Reckoning (Book 4 of Lost Highlander series) (2 page)

They made their way into the center of the small chamber. The laird was alone, looking as haggard as Gordon, but a hard anger kept him standing tall.

Instead of rushing to hug her, Tavish’s gaze skipped over Bella, a slight sneer the only recognition he gave her. Lachlan felt her wilt under his hand.

Tavish turned his blood shot eyes to him. “Deceiver! How dare ye to step foot here?”

Lachlan tried not to cringe. Not a good start. He took a step forward with what he hoped was an appeasing look on his face. He so very rarely had to look anything other than fierce, he wasn’t quite sure he was doing it right. Above all, he wanted to be able to tell Piper how he kept things peaceful when he returned to her. Or, tried to keep things peaceful.

“Father, please,” Bella started, her hands clasped in front of her like a wee child.

It nearly broke his heart to see it, and when Tavish abruptly held out his hand to quiet her, her sudden fearful recoil caused him to rethink his plan for a peaceful resolution. This man clearly needed a good beating.

“I’ll deal with ye later, lass,” he said.

Both Lachlan and Pietro stepped forward in disagreement of that statement. Tavish’s eyes narrowed at Pietro. “Who’s this, then?” he asked.

Every word he spoke seemed to have a mocking ring to it. It made Lachlan’s palms itch to make a fist, but he took a deep cleansing breath like he learned from one of the future books he’d read. He pictured Tavish shaking his hand and wishing them a safe journey. With his proposed outcome fixed clearly in his mind, he spoke in a steady, modulated voice.

“This is Connor McKellen, a friend of the family. He was with Bella on her journey to our home.”

“One of the accomplices who stole my daughter? When ye abandoned her to go with your trollop?”

“Milaird—” Gordon came around Lachlan and Bella and tried to say more, but a glance from Tavish silenced him.

Tavish had been standing behind his desk when he first yelled at them in greeting. He now rounded it slowly, an appraising look on his face.

He stopped in front of Bella and with the speed of a cobra, latched onto her and shook her so her teeth rattled. She was so stunned she didn’t make a sound as her head snapped back and forth.

Lachlan swept out his arm to keep Pietro from attacking the old man, and firmly removed his hands from her thin shoulders. “I’ll ask ye to unhand my wife,” he said through gritted teeth.

He held Tavish’s wrist in a bone breaking grip, his other hand pressed into Pietro’s chest to keep him from charging. His vision of a friendly farewell was disintegrating. He remembered all too well what the tower cell was like, and he didn’t want to revisit it.

“Your wife?” Tavish shrieked. He jerked his hand away from Lachlan. “I know as well as ye, that the marriage was ne’er consummated. Ye must think I’m a fool. What are ye after? Is it her dowry? I shall cut the wee bitch off and give her nothing.”

“Father!” One look at Bella’s anguished face and Lachlan was almost through caring about keeping the peace. “Ye mustn’t say such things. I am a Ferguson now, well and truly. I’m sorry I caused ye such upset, but ye must forgive me.” She glanced at Pietro as if to apologize for her words.

Tavish stood in silence, looking from Bella to Lachlan, his eyes narrowed and his mouth twisted downward. He began to stride back and forth in front of Bella.

“Must I?” he asked cruelly, causing her to sob.

“Tavish,” Gordon stepped forward. “Milaird, she is your only daughter. The match is made. We must accept it.”

“Must we?” he asked again.

Lachlan looked to Gordon, whose eyes were full of fear. Not anxiety or apprehension. Fear.

Pietro champed at the bit to do something and Lachlan didn’t know how much longer he could hold him back. He didn’t see any kind of resolution at all anymore. Now he just wanted to get them out of the laird’s chamber, out of the castle and off Glen land.

“Let us call for refreshments,” Gordon said. “Let us have a wee dram while we settle things.” He started briskly for the door.

Tavish slammed his fist onto the desk, causing a lamp to rattle. The sound rang out in the tense silence, punctuated by Bella’s sniffles. “There will be no refreshments,” he said. His soft voice was more chilling than his howl a moment before.

