Amelia’s breath caught, and one of Mackenzie’s men laughed under his breath. The last tiny thread of Darragh’s restraint broke then. Slowly, he began to move closer to Alistair. Without ever looking away, he repeated, “Ye sold yer own blood.”
“I secured me clan’s future,” Alistair replied, regarding Darragh’s approach warily. He smirked, though, as if he’d just told himself an exceptionally funny private joke. “It’s somethin’ ye would understand if ye were less…sentimental.”
In an instant, the smile dropped from his face. He moved like lightning, his hand moving from the hilt of the sword to a concealed blade in a flash. As Darragh poised himself to fend off an attack, Alistair surprised him, going for Amelia instead. A column of sunlight caught the blade, glinting as it began its trajectory straight for Amelia’s throat.
Darragh’s body was moving before he could think. Pure animal instinct drove him forward like a wall of hail, finally breaking through thick cloud cover. His sword came free of its holster without a sound.
Bringing his second hand to the hilt, Darragh struck with the intent to kill. With impeccable form from years of focused training, he struck with his entire body weight. If it weren’t for Alistair’s precise block, the cleave would have taken off his arm.
“This is what I mean,” he said, grunting as he pivoted away from Amelia. He was trying to maintain his aura of collected calm, but up this close, Darragh could see that he was sweating. “Ye’re goin’ to lose yer life. For what? A girl who would only be a liability?”
Darragh jerked his sword away, twisting it as he did and knocking Laird Mackenzie’s knife loose. As it clattered to the ground, Darragh ducked, solidifying his stance and adjustinghis grip. Then, before Mackenzie could recover, Darragh shot forward, catching Alistair’s jaw with his shoulder.
Despite all the skills Mackenzie had, Darragh’s instincts were sharper.Darraghwas a predator, and this man had made a grave mistake in entering his walls. There was nothing Alistair could do to keep himself upright. The momentum from Darragh’s body check, paired with his own uneven footing, was a recipe that spelled disaster for him.
“Ye—” Alistair attempted to say before he hit the ground.
As he wheezed, all of the air being forced from his lungs with the force of his collision with the root-bound terrain, Darragh kicked his knife away. Several of Mackenzie’s men began to back away, looking as if they were attempting to disappear. Not a single one looked inclined to help their leader.
Rather than giving Alistair Mackenzie a grand death, a story that could be passed down by a member of his guard trying to make a martyr out of him, Darragh sank his sword into the center of the man’s chest without so much as a grunt. Alistair’s hands stilled halfway to the hole in his chest. As Darragh ripped his sword away from where it was lodged, an arch of blood spurted from the gash, and Alistair’s fingers twitched as the last of his life left.
“Ye’ve done more than enough,” Darragh said to the man’s corpse, his blade dripping blood onto the dead leaves and dirt at his feet.
He turned toward the Mackenzie men still gathered. They stared on with horror, each one of them running their own silent calculations. Darragh didn’t say a word to them, only ensuring they understood what would happen if they dared cross his clan again.
After a long, silent moment, the banner bearing the Mackenzie stag fell to the ground. The men abandoned their posts, outnumbered and without leadership. Darragh memorized the faces of each and every man that he could.
They’ll be lucky if they never run into me again. I’m nae willin’ to forgive this.
When most of them had turned their backs to flee, and the men that remained were being restrained by Darragh’s guard, he looked back down at the corpse of Alistair Mackenzie. The blood had stopped flowing already. Darragh had hit him so precisely that he’d been drained in a matter of minutes.
In death, Darragh supposed he could see similarities between the Laird and his daughter. Their noses had the same slope. Their browbones were nearly identical. But they were fundamentally different.
“Amelia’s better than ye, Laird Mackenzie,” he said, bending down to wipe his sword clean. He glanced at the body before refocusing on his task. “I think ye kent it deep down. And it upset ye so badly, ye had to try and humiliate her.” When he’d cleared away as much blood as he could, Darragh pushed himself to hisfeet. “Nay, other men will treat her that way again. And I will show her what it means to be cherished.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The clearing fell completely silent as Darragh uttered those last words. Amelia was released as though her skin had the ability to burn the guard holding her, and she was left standing on wobbly feet. Each gasp of air she sucked in stung.
“Amelia,” Darragh said, resheathing his sword as he walked toward her.
The only thing Amelia was able to offer in response was a weak squeak. Her eyes were locked on her father, and she wasn’t feeling a single thing she thought she should. There was no sadness, no resentment toward Darragh for what he did, no regret for not just going quietly.
It’s a relief.
“I daenae have to worry about him ever again,” she whispered, unmoving and incredulous. Even though Darragh was barely an arm's length away, it wasn’t loud enough for him to hear.
“What is it?” he asked, pulling out a dagger and cutting away the binds with a flick of his wrist. “I dinnae hear what ye said.”
Amelia shook her head, bringing her hands in front of her. Experimentally, she rolled her wrists and found only stiffness. Her ribs were a different matter. Even in her current state, where her focus was on the events around her rather than on her internal affairs, there was a razor’s edge to the pain at her sides.
“Are ye all right?” he asked, reaching out to her but stopping short like he was afraid of hurting her further.
She wasn’t well, and she couldn’t reason why he’d ask. Instead, she finally looked up at him, away from her wrists, away from the body. “Thank ye.”
Darragh stepped closer, finally taking hold of her wrist. He examined the new bruising. His thumb stroked the place where the rope had bitten into her flesh. A long, shuddering sigh slipped past her slightly parted lips.
“Me father is…” she began, the truth sticking to her tongue after being held close to her chest. She met Darragh’s gaze, and his expression held something softer than she’d ever seen there. It derailed her thoughts, and eventually, she gave the only truth she could. “I am Amelia Mackenzie.”
