Page 65 of The Highlander's Twisted Deal
“I killed me braither and the woman I loved. I betrayed Moira, the woman who has given me nothing but love and devotion. I became Laird and, sure enough, took me braither’s place in everything, except what mattered. I raised Callum as if he were me own son, and I thought that perhaps would make things better. Foolish, really. It has plagued me day and night. Nobody ever suspected that anything was wrong besides the fire. It destroyed the bodies, destroyed the bone-handled knife I had. But I am guilty, Ava. Guilty.”
He drew in a long, shaking breath.
“And then, ye came along, asking questions. Ye unearthed that box in the forest.”
She tilted her head. “The letters?”
He nodded. “I should have destroyed them. I couldnae. What would be the point of destroying them now? So, I buried them, a testament to me sins. And ye dug them up. I could see in yer face that ye wouldnae let it go. I’ve worked too hard to give up now, lass. I’ve fought through the guilt and the nightmares and lived with the knowledge that I killed me braither and the love of me life. All for that boy. Both me boys, really. And for Moira, who always deserved better. I cannae let ye destroy it for me now.”
He leaned forward, pressing the blade to Ava’s neck. The sharp edge nicked her skin, and a hot trail of blood trickled down her skin. She scarcely dared breathe.
His eyes were full of regret but also determination.
“I’m so sorry,” Marcus whispered.
“Uncle.”
The voice came from the doorway. Ava was in the perfect position to see fear and disbelief cross Marcus’s face. He turned slowly to see what she could already see over his shoulder.
Callum was standing in the doorway.
19
Callum felt sick. It was the unsteady, queasy feeling he’d felt before after he’d drank too much wine, although, right now, he hadn’t drunk a drop of alcohol.
The hunting cabin was a small, practical space with a large fireplace, counters around the walls for skinning and gutting animals, and very little luxury. The only furniture was the two chairs. Ava sat on one, and Marcus sat on the other.
Callum’s gaze traveled across the scene. Seconds seemed to stretch into hours, and it felt as though he had a great deal of time to take it all in.
Ava was tied to the chair, helpless, and Marcus had a long blade pressed to the side of her neck. He could see one ruby drop of blood trickling down her neck. He swallowed hard. Her eyes were wide with fear, and she didn’t dare move an inch.
“Callum,” Marcus spoke, at last, breaking the spell. His voice was hoarse. “How… how much of that did ye hear?”
Callum felt as though he might actually vomit. “All of it,” he whispered. “I heard it all.”
The remaining color drained from his uncle’s face.
“I’m sorry, me lad. Ye were never meant to ken. I would have done anything to keep it from ye and Duncan.”
“Including murdering me betrothed?”
Marcus had the grace to look ashamed. “I’m sorry that it came to this.”
Callum swallowed hard, stepping properly into the cabin. The soldiers were gathered outside. He’d seen a glimpse of Marcus through the window and told them to stand down.
“Ye ken, I didnae ken what I expected,” Callum heard himself say, “when I saw that ye were here while we all thought ye ill in yer room back at the Keep. I thought perhaps an affair or some other secret. I never thought… Were ye really going to kill her, Uncle? How could ye?”
Marcus glanced over at Ava, not quite meeting her eyes. He let his knife drop away from her neck, and she sucked in a rasping breath. “No sense in me killing her now. Not before I’ve killed ye, at least.”
Callum choked. Even though he’d seen the blade at Ava’s neck and the glint of madness in his uncle’s eyes, he’d never thought that any of them were in any danger.
“I cannae let me reputation be torn to shreds. I cannae make Moira a laughingstock and have it said that the love of me life and me own braither died in a stupid misunderstanding and a jealous rage. Do ye nae see, Callum? I’m protecting us all. This kind of secret will eat us up from the inside out.”
Callum pressed his lips together, shifting his weight. He had no sword, only a long-bladed knife—a hunting knife. It was the appropriate weapon for a place like this, where the ceilings were too low and the walls too close to swing a sword properly.
“Dinnae be foolish, Uncle. Does Aunt Moira ken about this?”
Marcus rose to his feet, smiling thinly. “Nay. She may have guessed some of it. I think she kenned that I loved another and likely kenned that it was Jane. Moira always kenned me better than anyone in the world. I think perhaps she kenned about the letters, the buried box that poor wee Ava stumbled upon. She’s a fine woman, me Moira, but she never kenned what I’d done. She deserved better than me.”
