Page 13 of When a Highlander Weds a Hellion
“Donell!” The dark-headed man sitting on Donell’s left said sharply.
Broch stored the man’s name who’d been glaring at him in his memory. Donell didn’t even turn his head to acknowledge the man beside him. Instead, he said, “I will kill ye!” His hands curled into fists, and Broch got the sense that the fool may well leap over the table and try to kill him that very moment. And when William foolishly moved as if to reach for his sword, Broch held out his hands, palm up to show he meant peace and to stop the two pups from getting him and each other killed.
Broch cleared his throat in the tense silence. “I appreciate yer protectiveness of yer sister, Donell.” As the man’s eyes became slits, Broch added, “I even admire it. But I must caution ye against yer desire to kill me. Ye can try, of course, but I’ve some experience wielding a sword.”
“Some!” William exclaimed to which Broch scowled the clot-heid into silence, but another voice piped up.
“Ye’re legendary!” said the youngest appearing man on the dais. He grinned, further showing his youth. “When Lannrick, my brother,” the boy said, motioning to another man sitting at the dais who had dark hair and who had not spoken yet, “taught me to wield a sword, he told me tales of a MacLeod known as the Beast of Skye. That’s ye, aye? Broch MacLeod?”
“That’s him!” William blurted before Broch could speak. “He’s nae ever been defeated in hand-to-hand combat or in a tournament!”
Broch inhaled a long breath for patience with William. “Aye,” he answered, “they do call me the Beast of Skye.”
“Legend or nae,” Donell snarled, “I’ll defeat ye.”
“Ye could try,” Broch said, “but why nae wait until I’ve done something to offend ye before ye attempt to kill me? If ye succeed,” Broch continued, despite the fact that the man tried to interrupt, “then ye have as good as assured that death will come to yer own home.”
“What do ye mean?” Donell demanded, shoving up from his seat to stand and glare down at Broch.
Lannrick stood and shoved Donell back down with a hand to his shoulder. “Hemeans, ye hot-headed fool, that if ye kill him, the king and the MacLeods will wage war upon us to avenge his death.”
“Aye,” Broch said, confirming the statement. “’Tis exactly what I mean.”
“I’ll take the chance,” Donell spat, shoving the man’s hand off his shoulder, “that the king dunnae care enough to wage war on us over the life of his newest lackey. And as for the MacLeods, if I recall the whisperings correctly, ye’re nae even a true MacLeod.”
Broch flinched at Donell’s words but did not deny them. To refute it would only give heat to the fire the man was trying to light under Broch’s feet. Still, he did feel the burn of shame and the old familiar hurt that he did not truly have a family. He buried his humiliation and wounded pride. Neither would do him any good in calming this man.
“I’m enough of a MacLeod that ye can be assured they would avenge my death,” Broch said, knowing it to be correct. “As for the king, ye may well be correct that he dunnae care enough about me to wage war on ye, but he cares a great deal about keeping his friendship and alliance with the laird of the MacLeod clan, Iain, and Iain would demand revenge for my death and expect the king’s aid. So I can assure ye, Donell,” he said, specifically choosing to use the man’s name so the Scot would understand Broch thought him important enough to remember it, “that to kill me would most definitely bring the king’s warriors and the MacLeods to yer home.”
“Ye’re surprisingly forthright and seem to be honest,” said Lannrick.
“I can assure ye I’m speaking the truth at this moment.”
“Lannrick is my middle son,” Kinntoch supplied, finally breaking his silence. His gaze, which probed Broch, danced with distrust. The laird motioned to the youngest man who’d known the nickname Broch had been given. “That’s Cadyn, my last born son, and Donell is my firstborn. Well,” the man added, looking suddenly contemplative, “his twin sister, Lenora, was first, but she is dead.”
Donell glared at Broch as if he personally had been the one to end her life. “Do ye lie when ye have cause?” the man sneered.
“That’s nae what I meant,” Broch bit out, irritated that Donell was trying to deliberately twist his words, but understanding dawning why the man was so skeptical of him and had an instant dislike for him. As twins, Broch was certain Donell must have felt, and still did, a different connection to Lenora and guilt at not preventing her death.
“Pay no mind to Donell,” Lannrick said. “He’s always rude to anyone associated with the Blackswells.”
If everything Katreine believed truly had occurred between the Blackswells and the Kinntochs, then Broch could see why Donell—all of the men—would be vexed. “I’m nae associated with the Blackswells,” he said, meeting Donell’s narrowed eyes. “It’s true that I was sent by the king to find yer daughter and see her wed, as she just finished telling ye. I gave Katreine my word that I would write to the kingifI find that they are, indeed, raiding yer land—”
“They are!” Donell shouted, surging to his feet as before, but this time he withdrew his sword as he stood.
The slide of the steel released from Donell’s sheath at the same time that William called a warning. Broch sprang into action reflexively as William did too, but Broch had his sword unsheathed first and knocked Donell’s from his hand as the man started to bring the sharp, shiny blade forward to point it down at Broch. The weapon went flying to the right, off the dais, and landed with aclankon the stone floor of the great hall.
Intense astonishment touched Donell’s face, and then he turned a deep shade of red. He reached to his waist where Broch could see he had a dagger sheathed, but Lannrick shoved to his feet, grasped his brother by the wrist and forearm, and twisted his arm behind his back to bring Donell forward onto the dais with a resounding thud. “Release me!” the man roared, spittle flying from his mouth onto the table.
Broch flicked his gaze to Kinntoch, curious why their father had not been the one to stop Donell. One look in the man’s hard, blue eyes, which were locked on Donell and filled with pride, told Broch what he needed to know. Donell and Kinntoch were filled with hatred for the Blackswells, and Kinntoch had not stopped his eldest son’s misplaced tirade because he approved of his behavior.
Lannrick and Cadyn seemed the only reasonable ones. Broch inhaled a long breath to quell his own temper. Anger would not help this situation. “We’ll take our leave now,” Broch suggested. “We’ll go straight to the Blackswells, and—”
“Dunnae be foolish,” Kinntoch said, surprising Broch. “Ye will both dine with us this night and sleep here as our guests, and then tomorrow, ye can make the day-long journey to Moidart.” Before Broch could respond, Kinntoch stood and tapped Lannrick on the shoulder. “Release yer brother. He will restrain his temper until a real need to unleash it presents itself.”
Lannrick frowned, clearly not pleased, but then he smirked down at Donell. “I’d nae try to kill the Beast again before ye let me work with ye more on yer one-on-one combat.”
“Get off me!” Donell growled at his brother, who laughed in response but did as he’d been bade.
