Page 436 of Wicked Highland Heroes

Glen looked around the room, his expression a mixture of disbelief and astonishment. “Jesu, man. You are letting the words of that witch turn your brains to oatmeal. You can no more see betrayal in a man’s eyes than you can—” He stopped, his palms moving in front of him as he made an effort to find the right words.

“Loyalty?” Bran offered. Glen shook his head and started to open his mouth, but Bran cut him off.

“Jonathan found out and you had to stop him.”

“I was with you the whole time, Bran. How could

I have stopped him?”

Bran’s mouth twisted into a sardonic twist. “You were not there, but you might as well have been. Who did it, Glen?”

“Bran, Cousin.” Glen gave him a beseeching look. “I am not a man given to fright, but you give me reason to believe I need be afraid. Can you find it in your heart to believe the magic of a witch and the memory of a woman who lost her man? Her mind is not right, Bran.”

Bran growled as an animal enraged and drew his sword.

Iain’s guards reacted in kind. “Nay!” he yelled to his men, motioning them back.

Glen retreated, clearly afraid to draw his own weapon, and Bran backed him against the wall with the point of his broadsword. “You bloody bastard,” he snarled. “She is my sister. How could you do that to her?”

“It was a mistake,” Glen blurted. “No one knew she would be there. I swear to you, I would never harm a hair on the lass’s head. That idiot,” he said, half under his breath. “That bloody idiot, Simon, reasoned she would be the perfect scapegoat.”

Bran’s long reach allowed him to wrap a hand around Glen’s throat while keeping his sword steady. “You know what they did to her.” The words weren’t a question, and though spoken low, his deep voice carried through the room. Bran’s broadsword never wavered as his hand began to tighten around his cousin’s neck. “I willna’ give you the privilege of dying by the sword. The last thing you will remember is the feel of my fingers squeezing the life from your body.”

“Nay, Bran,” Glen’s words were strangled, “you must understand, I did it for you.”

Bran halted, and Iain felt his own rage flicker in response.

“For me?” Bran repeated.

“If you remember,” Glen said, “William was wounded that night.”

Bran released Glen and staggered back. “You helped the Stewarts try to murder our laird?”

There was a low, “Mon Dieu,” from Thomas, and even Iain couldn’t repress a muttered, “Christ.”

Bran shook his head violently from side to side, almost as if to shake the very words from his ears.

“You were meant to rule, Bran,” Glen said.

“What in the name of God are you talking about?” Bran demanded.

“With William gone you would have been chosen.”

“To rule in William’s stead?” Bran looked horrified. “Are you daft, man? The seat would fall to David.” He stopped, and the silence in the room grew even more deadly as he said, “But you knew that, did you not, Cousin?”

Bran’s features drew into a twisted grimace, and Iain wondered how a man dealt with learning in one fell sweep the duplicity a trusted friend was capable of. He shot a look in Thomas’s direction. The even gaze that met Iain’s brought relief. Thomas was as he had always been: friend, brother, ally.

Iain’s attention was forced back to Bran when Bran said, “David Robertson was a part of this all along.” Bran glanced at Jillian as if to say it was all his fault. “Connall,” Bran addressed his other companion. “Fetch some rope and bring half a dozen men with you.”

“You would have taken David’s place,” Glen pleaded, as if the admission somehow shed light on something Bran had missed.

Bran looked at Glen. “You can run if you like. I will not kill you.”

His cousin appeared relieved until Bran added, “I am taking you back to William. I do not care what condition you are in when we arrive, just so long as you still breathe.”

Glen’s hands went limp at his side, and Bran slid his sword back into the scabbard.

The unexpected creak of the postern door sounded, and the occupants of the room turned as Edwin stepped through the doorway. Iain heard the scrape of steel and lunged forward, knowing Glen’s intention even before Glen swung his sword in Bran’s direction.