“Wha’?” He tightened his grip and glared down as if startled she could speak—that she was more than just another woman destined for abuse.
She would show him.
“Ye be naught but a bully, bent upon ranting yer way through life. Nay one can be allowed to stay ye, eh? Or get in yer path. Nay one would dare. Except me.”
“Be silent,” he told her, “unless ye wish to die.”
But she could not remain silent, not now.
“Is that wha’ ye told Robena? To be silent?” she ground out.
“Shut yer gob.”
“Wha’ did she do that night, to set ye off—the night she died? Did she look at ye the wrong way? Prove disobedient? Did she dare to speak back?”
“Her? Och, she would no’ dare. I had her properly cowed, the wee bitch.”
Cold rage trickled through the heat filling Annista’s veins, sharp and dangerous.
“Then, what? Why did ye want to hurt her that night?” For Robena must have run from him, out of their chamber and to the stairs.
“I always wanted to hurt her. She was worth nay more.”
Annista wiggled her fingers into the pocket of her gown and found the handle of the knife there.
“Took pleasure in it, did ye? In tormenting her?”
“She did no’ fight enough to gi’ me pleasure in it. I hated her.” He spat on the floor.
“She was stronger than ye believed. Strong enough to survive wha’ ye dealt out—for how long?” Annista could feel blood tricking down the skin of her throat where his blade bit, a bright sting.
“Too long. I would ha’ strangled her that night. Had done wi’ it. But she got awa’ fro’ me. Ran out to the top o’ the stairs where I caught the foolish bitch.” His voice turned gloating. “It took nay more than a push.”
The room went dead silent. Everyone there—Mistress MacKallan, Alan and the men behind him, including the physician—heard what Evan said. As did Annista.
Heard Evan’s confession.
She drew the knife—the very one her own mother had given her—from the folds of her gown.
She was unable to raise the weapon—Evan had her clamped too tight against him—so instead, without hesitation, she plunged the blade into his thigh.
At that moment, she cared not at all for her own welfare. She thought only of her sister, how he had terrorized her, and the desperation Robena must have felt there at the top of the stairs.
Everyone in the chamber cried out, Evan with surprise more than pain. Mistress MacKallan started up from the bed. Alan, from the door.
Annista in victory.
For Evan’s grip slackened. At the shock and no doubt pain of the attack, it did, and she was able to twist free of him.
“Annista!” Alan cried and started forward.
What he meant to do at that instant, she never knew. Employ the sword in his hand, no doubt. Step up like the man he was. Step in and save her.
She did not give him the chance. She had a promise to keep.
Fast and furious, she drew the knife from Evan’s flesh and whirled upon him. “This for Robena,” she said, and plunged the blade into his heart.
Chapter Forty-One
