Page 64 of The Highlander's Twisted Deal
“Ye are forgiven,” she said, relief in her voice. “Now, is this misunderstanding finished?”
“No, not finished.” Angus took a wobbly step towards Marcus. “How could ye? Me own braither, the man I trust most in all the world, and ye were begging me wife to leave me and go with ye. Ye would have broken me heart two times over, Marcus. How could ye? I would never have done this to ye.”
Marcus clenched his teeth at the injustice. “But ye have done it to me, Angus, do ye nae see? Why should ye have her?”
“She’s nae a bone to be fought over, man!”
“Ye have had everything, Angus, ever since we were small, and I was tired of ye taking everything from me!”
“Ungrateful, heartless wretch!” Angus breathed and launched forward, his fists swinging.
They’d wrestled a lot as children. Brothers always did. Sometimes, it had been serious, resulting in black eyes, bruised ribs, and even a broken nose on one occasion. They were evenly matched, had always been in all matters physical, and now, as they fought as adults, it was difficult for either of them to get the upper hand.
They rolled over and over, ignoring Jane’s screams and attempts to pull them apart. Marcus was vaguely aware of them knocking against the table, and the whiskey bottle fell and shattered, drenching the edge of a rug and a patch of the floor in alcohol.
Angus drew back his fist and punched Marcus in the face, making him see stars. It was how they’d done things as children—fight it out, hurt each other, then the anger and resentment were gone, and they could laugh and hug like brothers should do.
Marcus wasn’t sure which one of them knocked against the table holding the candlesticks. He remembered, afterwards, how the flames had licked at the spilled whiskey, shooting across the floor and catching onto the rug. He remembered how Jane had screamed.
He remembered the feeling of the blade sinking into his braither’s body, sliding between his ribs, and could never remember if he’d meant to do it.
There was a breathless silence with Angus’s wide, surprised eyes staring down at him. Marcus writhed, shoving his brother off him. Angus rolled onto his back, blood spilling from his wound and pooling on the floor, the knife handle jutting out from his chest.
Jane screamed again, a horrible scream that would never leave Marcus.
The fire was taking hold now. The rug was alight entirely, and the flames were spreading. Marcus stumbled to his feet, hardly daring to look at his dying brother. If he didn’t look, perhaps it wasn’t true. There were two pitches of water on a table, and he tossed one pitcher at the fire, but it was too late for that.
Then, he saw the closed door tucked away in a corner and remembered something terrible.
“The boy,” he gasped, already coughing in the smoke. “Callum.”
“What have ye done? What have ye done?” Jane moaned, leaning on the floor beside her dying husband, her hands fluttering over him.
Angus lifted a shaking hand to her face, leaving smudges of blood. “Forgive me, Jane,” he wheezed. “Forgive me.”
Marcus snatched up the second pitcher of water, emptying it over himself. It wouldn’t protect him from the flames, but it would help. He kicked open the door to Callum’s room, only to find the boy already awake, sitting up in bed. Smoke was already curling around the foot of his bed.
“Fire,” he rasped. “There’s a fire. We need to get out, lad. We need to get out now.”
The boy was small and light, easy to gather up into his arms. Already, the smoke was so thick that he could barely see, barely breathe. Marcus stumbled back into the main room of the apartment and saw that Jane and Angus were already hazy shapes in the smoke. It was too late for his brother, and that was a thought that he could not—would not—let himself ponder.
“I’m coming back for ye. I’m coming back for ye, Jane,” he said, choking.
Jane didn’t even look at him. She was looking down at Angus, the two of them focused on each other till their dying breath.
“Save me boy,” she said quietly, her voice not sounding like her own. “Just save me boy.”
Marcus turned on his heel and ran towards the exit, which was mostly on fire. There was no way he could get out without burning himself, but staying wasn’t much of a choice either. He wrapped the boy in his damp cloak.
“Hold yer breath, lad,”
Then, it was all pain and smoke, and Marcus remembered no more for several days.
The story ended, and Ava was a little shocked to feel a lump in her throat.
“It wasnae yer fault,” she managed. “It was an accident.”
Marcus smiled bleakly. Ava wondered how she’d never seen the pain in his eyes before.