Bella took two steps to stand firmly by Lachlan’s side and he instinctively put his arm around her, ignoring Pietro’s quiet growl. What kind of life had she led as a child, that she was so afraid of her father?

“Milaird?” Gordon asked, halfway to the door.

“No drinks, no biscuit nor meat. No refreshments, Gordon. That is for family, friends, honored guests. There is none in this room that fits any of those descriptions.”

Bella peeked out from behind Lachlan’s arm. “Father, please, why will ye no’ forgive me?”

Tavish took a deep breath as he focused on her. Lachlan had never seen such hate in any man’s eyes, let alone directed at his own child. He had to admit to himself that it unnerved him and his hand raised slightly to be closer to his sword handle.

“I’ll no’ forgive ye, lass, because ye are useless to me now. No man will believe ye haven’t bed this savage, or his brother, or this man here, for that matter.”

“Okay, that’s quite enough of that,” Pietro said, knocking Lachlan’s steadying hand away.

Tavish merely laughed at him and continued his verbal lashing of his daughter. “Ye’ve been nothing but a disappointment to me, refusing to marry respectable men who would have brought honor to our name. Running off to your whore of an aunt, who probably taught ye all her wicked ways.”

Tavish’s voice rose with every word. He paced and slammed his desk, getting winded as he grew angrier. She put her face in her hands and sobbed while he yelled, flecks of spit flying out of his mouth.

“Shut your foul mouth,” Lachlan said above his tirade, but the crazed laird ignored him.

“How can ye defend the little slut, when ye’ll get nothing from me for her?”

Lachlan thought Pietro’s teeth would crack from clenching his jaw so hard. He was mad to strike and Lachlan wondered if he ought to knock him out to keep him from attacking Tavish, or just knock Tavish out to stop his rambling.

He heard the old man’s last words though, and clutched at them. Perhaps there was still a way out of here with no one getting hit.

“I wish for no dowry, just that ye let us leave here. I only want to take my wife home,” he said.

He shot a meaningful look at Pietro, who realized what he’d said and settled down a little. Bella looked up hopefully.

“A reasonable request,” Gordon said.

Tavish stood there bug-eyed and fuming. “Aye, ‘twould be a reasonable request,” Tavish said. “If she were his wife.”

“I dinna understand, milaird. I myself was a witness to their marriage, as were ye.”

“My patience is at it’s breaking point,” Lachlan said.

“Too right,” Pietro agreed.

“It doesna matter,” Tavish said, his voice back to its mocking tone. “Not one wee bit. For the used up little cow does still belong to me, and if ye think ye shall take her by force, ye may as well think again. Your brother and your men will be dead before ye leave this room. Or, I should clarify myself. I do beg your pardon. Before your corpse is taken from this room.”

Bella sank to the floor and Lachlan gripped her elbow to help keep her upright. “I willna leave without ye, lass,” he said in an undertone, never taking his eyes off Tavish.

“I shall sell ye to the highest bidder. Ye’re still fair of face, and there’s probably a man or two with a bit of clout who wouldn’t mind ye having some experience.” With unnerving speed, he yanked Bella away from Lachlan and slapped her across the cheek. “Ye just need to learn your place, and ye might still gain my favor, child.”

He shoved her hard away from the others and began to throttle her. Her pale face turned purple alarmingly fast as her airway was choked off. A terrified squeak escaped her lips.

“Get him off of her,” Pietro yelled, ducking under Lachlan’s arm and flinging himself at the vicious old man.

Lachlan pulled Bella away from them and made sure she was all right, turning around to see Pietro punch Tavish square in the gut while Gordon stood by helplessly. Lachlan was grateful he hadn’t already called for the guards outside. The men were clearly well trained to only come in when called or they would have crashed through the door by now with all the commotion in the room.

With a bellow of rage, Tavish pulled a knife from his belt and charged Pietro, a mere two feet away from him. Lachlan clapped his hand over Bella’s mouth just in time to stifle her scream, and they both watched in horror as Tavish’s hand came down, the blade aimed at Pietro’s heart.

