Page 90 of Her Highland Prophecy
“I came back,” she said dumbly, her mind in high alert. She didn’t take her eyes off of the man who was now pointing his knife at her. A man that she had completely trusted up until a minute ago and had counted among her friends.
He sneered at her, and the fire that was keeping the room warm cast a malevolent shadow over his face.
“Lucky for me then,” he said, his eyes scanning her from head to toe. He licked his lips lasciviously. “Ye are going to make me a fine bride.”
She was stunned at the presumption.
“I will never marry you,” she spat out, her voice loud in her vehemence. He raised a brow sardonically.
“Who told ye that ye would have a choice,Sassenach?”
The last word came out as an almost insidious whisper. Who indeed would take her side against him to prevent him from doing what he wanted? The historian in her knew for a fact that forced marriages happened in Scotland in this era probably more than most people wanted to admit. It would be simple enough for him to force her to a chapel with a couple of witnesses and a paid-off priest. There was a reason Gretna Green had become so notorious in later centuries.
“I would rather die,” she said.
He looked enraged at her words, but before he could say anything, Gordain sat up in the bed looking blearily around. Bhaltair gave her no time to react. He was in front of her in the span of a heartbeat, and then he grabbed her hand twisting her back to him and pulling his knife to press on her throat painfully.
Which was why she wished she already knew how to handle a knife properly. She would have never been in this position if she had a way to defend herself.
Gordain’s eyes widened as sleep left him and he took in the scene in front of him.
“Bhaltair? What are ye doing,a co-ogha?” he asked, and Diana could see that he was not fully awake yet.
“He killed your father!” she burst out loudly. Bhaltair pushed the knife harder against her throat in response, hissing at her to stop talking.
She didn’t dare make another sound. Her breaths were shallow as the knife pushed against her jugular, hard and unyielding. She could only hope that her words had penetrated the fog in Gordain’s brain to wake him.
Of course, Bhaltair had not admitted as much, but Diana knew that it must have been him if he was trying to kill them both now.
Thankfully, Gordain seemed to have managed to sweep the cobwebs from his mind and was not liking the conclusions he was coming to. He edged off the bed to stand in front of them. Bhaltair pulled Diana even harder against him. She whimpered in pain. Gordain lifted his hands up in surrender.
“Let her go, Cousin,” he said, his voice almost pleading. “Then ye and I can talk about everything. She has nae done anything to ye.”
Bhaltair laughed, but it was a mirthless, cruel sound that echoed flatly off the stone walls of Gordain’s chamber.
“Do ye take me for an idiot, Cousin?” he asked sarcastically. “I ken well that ye dinnae need a dirk to take me. The only thing holding ye back is yer bonnie lass here.”
Bhaltair rubbed against her backside suggestively and she almost recoiled, but for the fact that she could barely move.
“Why did ye do it, Bhaltair? Why would ye kill me Faither? He helped raise ye. He loved ye like a son.”
Bhaltair snorted.
“Aye, second best always to the great Gordain. And half the time ye were the one causing trouble in the Castle. Ye never had the brains to run this Clan. It needs someone like me. I could make us great again.”
His arm loosened slightly as he ranted, his eyes fixed at some faraway point. Gordain asked her with his eyes if she was hurt. She squirmed a little to show him that she had extra movement. He gave her a tiny nod.
A second later he uttered a loud war cry, startling Bhaltair out of his rant. He released her to shield himself against the rampaging Highlander who was running toward him. She wasted to time. The moment the dirk was no longer pressed against her throat she ducked away and flattened herself against the wall near the fireplace.
Gordain and Bhaltair were on the ground, grappling for control of the dirk that lay between them. Diana looked around frantically for anything she could use as a weapon to help Gordain. She eyed the poker for the fire, judging how much damage she might be able to do with it.
She pulled it out of its place and then swung it as hard as she could toward Bhaltair’s exposed back. Unfortunately, he moved a second before the blow landed so it only hit his shoulder.
He cried out in pain, allowing Gordain to take the dirk from him and plunge it deeply into his chest. Bhaltair looked down at the knife protruding from his body with something akin to disbelief for a second before the pain hit him and he doubled over.
Gordain released him, his eyes wide. Diana did not think he had been aiming to kill his cousin, but the instinct to defend himself took over when they were fighting. She knew it would hurt him in the future and she already hated it.
Bhaltair took a long rattling breath and then passed out, blood slowly pooling out underneath him. Gordain had blood on his hand and on his shirt, but he didn’t seem to realize it.
