Page 43 of Kilty as Sin
“Ye deserve to rot in hell for this!”
To his surprise, her father actually defended himself. “She’s my child, and her future is in my hands! With this marriage to MacGill, her son will rule both clans someday. Why would she fight me on that?”
Barclay yanked the man close, his blade still steady across MacDonald’s shoulder.
“BecauseMacGill is a sadistic son of a bitch who abuses his people and his power. He’ll hurt Grace until she’s dead, and then he’ll find another wife.”
For the first time, something like fear entered the older man’s expression. “Hurt…her?”
“Aye,” Barclay growled, shaking the man’s collar. “Ask me how I ken.”
“How—”
“Because he did the same to my mother!”
With that, he tossed MacDonald away and turned toward the stairs. “Is her chamber this way?”
The lairdshouldhave scrambled to safety. Instead, he hustled after Barclay. “Aye, and MacGill is up there with her, consummating the wedding vows as we speak.”
The thought made Barclay sick, but he told himself it mattered naught. Grace would still be Grace, and his love wasn’t so weak ‘twould turn away from her. Besides, she’d be a widow soon enough.
If even the tiniest hair on her head had been hurt, Barclay couldn’t allow his father to live.
“Sir Hunter!” MacDonald was saying, “is MacGill really so cruel?”
Barclay whirled on him, his naked sword causing the laird to lean away. “Grace tried to tell ye—tell usboth. Aye, MacGill is an evil man, and will take pleasure in hurting yer daughter again and again. She might give him a son—giveyea grandson…but she’ll no’ live to see the lad grow!”
The shock and horror on the man’s face might have redeemed him, but Barclay cared not. He turned back to the staircase, just in time for a man—his sword already bared—to hurtle into the main hall.
“There ye are!” the figure cried, and Barclay wasn’t sure if he spoke to MacDonald or himself.
But then MacGill raised his sword, lowered his head, and barreled across the room. “Prepare to meet yer death!” the man screamed.
Barclay exchanged a shocked glance with MacDonald, who was already backing away nervously, then stepped in front of the charging man with his own blade raised.
If MacGill wanted a fight, he’d found one.
When they slammed together, sparks flew from their blades.
Chapter 9
“Grace!”
At her father’s cry, Grace pulled her attention away from the combatants to see the older man flying toward her, his arms open.
She glanced behind her, wondering if perhaps Father’s favorite hound was behind her, or even a mutton leg. But nay,shewas the one he seemed so intent on embracing.
Why?
“Grace, ye are safe? Unhurt?” he asked as he enveloped her in his arms.
It felt…strange. The way he used to hug her when she was a little girl. “Aye,” she attempted to say, although the word was first stuck in her throat, then muffled against his fur cloak.
He pulled away, his hands on her shoulders, as he examined her. “Yer cheek…” There seemed to be genuine concern in his eyes. “What did ye do to yerself, Grace?”
Ah.Thatfelt more normal. She bristled, rolling a shoulder to throw off one of his hands. “WhatIdid to myself? Ye honestly think I slapped myself this hard?”
Father’s eyes widened, and his free hand rose, his fingertips brushing against her cheekbone. “I—nay, of course no’. He…MacGill hurt ye?”
