Page 68 of Stealing a Kilted Heart

And then he found it. Turning a corner, he saw two men standing guard outside a room, waiting impatiently because they could not joining their fellow soldiers in the fight. The moment they spotted him, they both unsheathed their weapons and began to advance, but Knox was ready for them.

His boots left bloody prints behind as he approached the two men with caution. The first to attack was the larger of the two, throwing himself at Knox with a cry, their swords meeting in the air as Knox parried the blow. The other man soon joined him, trying to circle Knox so he could attack him from behind, but Knox blocked his way, keeping him where he was.

The odds were already against him, he wasn’t going to let him lessen them.

The sound of steel against steel filled the hallway, the ringing noise echoing off the walls. With a feint to the left, Knox caught the smaller man by surprise, forcing him to leave an opening he immediately took advantage of. Sending his blade in an arc, Knox struck the man down, slicing him from shoulder to hip, but he didn’t have time to rest before the other attacked once more, forcing him to step back.

He was a more formidable opponent, their swords meeting again and again with relentless power. But when the man went for what he thought could be the killing blow, he left himself unguarded, too confident in his own speed, and all it took for Knox was one swipe of his blade to strike him dead, watching as he fell to the floor.

And then the way was open.

Falling to his knees in the puddles of blood, Knox looked for the keys to the door and found them on the larger man. He quickly unlocked it, blinking as he tried to adjust to the dim light of the room compared to the bright, fire-lit night outside.

But there Fia was, pacing back and forth. She came to a sudden halt when the door opened.

And there was Alistair, standing right in front of her.

“Laird Gordon,” Knox said, wiping the blood off his blade onto his sleeve. “This is a new low, even fer ye.”

“Is it?” Laird Gordon asked with a humorless chuckle. “I’d say it’s a low fer ye, considerin’ it was yer man who came tae me.”

It was a cruel remark, intended to hurt Knox, and it succeeded. Thoughts of failing as a laird because of Callum’s betrayal had already been plaguing him, torturing him moment after moment, ever since he had found out about it. The more he thought about it, the more he considered all the things he could have done differently—he could have been more patient with Callum, he could have had him learn under Magnus or one of the elders, he could have spoken to him about his performance and his desires. He could have done many things, which may or may not have worked in the end. But instead, he had allowed his anger and his frustration to get the better of him.

There was one thing for certain; he would never make such a mistake again. But no matter how much he blamed himself, he also couldn’t help but think Callum could have come to him instead of going to the enemy. He had been the one to throw everything away with his arrogance and his self-centered attitude. The way he had hurt Fia, just for a foolish bet, the way he had betrayed his entire clan for his personal gain, the way he had proven himself reckless and useless time and time again—it all spoke of a man who was bound to betray his own people if the circumstances favored such a choice.

But knowing that didn’t make the situation hurt any less.

“Callum made his decision,” Knox said through gritted teeth. “An’ it is on him. He decided tae betray everythin’ an’ everyone he kens. An’ if he betrayed his own clan, dae ye nae think he will betray ye, too?”

Letting out a chuckle, Gordon shook his head. “He can try,” he said. “But I ken he isnae loyal tae me anyway. Our alliance is merely one o’ convenience. I will hold nay grudge once he decides it is nay longer beneficial.”

“But he will if ye decide so first,” Knox pointed out. “He isnae one tae take such things lightly.”

“Then I shall simply have him killed,” Gordon said, so casually that Knox couldn’t help but shiver. “Somethin’ ye should have done a long time ago.”

Gordon was an imposing figure in the room, tall and broad-shouldered, with grey eyes that reminded Knox of the steel in his hands. There was no warmth to him. The sneer he seemed to perpetually wear twisted the scar that ran from his brow to his cheekbone, and even Knox, who had seen his fair share of evil men in his life, felt uneasy around him, as though he exuded a strange aura that permeated everything around him.

“I’m nae like ye. I’m nae a monster,” Knox said and then his gaze slid to Fia, who was staring at him, her eyes glinting with unshed tears. “Are ye alright?”

She managed a nod, but before Knox could say anything else, Gordon stepped in front of her, cutting her off from his view. Slowly, Fia backtracked, putting several paces’ worth of distance between her and Gordon, but whether he didn’t notice or he didn’t care, Knox didn’t know. He only knew that Gordon’s gaze never once left him, and he could only be thankful for that. He didn’t want Fia to be his target. If he could keep all of his attention, if he could keep him away from her, then they had a chance.

“How marvelous that ye came here tae save a peasant lass,” Gordon said, making Knox grit his teeth to stop himself from responding. “If only yer faither could see ye no… what dae ye think he’d say?”

“Leave me faither out o’ this,” Knox said in a low, venomous tone. “An’ out o’ yer mouth.”

Ever since that day, when his parents died in what everyone deemed an accident, Knox was convinced it had been Gordon who killed them. He had never had any solid proof, he had never had anything other than this gut feeling and a few coincidences that pointed him the right way, but he knew it in his bones. He knew that he was the one responsible, and no matter what anyone said, they couldn’t change his mind.

Gordon laughed, but the sound lacked any warmth, any mirth. “Ye’ve always been right, ye ken,” he said, as he began to circle him. Knox stood still, watching him from the corner of his eye, waiting to see what he would do. He wasn’t going to fall for his taunts, not when Fia’s life was at stake.

“About what?”

“About yer parents,” Gordon said. “Yer maither, when she died… she squealed like a pig.”

A gasp sounded from the other side of the room, where Fia had hidden herself in the shadows. Momentarily, Knox glanced at her to find her half-lit by the light of a torch, her hand covering her mouth as she looked at Gordon with disbelief and disgust written plainly on her features. When she glanced at Knox, her eyes were shining with tears.

White-hot rage gripped Knox then, all-consuming and blinding. Reality came crashing down upon him, the truth slicing through him like a blade. He had always known; always. But hearing it from Gordon’s lips, finally having this confirmation that he had been right all this time, filled him not only with a need for vindication, but also with unbridled fury, the dam inside him finally broken.

How dared he speak of his mother like that?