Page 6

Niall hadn’t been a stranger over the past moons. Once every few days, he deigned to visit Darach, to ask him if he’d reconsidered his decision not to join him.

The answer had always been no.

But Niall wasn’t giving up. He always came back.

Every time Darach saw him, he remembered the assassins he’d sent after him. Six of the fuckers. Six times his brother had tried to end him. The memory stoked his hatred, kept him warm even on the bleakest days.

And here Niall was … again, like a vulture come to pick the flesh off his bones.

“It was a worthy effort, I’ll grant you,” his brother went on, folding his arms across his chest. He wore a hooded leather cloak slicked with rain and had pushed down his hood, his gaze never leaving Darach’s face. “You killed seven of them and badly injured three others. No small feat.” He paused then. “Your skills could be useful to me. Idra’s my general, but if you were to agree, I’d make her step aside for you.”

Staring up at him, Darach imagined driving the sword he’d gripped earlier straight through his brother’s throat. The image was so vivid he could almost feel the resistance of flesh beneath the blade.

Letting the fantasy linger, he gave a soft snort. What was Niall up to? He didn’t trust him enough not to have him in irons and shoveling shit all day. There was no chance of him taking Darach at his word and letting him walk around the fort unfettered, let alone leading his warriors.

“And if I did agree to this?” he growled then, deciding he’d play Niall’s game. He had nothing to lose. “What’s your price?”

Niall’s blue eyes glinted, as if he’d been waiting for Darach to ask him this. “Complete obedience, of course. You’d agree to have a binding sigil … tattooed on your arm.”

Darach clenched his hands so tightly his knuckles creaked. Of course. His shitbag brother wanted another weapon. Another creature he could bend to his will.

“Why not drag me to the tattooist and do it now?” He winced as his swollen lips stung, and he tasted the metallic tang of blood once more. There wasn’t a part of his body that didn’t hurt. “Like you did with the Circines.”

His brother’s brow furrowed. “I could … although I didn’t force the Circines to take tattoos. They just didn’t know what was happening until it was too late.”

Darach frowned. He’d wondered how the Circines had ended up leashed to his brother. Poor bastards. Pity swelled in his chest, yet he ignored it. He couldn’t let himself get distracted. Not with his brother standing just a couple of feet away. “You tricked them?”

“Aye … told them it was a loyalty mark. All I asked in return for building them this fine fort.” Niall paused then. “But I won’t deceive you.”

“Why not?”

Niall’s expression veiled. “I want you to know what you’re agreeing to.” Something flickered in the depths of his eyes. “We’re kin, after all.”

Darach studied him. Was this a game to his brother?

However, just for a moment, he considered giving in. If he did, would he get to see Ailsa? Would she be the one to perform the tattoo? The way things were going, he’d never set eyes on her again, but if he agreed to be bound, he likely would.

His gaze dropped to the iron shackles biting into his ankles. Freedom had become an obsession these past moons, but he wasn’t yet desperate enough to trade one set of chains for another.

Raising his chin, he marked the glint in Niall’s eye. The triumph.

“Why are you doing all this?” he asked. “You already have an army back in Braewall … isn’t it enough for you?”

His brother’s lips curved. “Most of them are more loyal to the kingdom … than to me. I can’t trust them. I want absolute control over a force who will follow me anywhere.” He shrugged then. “Sure, I’d like them willing … but I’ll take them either way.”

Darach’s stomach hardened. For the first time since arriving at Craeg Aonaranach, he couldn’t imagine a way forward. But he had a choice; he could go down fighting, or he could die on his knees. Did he want to become his brother’s puppet, like every other warrior in this fort?

Niall was used to getting what he wanted, and he’d push and push until he did. But they shared the same blood, the same strong will, and Darach knew, with a sinking feeling in his belly, that his pride was too great.

He couldn’t give Niall what he wanted.

Even if it would get him out of these chains.

“Shove your offer up your arse,” he said finally. Gods, it even hurt to talk. “You might as well kill me now, Niall. I’ll never join you. I’ll never fight beside you … and certainly not as your minion.”

A brittle silence followed.

Meanwhile, the rain lashed down on the thatched roof of the hut. Water forced its way in, running down the timbered walls and dripping onto the pallet where Darach lay.