Page 45 of Kilty as Sin
“Do ye recognize me, devil? Aye, ‘tis how I’ve thought of ye for years, as the devil.BastardorArsehole—those names are too kind.”
MacGill was scrambling away from Barclay’s steady march. “Who—who are ye? I swear to the heavens, I’ve never seen ye afore, but ye look as I did decades ago.”
“Aye, I do,” Barclay laughed. “My mother told me I was yer verra copy in appearance. I like to think I turned out a better human, though,” he added, slashing his sword once through the air in what seemed an impatient gesture.
“We are related?” MacGill hazarded.
Grace’s gaze was flying between the two men. They didn’t look so similar, other than the dark hair and gray-green eyes—although she’d always thought Barclay’s were warmer, full of laughter. But MacGill had said Barclay looked like him as a younger man?
MacGill was handsome, aye, but couldneverhave been as handsome as her Barclay!
Barclay was grinning, aye, but the same way a shark might grin. No one could suppose this show of teeth was anything other than a threat.
“I am hurt, Father, that ye still cannae see the truth.”
“Father?” MacGill repeated in a choked voice, still backing toward where Grace stood. “A…son?”
Barclay was MacGill’s son?
Grace sucked in a gasp. Suddenly, the few stories he’d told her about his childhood made sense. “His son,” she repeated softly.
Mayhap nottoosoftly, because MacGill’s gaze landed on her. “I need a son.” His tone was near frantic, as if he couldn’t process what was happening. “I married for one. Although I dinnae want to be married to a whore.”
When Barclay roared, Grace stepped forward instinctively.
“He didnae touch—” she began, only to bite off her defense with a yelp when MacGill grabbed her, first by her hair, then by her shoulder.
Before she could react, he’d pulled her against him and held his blade across her body, making his intentions clear. Barclay froze, his own sword half-raised, his expression dark.
Grace met his eyes and tried to project calmness. “I’m unhurt,” she murmured.
“For now,” MacGill snarled. “Tell yer lover to cease his attack!”
“Ye were the one who attacked him,” she pointed out primly. “And how do ye ken he’s my lover? Mayhap ‘twas another finely made young man who swept me off my feet on my journey back to my father’s home?”
As MacGill growled, Barclay shook his head, something like exasperation—and affection—creeping into his expression.
“Grace, dinnae antagonize the bastard.”
Inexplicably, Grace felt herself grinning. “Besides,” she said, holding Barclay’s gaze, but speaking to MacGill, “he’syerson.Yetalk to him.”
“He’s no’ my son,” MacGill rasped from behind her.
“He certainly looks like yer son.”
“If I had a son, I’d no’ need to put up with whining, needy wives like ye!”
Whining? Needy? The puir women were likely just crying over the way he hurt them, and hekilledthem for it?
Grace’s stomach churned with disgust, but she didn’t allow herself to shudder. Barclay had come back for her, and that alone meant she was walking on air. She was invincible.
Usually, that was the sort of thing a character in a story would say or think right before the bad guy swooped in and did something truly horrible…but Grace just smiled. She knew this was just moments away from her happy ending.
“I’m devastated,Father, that ye refuse to claim me.” Barclay’s eyes glittered, his tone bland. “Or at least, I would be, had I no’ years to think ye the verra devil for the way ye hurt my mother.”
“Yer mother…” MacGill shook his head. “Who was yer mother?”
“Nae one important.” Barclay began to stalk forward once more. “The daughter of one of yer crofters. Ye took her against her will, got her with child, then refused to help her. Her father tossed her out, and she did what was needed to survive.”
