Errol shoved his sword further into the man’s back. “Walk. Now.” He ordered as Robbie stepped up and confiscated the man’s sword that he had been dragging on the ground.
The bastard spat on the ground, near Robbie’s feet.
Errol shot a look to Robbie when he noticed his clenched fist and gave a slight shake of his head. The time would come when the bastard would meet his comeuppance, but they needed answers first.
When they arrived back to where Moira and the warriors waited, Errol was relieved to see that Moira was sitting up, her back against a tree. Their gazes met and she gave him a small smile. She must have seen the question in his eyes, because she nodded, letting him ken she was well. He would be by her side soon and he couldn’t wait to gather her in his arms, but he needed to tend to this matter first.
Errol shoved the man to his knees and came around to face him, his sword never leaving the bastard’s body.
Moira was wide-eyed as she watched the scene unfold. He should have one of the guards take her to another location, so she didn’t have to witness what was inevitably going to be the bastard’s demise. There was no other ending. He tried to kill the MacLeod’s son. His first-born son. Worse than that, he also tried to kill the Hart’s daughter, shot her with an arrow. The man was dead no matter what.
His gaze locked with Moira’s. “Do ye wish to leave, Lass?”
Her eyes bounced from Errol’s to the man on his knees and then back again. She straightened as best she could without causing too much pain, and pushed her shoulders back, raising her chin defiantly. “I dinnae,” she said, her voice steady and strong and a wave of pride washed over Errol. He smiled proudly afore focusing his attention back on the bastard in front of him.
“Yer name?” Errol demanded.
The man seethed as he knelt on the ground, his eyes boring into Errol, but remained quiet, his teeth clenched behind a sneer.
“Ye are already sentenced to death for yer actions earlier. Ye might as well give me the information I seek afore that happens.”
His face pinched, and his eyes narrowed, but he finally answered. “MacPhail. Orman MacPhail.”
Robbie frowned. “I thought the MacPhail fled their lands. Havenae they been abandoned?”
MacPhail’s eyes settled on Robbie. “I still remain.”
“What of yer father?” Errol asked.
The bastard’s face broke out into an evil grin, and Errol fought his disgust at the rotting teeth revealed. “Dead.”
“The first son?”
His garish grin grew wider. “Also dead. I am the only MacPhail left.”
“What happened to them?” Errol asked suspiciously.
MacPhail licked his lips and shrugged. “It appears a series of unfortunate accidents has plagued MacPhail lands.”
“Ye killed them? Yer own father and brother?”
Errol tried to remember the last time he had seen either man. It had been years. The whole family was reclusive. They stuck to themselves, staying out of other clan’s affairs, though Errol now realized why, that is if they were aware of what their ancestors had done.
The bastard’s face reddened as he clenched his fists. “They deserved it.”
Errol dropped the point of his sword to the forest floor. The bastard was no threat. No’ without his sword, which also hadn’t posed a threat. He couldn’t say the same for his arrows. He’d had many bad shots that Errol would, in most circumstances, not find him a threat in that medium either, but he had managed to hit his target once, and that was more than enough.
“Yer family killed a Hart and a MacLeod. Started a war. Why?”
He laughed evilly. “’Twas years ago. Long afore ye and I or e’en our fathers were born. Afore our grandfathers and those afore them. We have kept the family secret all this time. Until ye uncovered the clues that told the history. We kenned they were out there somewhere, but didnae ken where.”
“But why?” Errol growled, frustration boiling through his veins.
“The answers are the oldest kenned to man. Why do we always do the things we do? Coin, land, holdings.” He paused, his eyes shooting to Moira and then back to Errol. “Love,” he spat.
Moira pushed to a stand, pain etched on her face. Errol moved toward and she shook her head as she approached Orman, disgust prevalent on her face. “Love. Love?” She shouted, her voice so strong is surprised Errol. Her anger was fueling her actions. “Agnes was but a wee lass. ’Twasnae love. ’Twas a disgusting action by a disgusting bastard with no morals.” Afore Errol could comprehend what was happening, she pulled her fist back and slammed it into MacPhail’s nose. His head snapped back as blood poured from his nostrils. The sick bastard smiled and licked at the drops, staining his teeth red.
“Ouch!” She cried, shaking her fist and grabbing her side with her other hand.
