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“She was about to kill ye,” he bit out. Freya had stopped scrambling,and looked helplessly up at them both.
“And now she cannae!” Jonet pressed. “See? Temper trambled her bow and she’s injured. She cannae get away. Nae unharmed the way she is.”
She made sense. Matthew knew that. The sane part of his mind told him that as well, but the fierce protectiveness surging through him was too much to put aside.
Jonet touched both his cheeks, forcing him to look at her. She gave him a reassuring smile and the anger came rushing out of him, quickly replaced by knee-buckling relief. The stick slipped from his hand and he wrapped his arms around her waist, crashing her against him.
“Are ye sure ye’re all right?” he asked desperately. “She dinnae hurt ye, did she?”
“Nay, I’m fine,” she grinned when he pulled away to look into her eyes. “Ye couldnae have come at a better time, though.”
Unable to help himself, Mathew kissed her fiercely. The moment their lips touched, the worry and fear rushed out of him. He had hightailed it to the loch when he learned that Freya had taken her away. Fearing the worse, he had wished that his unease was misplaced. Yet he was happy he was there to stop anything bad from happening.
Jonet pulled away and caressed his cheek. “If we keep this up, she’ll slip away.”
“I have me eye on her.” He did. He was very aware of Freya, who had been silently inching away from them. She froze at his words.
Matthew stepped away from Jonet and faced the woman on the ground. He had not known Freya well, but he did know that she was dear to Jonet. Now that the anger had cleared, he wanted to know the truth.
“Were ye the one who killed Dougal?” he asked. “And the last two men who’d died here?”
Freya said nothing. She was trembling, whether in fear, anger, or pain, he did not know. She glanced back and forth between him and Jonet, as if gauging whether this was a situation, she could scrape her way out of.
Yet her resolve was breaking. A few more hits and it would shatter.
“Ye are out of luck, Freya,” Jonet said, as if she too knew that. Her voice was cold. “If ye hope to have any mercy from us, ye will tell us all ye ken about these murders.”
When Freya continued to stay silent, Matthew looked at Jonet.
“Perhaps we should have yer Faither speak to her.”
“Perhaps,” Jonet hummed. “He is certainly very adept at gettin’ information out of others.”
Matthew saw in Jonet’s eyes that she was not as alright as she claimed to be. Though her words were every bit what you would expect from the daughter of a Laird, her eyes were soft, and broken. The betrayal had dug deep.
“Nay!” Freya rasped. Tears shimmered in her eyes. “It wasnae me fault.”
“Oh?” Matthew probed.
“He was the one who made me do it. I thought… I thought that if I did as he asked, he would see that I was truly the one for him. That I would do anythin’ for him.”
Matthew frowned. “Who are ye talkin’ about?”
It was Jonet who answered, her voice a whisper. “Jonathan.”
“He asked me to poison Mr. Anderson,” Freya was breaking completely now, the threads that had held her together unraveling. Tears ran like rivulets down her face. Her voice cracked when she continued. “He was the one who asked me to poison ye as well, Mr. McDulaigh.”
“But why?” Matthew demanded to know, even though the reason was becoming clear as day. Jonet remained silent. “Why would he want to do all these things?”
“Because he dinnae want Jonet to marry.” Freya sniffled. She was no longer trying to get away. She had clearly given up. “He wants to make sure that any man who dares to stand by her side is killed so that
nay one else will come. Miss Jonet would give up on the very thought of marryin’ and the Lairdship would be his.”
“So, the arrow that had almost hit me on me way back from the village?”
“That was Jonathan himself.”
“And the bowl?” Jonet spoke up. “From the window?”
