Page 13 of His Forgotten Highland Bride

Years ago, Brenna took to barring her door before she slept to keep her husband’s uncle from intruding. More recently, the laird ordered Malcolm and Gabe to protect her at all times, standing guard by her door as she slept. Which meant Ewan hadn’t come to her room through the door. His clothing was wet, and his hair dripped upon her face.

The bastard had most likely climbed up from the loch outside to her window. She’d have not thought him capable of such a strenuous plot, but how he got there wasn’t nearly as important. She needed help. Reaching out, she knocked the bell from the nightstand, causing it to clang to the floor.

“Lady Grant?” Gabe’s low voice called right away. “Brenna?” he yelled louder when she didn’t respond. Or instead couldn’t.

“They won’t be able to save you,” Ewan said. For once, the sour smell of ale and whiskey didn’t assail her senses. He was sober, not the malleable slug he usually was. It made him all the more dangerous.

Her hand searched the nightstand for the other item she always kept there—her dirk.

Ewan laughed. “It’s not there.” His whisper was barely heard over an axe splitting through her door.

Her vision began fading and fluttering around the edges, but she needed to hold until her guards could assist her. Just a few more seconds, and maybe a few more after that. With both hands holding her throat, her hands were free. She initially tried to remove his grip or fight him off, but he was too strong. But she had another plan.

She reached under her pillow where she kept her sgian dubh. She was rarely without a blade, even in the bath, all because of this man. She was tired of living in fear. She gathered all her remaining strength to end his terror once and for all.

But he noticed the weapon a moment before she would’ve stabbed him in the kidney with the small blade. It would have been a fatal wound, but instead, he released her throat to fend off her attack.

Her lungs sucked in the needed air as she fumbled with the blade, grasping desperately to find purchase. He hissed with pain and pulled back, allowing her to move for his throat. Another miss, but the blade caught the skin on his jaw and cheek. A moment later, his weight was off, and she could breathe more fully.

“The kitten has claws.” He laughed again while wiping the blood from his face with his dirty sleeve. “You’ll pay for that.”

He moved toward her again but spared a look for the door, which was splintering to pieces. Malcolm reached through and tossed the bar off the brackets, and the mutilated door swung open as three guards rushed in to seize Ewan. Gabe came to her side with wide gray eyes.

“Are you injured, my lady?”

“Nay. I need to catch my breath,” she answered, her voice rough. Gabe winced at the sight of her throat. No doubt it was bruised from Ewan’s grip.

He spoke by her ear so the others wouldn’t hear what he said. “He has gone too far this time, my lady. Ye would be justified in hanging the bugger.”

“Aye,” she agreed with a nod. At the moment, with her throat burning and her heart pounding, she wanted nothing more but to see Ewan Grant’s lifeless body swinging at the end of a rope. But as her breath slowed and reason returned, she shook her head and changed her mind. “Nay.”

“You are in charge of the clan and well within your right to seek punishment for his treachery.”

“I know. But I was only given this power yesterday. How would it look to the clan if I exercised such a right the day after the laird passed?”

“It would look quite good,” Gabe answered.

She might have laughed at his expression if things weren’t so dire. She shook her head again.

“While I refuse to end his life, I want him exiled from Grant lands. No weapons. No food. No water. Perhaps if he spends time focusing on foraging for his meals, he’ll have less time trying to overthrow me.”

“How will I hunt without a weapon?” Ewan shouted at her.

“You might have thought of that before you attacked and nearly killed me. My ruling is more than you deserve, you spineless cur.”

“Ye might as well run your wee blade across my throat, for I’ll not survive in the wilderness.”

“I will not stand before Ronan and tell him you died by my hand. But know this: if my men or I see you on Grant lands again, you’ll not get another warning. You will be dealt with immediately. This is your final chance and more than you should have. Take him away. I never want to see him again.”

“Aye, my lady. We’ll see it done.”

“And then join me at the kirk to say our goodbyes to a great man and a kind laird.”

The rain did not let up as the priest performed the service, and the gathered crowd dispersed. She remained behind, allowing her tears to mingle with the raindrops that ran down her face and dripped off her chin.

She’d loved the man as a father or a grandsire. He’d treated her with more kindness than her own family ever had, and as he’d never had a daughter, he came to dote on her as if she was of his blood. She would miss him greatly. When a small sob escaped, Gabe and Malcolm stood closer. Always on guard to save her from any possible threat. Even sadness. A few of the remaining clan people looked over at her with confusion in their eyes.

No doubt they wondered why the laird had put her in charge of the clan. She was not a Grant by blood and had not been trained for such a duty beyond the times she spent sitting in the hall while the laird listened and ruled his people.

They probably didn’t realize the true laird of the Grants had been summoned and was most likely already on his way. Her husband, Ronan, the man who had married her and then left her after their single night together, would be returning.

As usual, when she considered such a thing, she was overcome by conflicting emotions. Happiness, betrayal, hope, and disgust all warred in her mind and heart. Ronan would be here soon, and she had yet to determine how she felt.