But instead of meeting its target, the knife seemed to freeze in mid air, Tavish’s hand slowly opened, and the knife clattered to the floor.

Tavish made a wet gurgling sound and fell next to it, a circle of blood staining the back of his shirt and pooling on the smooth stones beneath him. All eyes flew to Gordon, who stood holding a bloodied sword, shaking violently, tears running down his face. He dropped the sword and clutched his chest.

“Did I kill him?” he asked.

Lachlan leaned over Tavish to check. “I pray ye didna kill us all,” he said.

“I don’t understand,” Piper said, hearing the lost sound in her voice.

She leaned over the small, smudged script of the old piece of paper Evie shoved under her nose a minute before.

Evie scrambled over the bench and hurried around to Piper’s side of the plank table. “It looks like there was a battle in the spring of 1729. Is that when you were, do you know? See, he was a real hero, saved some people from a fire that started in the woods.” Her voice had a quality of holding back, like she was trying not to cry.

Piper read the words on the page for the third time. Lachlan Ferguson, laird of clan Glen, husband of Isobel Glen Ferguson, died in battle 1729. Beloved and missed.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” she said. Beloved and missed. Those particular words jumped out at her from the parchment page, larger and bolder than the rest. Tears burned behind her eyes but she knew if she let one fall, she’d never stop crying. “He wasn’t laird of this clan. I mean, that clan.”

Evie sighed and pulled the paper closer to look it over again. “Maybe because he was still married to Bella?” she asked. “Her family didn’t know it was a fake marriage.” Evie stopped and pinched the bridge of her nose.

Piper kept her eyes studiously forward, letting them lose focus. She heard Evie sniffle. As much as she loved her best friend, she wanted to punch her. Right in the side of the head. She wanted to scream at her to stop crying over Lachlan.

Beloved and missed. Except, it didn’t seem right. Her brain understood what her eyes showed it, but her heart said no. Hell no.

She remembered when Lachlan came back to her with the terrible knife wound. He’d been stabbed in a battle right here on the property, that had never been referenced in any history book, report or ledger about Castle Glen. It simply hadn’t happened. But then they’d screwed everything up. She realized she was digging what was left of her fingernails into her palms and forced her hands to relax.

It hadn’t been all their fault. Her wicked witch ancestor had helped a lot. Now, due to their fiddling about with things, they’d caused the battle Lachlan would be injured in.

It was some sort of demented time loop, and he’d stumble out of the secret passage again, with another injury, and she’d make him well again like she’d done the first time.

“It’s not right,” she said, pushing away from the table with enough force to almost shake Evie off the bench.

“I know. He was wonderful,” Evie said sympathetically.

Piper couldn’t help but laugh, though it was short-lived and with no hint of humor. “No, I mean it’s inaccurate,” she said.

She quickly explained her theory, actually quite pleased with herself for thinking of it. It was usually Evie who came up with the whacky time travel stuff. When she saw the poorly disguised look of pity on Evie’s face, she clamped her mouth shut and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“What?” she asked. “It makes perfect sense.”

Damn it. Was that desperation in her voice? Was she clinging to some impossible false hope? She brushed off her doubts and sat back down.

Evie tipped her head sideways and wrinkled up her forehead. “It does make sense,” she said slowly. “It’s a good theory, really cool actually. But it doesn’t explain—” she stopped.

Piper rolled her eyes. “We can’t believe the nonsense we read in these stupid journals and account books. These were probably like the National Enquirer of their day.”

To her dismay, instead of agreeing with her, Evie put her face in her hands and started to cry. Not just a few tears, but real, grieving sobs. Piper started to shake, digging her fingers into the edge of the table. It wasn’t possible that Lachlan was dead.

She looked at the top of Evie’s head and felt the salty burn once again behind her eyes. She stared at Evie until she stopped her squalling and looked up at her, her pretty hazel eyes puffy and red, her skin blotchy and streaked with tears. If Evie reached out to her it was going to be her undoing.