Page 88 of Cottage in the Mist
Frazier held his position for a moment, and then loosened his grip. In less than a moment, Bram had seized the advantage, rolling the man beneath him, his own weapon now pressed to Frazier’s throat. Lily sprang back, lifting her hand to her mouth as she watched him with wide, terrified eyes.
“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t slit your throat here and now?” The idea was more than appealing. Rage swelled through him. Anger for his father. His clan. For Robby and for Lily. Damn the bastard all to hell.
He clenched the knife, moving in for the kill.
“Hold,” Iain said, appearing off to Bram’s right, the barked word a command.
“Why?” Bram snarled, looking up as Alec, Ranald and Jeff rushed up beside Iain, their expressions fierce, their claymores at the ready.
“Because, as much as you want him dead,” Iain continued, “it’s better off for us if you let him live. At least for now.” He shot a contemptuous glance at Frazier. “There’s much he can tell us.”
For a moment, Bram’s blood lust was stronger than even his cousin’s logic. But then reason reasserted itself. He needed to know the truth. All of it. With a sigh, he removed the knife and pushed to his feet.
Ranald and Alec moved to contain Frazier and haul him away. Iain knelt to see to Robby. Without thinking, Bram turned to find Lily, only to see Jeff leading her away, his arm around her shoulder. He shouldn’t be jealous. He shouldn’t have feelings for her at all. But he did, damn it. He did. Comyn or no’.
Bram sucked in a breath, and forced himself to turn back to Iain and Robby. “How is he?”
“Breathing. Which for the moment is a good sign.” Iain pushed to his feet, signaling for Geordie, who was hovering nearby. “Did he say who is behind all of this?”
“Aye,” Bram said, struggling with the weight of Frazier’s pronouncement. “’Tis my uncle.”
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Lilly pushed through the brush with only moonlight to steer her. In the distance she could hear the sound of laughter. Either Comyns or the Mackintosh men, neither of whom seemed willing to talk with the other, regardless of the fact that Alec had satisfied both Iain and Bram that there had been no attacks from his people on either Bram or Dunbrae.
If Frazier Macbean was to be believed, the fault lay with Bram’s uncle Malcolm. Lily ducked beneath the low-hanging branch of a rowan tree. Not that that knowledge had seemed to resolve anything. In point of fact, it had only seemed to make Bram angrier and more determined to exact revenge.
Not that he’d shared any of his feelings with her.
For a moment, before Frazier attacked Bram, when he had questioned Bram’s allowing Lily to stay, she’d believed Bram might actually stand up for her. But then he’d issued those hateful words. “Lesser of two evils.” Lesser of two evils, her ass.
She shoved a length of overgrown ivy out of the way, mumbling beneath her breath. But then when Frazier had held her captive, she’d seen something in his eyes. And felt a spark of hope. Until he’d declared for all to hear that she wasn’t his lady.Not that she wanted to be anymore. If he wanted to be ruled by some centuries old blood feud, so be it.
Of course, none of that explained why she was out here in the dark looking for the stupid man. It’s just that she couldn’t help herself. She wanted—no, needed—to be certain he was all right. It had all been rather a lot today. For all of them. But for Bram most of all. His trusted advisor had turned out to be a traitor. And his best friend, though seemingly returned from the dead, still had a long road to recovery. Add to that the fact that his uncle had apparently orchestrated his father’s death and well, it was more than most men could handle. Even Bram.
Not that she was excusing him for remaining angry about her heritage. For God’s sake, it wasn’t as if she’d known she was related to Alec. And now it turned out the man wasn’t even the enemy Bram had believed him to be. Although based on the conversation around the campfire earlier, she wouldn’t exactly call them bosom buddies either.
She sighed and skirted a large lichen-covered boulder, the fungus shining silver in the moonlight. At least the blasted mist had dissipated. She paused for a moment, trying to get her bearings. According to Iain, Bram had gone to the river, and if she stood perfectly still she could hear the rushing waters in the distance.
Damn the man. Why couldn’t he have just confronted her head on? Instead of glaring at Jeff and avoiding her altogether. It would have been funny—except that it wasn’t. His rejection hurt. It was like Justin all over again. Except this time she wasn’t willing to let it go without a fight. Maybe it was too late. But as far as she could see, she hadn’t come all this way just to give up at the first little hurdle.
She blew out a breath, admitting that it was more than a small obstacle. But it wasn’t something that couldn’t be overcome. Not if they truly loved each other. She had his freakin’pin, after all. Her hand covered the brooch on her borrowed plaid. The fact that he’d left it behind had to mean something. Right? And it wasn’t as if she didn’t have a bone to pick with the man. He’d left her behind. After promising that he wouldn’t. Sort of. If she could get past that, surely he could deal with the fact that she happened to carry Comyn blood.
If the prophecy had any reality at all, surely he’d see that her having the ring meant everything. If nothing else, it proved poor Tyra’s innocence in the blood bath that had occurred so long ago. She’d kept Graeme’s ring. Cherished it so much that she’d passed it down to their child, who’d passed it on to his or hers, like the freakin’ shampoo commercial, until it wound up in Lily’s hands. So that she could travel through time, fall in love with Bram and make things right again.
If she wasn’t living this, she’d laugh at the complete absurdity of the idea. She stepped over a fallen log, grateful to hear that the sound of the water was much closer now. Her body still ached from the stupid journey to get here, not to mention riding the damned horse across rocky terrain. And then there was the major cut across her throat thanks to some crazy-ass Highlander with a revenge fantasy against Bram’s father.
At least he was under lock and key—or at least burly Comyn and Mackintosh guards. Her heart stuttered at the memory of Bram grappling with Frazier on the ground, the damn knife descending as Frazier tried to ram it home. Thank God they’d managed to stop him before anything had happened to Bram.
If she lost him…
And that then was the crux of the matter. When Justin had dropped her like a hot potato, she’d accepted it as fact. And if she were honest, she’d had absolutely no desire to chase after him, despite the injury to her pride. But with Bram it was completely different. She was willing to follow him anywhere.
Even through a medieval woods in the middle of the freakin’ night with nothing to guide her but the sound of falling water and a wash of moonlight.
Double damn the man.
She burst through a stand of pine trees to find herself in the middle of a small clearing, the river curving as it rushed on its merry way. And there, sitting on a large boulder near the bank, was the man of the hour. She froze, her anger vanishing in the wake of stronger emotion. Need and desire. She wanted this man like she’d wanted no other. And the idea scared her to death.
