Page 49 of Kilted Hate

“Hello, Reginald,” Katherine replied, eyeing the men standing alert and protectively behind him.

“Have you had any success in your search?” he asked, forgoing any pleasantries and getting straight to the point.

Katherine shook her head. “I have not. There is nothing in his study, nor have I garnered anything derogatory from those who reside in the castle. In fact,” she hesitated, feeling the nerves rise within her, “there are only good reports from those that know him.”

Clearly, Reginald sensed her wavering, for his next words were a little harsher. “You must maintain your resistance to his charms, sister. These Scots are cunning, and will try anything to sway you from your path. Remember, you have a duty to your family, to your country.”

Katherine had known it was never going to be easy, but she was a little surprised that her brother discounted her words as though she had not spoken. Besides that, he also looked unusually agitated and jumpy.

“I am confused why you wanted to meet after only one week of me being here, Reginald. Surely, you understand it is going to take more time than that to garner the evidence that you need.”

He snarled, while at the same time, looking about him. “I do not like the idea of you having to be in that castle any longer than necessary.”

But his words didn’t feel like they rang true. She couldn’t say how she knew that, it was just a feeling in her gut. It seemed that her intuition had been working overtime these last few days, andno less now than before. Something seemed to be amiss, but she could not imagine what it was.

“I will return to the castle and continue to look,” she replied.

There was no point in telling Reginald that she no longer believed the laird had killed their father. It was clear her brother was not willing to hear it.

“Yes. The sooner the better. I don’t want Laird MacLeod to see you out here.”

“How could he?” she asked, her suspicions growing at every second.

“Because he is in the village, sister.”

Katherine’s eyes flew wide. “How could you possibly know about?—”

A heart-stopping cry of pain suddenly carried across the air, and gasping in fright, Katherine turned to see where it had come from. At first, she could see nothing, but the cries continued, and desperate to help someone in trouble, she ran from the well and back onto the road.

Gasping in terror, she quickly came upon a sight some way down the road that scared her to death, for there was Domhnall being attacked by a large group of men. Men she recognized. Reginald’s men.

“No,” she screamed, continuing to run toward him.

Reginald was close on her heels, yelling at her.

“Stay back, Katherine. Stay back or you will get hurt.”

But she didn’t care about being hurt. She had to stop them. Forgoing her own safety, she continued on, for she was still some distance away. She had to help him, to save him.

Hardly thinking about how ridiculous her thoughts were, she reached the men attacking the laird and ran straight into the fight. In seconds, one of the men struck her with such force, she was lifted off her feet. Flying backwards through the air, she landed heavily on her back. As air was forced from her lungs, her head hit the ground with a sickening thud, and a searing pain pierced through the back of her skull.

Domhnall had been fighting them off at her approach, but upon seeing her hurt, he let out a mighty roar. His fists swung with such strength and speed that she could hardly keep her eye on them. Unleashing a rage she had never before witnessed, he cut through the men like they were nothing.

Their bodies flew through the air, and even in her injured state, now feeling dizzy and sick, Katherine could hardly fathom his terrifying strength. It was not natural. Not for any man. So astonished was she, that she barely acknowledged her brother and those who had arrived with him, running back into the dense trees from whence they had come.

Domhnall still fought, but distracted as he glanced over at her, he did not see one of his attackers struggling to his feet behind him. With a sword held high, he ran towards the laird, piercing his side.

“Argh,” he screamed.

Spinning towards his assailant, Domhnall grabbed him by the throat and head, and snapped the man’s neck as though it were a twig. The laird’s face was twisted in rage as he scanned all around him, but it became clear that any of those he had not managed to kill had, instead, escaped his wrath by scarpering into the trees.

Only then did Domhnall rush to Katherine’s side.

“Katherine,” he breathed, cradling her with a tenderness that contrasted starkly with the violence she had just witnessed. “Oh, me God, Katherine. I thought they had killed ye.”

Tenderly pulling her into his muscular chest, he gently rocked her back and forth, trying to offer her comfort. After a moment, he pulled her from him and gazed caringly down at her. With his hands still stained with the blood of her brother’s men, he reached up and caressed her cheek.

“I thought I had lost ye,” he whispered. “I can hardly believe ye are still here and alive. Thanks be tae all the gods fer sparing ye.”

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