Page 63 of Taming the Scot
Hector laughed cruelly. “Oh, pity how little ye understand, cousin. But ye’ll never guess who does know things now? This lass here in my arms.” Hector pressed his nose to her hair and sucked in a heady, lascivious breath, his eyes practically rolling in the back of his head. “My bride.”
A sharp stab of anger pierced behind Euan’s eyes. He braced himself, pressing his hands flat to the outside wall of the carriage to keep from reaching in and grabbing Hector, which would possibly harm Bronwen in the process. God, what he wouldn’t do to get his hands around Hector’s neck right now.
Bronwen narrowed her gaze at Euan. “Why did ye no’ tell me about the bet? Even after I confessed to ye.”
The bet? Euan’s gut sank. So, this was Hector’s play to twist the stipulations of the will into a wager. To get her to hate him by revealing something she might see as treachery. “Because my grandfather’s will—what Hector has deemed a bet—was of little consequence.” And this was an honest answer, as cruel as it might have sounded coming out.
Pain flashed in her eyes, and he knew she’d misinterpreted him. He meant it made no difference because he loved her; there was no contest of falsity in that. The will didn’t matter to him anymore, especially right now. If it cost him everything, he still would love her. They’d find a way. And his sisters would understand that. They’d had to find a way before when they’d been orphaned. They were no strangers to hardships.
“Ye see, pet?” Hector crooned cruelly, grinning most vilely at Euan. “He does no’ care for ye.”
“I trusted ye,” Bronwen whispered, her fiery gaze directed at Euan. “Ye used me.”
Hector had turned her against him or attempted to, and it appeared to be working. If Hector suspected there were any feelings between Euan and Bronwen before, it was confirmed now by Bronwen’s admission. Damn his cousin for playing on Bronwen’s emotions.
“I was no’ lying,” Euan said to her. “About anything. I may have omitted a stipulation in my grandfather’s will, but that changes nothing between us. Changes nothing about what I said or what we’ve shared.”
From the way her eyes searched his, he could tell she was struggling with whether to believe him or not. Euan kept his face serious, his eyes locked on hers. Pleading with his gaze for her to believe him. Because he loved her so damn much.
“Whatever Hector has told ye, I’m certain it was with a spin of untruth, or at least to favor himself,” Euan continued. “I’d never do anything to hurt ye, Bronwen. And I admit to my failure at keeping ye out of harm’s way. This was the last thing I wanted to happen to ye. I’ll spend every day trying to make it up to ye for the rest of my life.”
“Well, that is cruel,” Hector said in a sarcastic tone, followed by a bitter laugh. “And it does no’ matter what ye say. Ye see, there are no circumstances in which whatever truths and sentiments ye think she should remember matter. I’ve had my sights on this lass for a lot longer than ye have, cousin. And I’m no’ about to give her up because ye’ve developed a heart.”
Euan’s suspicions were correct about his cousin and how much deeper this went between him and Bronwen. Bloody fecking hell! He’d not wanted to be right. Had hoped it was only an exaggerated thought brought on by the terror of the man holding a knife to her throat.
Bronwen’s gaze flicked to Hector from the sides of her eyes, and confusion registered on her face for a brief second. Good God, was it possible she’d not yet realized that Hector was the man responsible for her parents’ demise?
“Ye can no’ trust him, Bronwen. Think about what he’s admitting. He is the one who’s been after ye.”
Horror struck her then as she gaped at Euan, realizing exactly who the man was that held her dangerously close.
“Prince?” she whispered.
What did she mean Prince?
Hector’s knife pressed menacingly against her delicate neck, and his grin widened as he took great pleasure in their mutual fear.
“I see the two of ye have finally put together some things. Aye, I’m Prince, The Trojan is mine, blah blah blah. But I can no’ take all the credit. Ye see, my father introduced me to this life. Ye could say I took over the business, as I’m soon going to take over Drum. We want to keep things in the family if ye know what I mean.” He laughed then, his body jostling Bronwen, and she stiffened to keep her neck away from the wiggling blade.
“Ye bastard. Over my dead body,” Euan growled, his fingernails digging into the outside paneling of the carriage, scratching into the paint the way he wanted to cut into his cousin’s flesh.
Hector shrugged as if he didn’t care at all. “That can be arranged.”
Bronwen struggled to keep her breaths even. She had to think clearly if she was going to get out of this situation. Somehow, despite the mastermind he proclaimed to be, Hector had failed to notice she’d grabbed a fork from the table when he had his two men absconded with her. She’d been able to slip it into the pocket of the day gown she’d donned, and now, ever so slowly, she was inching it out.
Sometimes a lass had to take her future into her own hands—and this was such a time.
Euan kept his attention on Hector, the two of them sparring back and forth. She could barely hear the words coming out of their mouths but hoped they’d keep on talking long enough for her to have the advantage of a surprise strike.
Hector held the knife at her neck, and the other arm around her shoulders, leaving her arms unrestrained. She just needed to get the perfect stabbing angle and pray that Euan’s cousin did not slit her throat in the process. A gamble, to be sure, and she’d made it a point all of her adult life not to be the wagering sort. Well, she supposed this time she needed to make an exception. If she calculated it right, he’d be completely shocked and would drop the weapon.
But there was also the chance he would react, and in that instance, she was dead.
Well, to sit here and think about it was to let others decide her fate. She had to act.
Hector was a criminal after all and not unfamiliar with murder. So, she could do nothing and would be forced into whatever horrible plan he had for her or, she could risk her own life in order to take his. Her own death seemed a better bet than the future he had in store for her. And she’d never know unless she tried.
Grasping the handle of the fork tightly in her left hand, she’d have to reach across her body to the right and upward to jab it into his face. It was now or never.
