was a futile effort, but one driven by desperation and the determination to survive in order to fight for his and Lara’s families.

"Ye know, Darragh," Gregor began, the corners of his mouth curling upwards in a sinister smile, "I could just kill ye now and be done with it, but where would the fun be in that?"

"Ye’re a sick man," Darragh spat, putting all the defiance he felt into his glare.

"Perhaps," Gregor conceded, tilting his head to one side as he studied Darragh. "But it's yer own fault fer nae seeing through me sooner. I see ye havenae put the pieces together yet." Gregor feigned disappointment, obviously relishing the confusion that clouded Darragh's expression. "Allow me tae enlighten ye, then."

Once more he bent and leaned in closer, his breath hot and foul against Darragh's ear, and whispered, "Yer Lara is nae more, the poison will have killed her by now."

" I'll—" Darragh's threat was cut off by a sudden, sharp laugh from Gregor.

"Ye'll what?" he taunted. "Kill me? Ye can barely move, let alone fight. Ye cannae accept it, can ye?" Gregor taunted, his voice dripping with malicious delight. "But all the other MacLeans will be joining her soon enough."

He turned on his heel without waiting for a response, leaving Darragh to stew in his own futility and terror.

"Happiness is for the weak, Darragh. I crave something far more potent."

"Tell me, then," Darragh challenged, trying to buy more time. "Let me hear the full extent of yer twisted plan."

Gregor threw back his head and laughed, a dark, guttural sound that seemed to echo through the small, dank space. "Very well. I orchestrated everything - the dirk, the poison - so that ye would be seen as the villain, just another feuding MacDonald. Once ye're disposed of, nothing will stand in the way of me becoming the Laird Maclean."

Darragh's features contorted with disbelief and betrayal, his pain momentarily eclipsed by the shock of Gregor's revelation. The air grew heavier, thick with tension and unspoken promises of retribution.

Darragh seethed silently. Suddenly, he thought he caught a whiff of smoke but thought he must be imagining it. "May yer soul rot in the darkest pits of hell fer what ye've done, Gregor," he cursed.

"Perhaps it will," Gregor mused, his gaze lingering on Darragh. "But until that day comes, I shall revel in the power I’ve seized and the chaos I’ve sown. Goodbye, Darragh."

With that, Gregor turned away from Darragh and walked away. Darragh was left to wrestle with the bitter sting of defeat, and the worryingly thickening smoke that was gradually invading the room… and if he wasn’t mistaken, he could hear the faint crackling of fire…

"Sir, we must leave now," one of Gregor’s men said, hurrying in through the door, anxiety creasing his brow. "We've lingered too long; questions will be raised if we dinnae return home soon."

"Very well," Gregor conceded, tearing his gaze away from Darragh's anguished form.

"May yer death be slow and painful," Gregor called to him, satisfied the fire his men had set had taken hold. With one final glance at Darragh, he exited the building with his man, and Darragh was left alone in the smoke, the crackle of flames drawing ever closer.