Page 94 of The Cruel Highlander's Bride
Her tear-streaked face looked up at him in shock. “Magnus,” she breathed.
He just nodded. There would be time for reconciliation later. Now his blood burned with the need for retribution, and he nudged his horse a little faster once more.
When he passed the carriage, he turned his horse around to stop right in front of it. The two horses pulling the vehicle reared back on their hind legs with a whinny, and the carriage came to a shuddering stop.
“Ewan,” he whispered in horror when he saw his man-at-arms driving the carriage that was holding his wife captive.
Maybe he should have asked Alexander more questions, because the sight of his man-at-arms here had him reeling in surprise for one long moment.
He fixed his gaze on the man he had entrusted with his clan and his family and his wife.
“I wasnae expectin’ to find ye here, Ewan,” he said calmly, finally addressing the man. His voice was flat, even as rage and shock simmered underneath his skin.
Ewan just grunted at him before quickly hopping down from the carriage.
Magnus had pushed his horse to the limit in order to catch up with them, and with a gentle pat on its neck, he dismounted as well.
The pair circled each other for a moment, their swords drawn. Ewan still had not said anything, but a fight seemed inevitable.
“Tell me why,” Magnus demanded, staring him down.
“Because ye are yer faither’s son,” Ewan spat back, spittle flying from his lips. His eyes darted between Magnus and the carriage and then back.
Despite everything, his words still landed harshly.
Was that how his man-at-arms saw him? Magnus knew he had not been friendly with the man, but he didn’t think he’d ever been cruel like his father. He tried to hold onto Ciara’s words that he was nothing like his father, but his man-at-arms was glaring at him as if he were truly vile.
“Dinnae listen to him!” Ciara called from inside the carriage.
Magnus’s heart soared at her faith. “What do ye mean?” he asked carefully.
“Yer faither was an evil, vile man. Ye have that evil in ye. Ye cannae escape it,” Ewan said matter-of-factly.
“I’m not me faither, ye ken that,” Magnus tried to reason, tried to convince both of them that it was true.
But Ewan was violently shaking his head. “He is in ye, his blood and his violence. I’ve seen it,” he hissed.
He was spewing all of Magnus’s fears. His fear that he would never escape the stain of his father threatened to overwhelm him, but Magnus remembered the soft way that his wife had spoken to him and held him as they lay together, and how even now she fought for him.
That was why he was here—she needed him.
“What did he do to ye?” Magnus asked carefully, scared of the answer.
It seemed every new thing he learned about his father revealed that there was no limit to his depravity. Nothing was too dishonorable or immoral for him. And in a roundabout way, it helped Magnus to accept that he was not his father. He would never—could never—inflict the same cruelty.
Ewan was shaking his head again, his movements erratic and uncontrolled as they continued to circle each other. “He hurt me maither,” he stuttered out, swinging his sword at him.
Magnus jumped back just in time and raised one hand placatingly. He wanted to laugh at the irony of it all, but his man-at-arms was still swinging at him.
“He hurt me maither as well,” he told him quietly. “I understand how ye’re feelin’. Why do ye think I killed him?”
But Ewan was past the point of reason. “Dinnae lie to me!” he roared, swinging his sword at him again.
“I dinnae want to hurt ye,” Magnus warned.
Despite what Ewan thought, Magnus didn’t relish violence, especially against someone he thought was a friend. But if his man-at-arms would not release his wife, then he would be forced to act accordingly. He could be the monster in his blood for her. He would sink into the depths of his darkness if it meant saving Ciara.
Magnus shook his head sadly at his man-at-arms. What a fool he’d been to not notice the threat lurking within his own home. Had Ewan just been waiting for the right moment to strike?
