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Varrik stood there and saw his life crumbling before his eyes. The only good and pure thing he had ever had in this world had been his love for Fiona, and now that was being twisted into something evil, as though his feelings weren’t good enough for her.

He looked at the faces around him and saw their disappointment, their anger. He knew that they would never look at him as someone noble, worthy of their respect. He was just a Viking to them, a brute who took whatever he wanted and flaunted the rules of gods and men. His heart sank as he could feel the life he wanted slipping away from him. For a moment, he had actually believed that he could have had a future with Fiona, that through her, he could gain the redemption he sought and bring a family into the world. The kiss he had shared with her had opened his eyes to new possibilities, but he was not going to be given the chance to explore them.

And then there was Lotta. The conniving woman was the only person who didn’t seem offended or enraged. She sat there like a puppeteer with a grin on her face.

Well, Varrik had been used by Rune Dolph. He had cut the strings a long time ago and wasn’t going to let anyone else control him. There was still a way for him to redeem himself, still a way for him to do something good, at least for other people.

He stepped forward; his barrel chest stuck out proudly, his head held high. Laird Fletcher looked at him with contempt. Alec Fletcher had returned to his seat now. Varrik had found the challenge laughable. As if he could ever be harmed by that whelp. It was almost insulting. Fiona sat there, humbled and shaken. Varrik gazed into her eyes, trying to look at her for as long as he could because soon enough, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to see her again—ever.

“You’re right, Laird Fletcher. I did kiss Fiona without her consent. I saw her alone, and I took my chance for no other reason than I wanted to,” Varrik said dryly. If anyone had actually bothered to believe him, they would have known that he was lying, but they had already made up their minds, and this flimsy confession was enough to confirm their dark suspicions. “I forced myself on her because I couldn’t help myself, and my only regret is that I’ve been caught. But I’m man enough to accept the consequences for my actions. But I acted alone. The other Vikings had nothing to do with this, and they do not deserve to be punished for my crimes. They have conducted themselves with honor since they have arrived here. It is only myself who has transgressed. Take me, imprison me, kill me if you must, but give my men the chance they deserve. It is only I who has wronged you.”

The words slipped out of his dry lips, catching on emotion, for he knew that with each one of them, he sealed his doom. He was oddly calm, though, as though it was a relief to surrender himself to destiny. No longer did he have to live in anguish about what kind of man he was going to be. No longer did he have to torture himself with his mistakes of the past. All of these people might have thought him a villain, but in the end, he realized that it didn’t matter. He knew he had done nothing wrong, and what’s more important, Fiona knew as well. The only thing he lamented was that she would be consigned to marry a man she did not love, although if he knew her as well as he thought he did, then she would surely find a way to wriggle out of this betrothal.

His men would be able to continue living in the village as well. They could raise families. Lotta would probably marry another one; she didn’t seem to particularly care who she got married to, just as long as she got married. But at least they wouldn’t be run out of the Highlands and branded as thieves and murderers and villains. If his life was a price he had to pay to ensure this, then it was one that he thought was worth paying. What was one life compared to the well-being of so many others?

Laird Fletcher had taken control of proceedings from Laird Callan. The man was trembling with anger, and when he spoke, spittle flew from his mouth. His spindly hands were clenched into tight fists, and he looked as though he might topple over at any moment.

Guards came to stand beside Varrik at Laird Fletcher’s order and escorted him away. Varrik did not resist. He merely cast a last, lingering glance toward the woman he loved. At least he had tasted happiness. At least he had been shown the kind of life he could have had, and he would think about it if indeed he managed to get to Valhalla. He wished he had had the time to perform some other great deeds, but he hoped that he had done enough with the time he had.

Fiona’s eyes were filled with tears as he turned his head and walked away, each step taking him one pace closer to his final moment.

Fiona watched helplessly as Varrik walked away. The image of him was blurred by her tears, and her heart was in conflict. She hated him for lying like that, and she hated all of her kin for believing him so readily. She hated herself too, because at one time, not too long ago, she would have believed him as well. But now she knew him better. There had been nothing scandalous about their kiss, nothing forced, nothing sinful. It had been the happiest, purest moment of her life, and she clutched it close to her heart, vowing never to forget it, vowing that the true memory of Varrik would live on in her. There was no doubt in her heart now that she loved him, but he was destined to die. She glared at the enemies around her: Laird Fletcher, Alec, Lotta, even her own father was unwilling to give Varrik the benefit of the doubt. It was an impossible situation, and all she could do was cry.

After Varrik had been taken away, Fiona tried to protest again. Her weak voice filled the air, but just as she began, she was cut away.

“Ye dinnae need tae defend him. Ye are a sweet lass for always wanting tae see the best in people, but there’s no good in that Viking. I knew he looked suspicious the moment I saw him,” Laird Fletcher said.

“I’m sorry I didnae see this before,” Laird Callan said in a rueful tone. He looked ashen, shaking his head in disbelief. “I wanted tae believe in them. I was sae desperate tae make my clan strong that I didnae think about the risks properly.”

“Ye should nae blame yerself. These Vikings are cunning. But we dinnae need tae worry about them now. We will be strong taegether, and the ones that are left can dae the menial work that they were always made tae dae. We will make sure that the Highlands stays for the Highlanders, and this marriage will only prove that tae the other clans in the area. We will nae hae tae worry about any threats like this again, and we’ll make an example of this Viking tae ensure that nobody ever dares tae treat our women like this again,” Laird Fletcher said.

There were shouts and cries all around of support for the laird’s words.

“Aye, Fiona, ye hae been through a lot. Ye dinnae need tae defend the man just because ye think nothing wrong happened. In fact, I am ashamed that I was about tae be married tae this man! I’m glad that he revealed his true colors before he became my husband. I’m just thankful that ye were saved for a worse fate. The sooner ye get married, the better. Then ye will be safe,” Lotta said, taking a malicious delight in the situation.

“Indeed,” Laird Fletcher said gravely. “We must act without delay, and I think it’s for the best that none of the Vikings attend the wedding. I cannae say I trust them. After all, the only thing we hae tae gae on is the word of a Viking, and that is nae worth much.”

Fiona was stricken with sorrow. Everything was happening around her so quickly it was all a blur. She tried to speak, but nobody was paying any attention to her. They only saw her as a victim, weak, as helpless as a child. Her sorrow turned to anger as she realized that this would be her life now. She would never know freedom again. The kiss was her last taste of liberty, and it was going to die along with Varrik.