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“I love ye, Cicilia O’Donnel. I’ll tell ye again as many times as ye like when I return,” Alexander told her.
And then he turned, kissed both twins on the forehead, and left.
“Thomaes! Thomaes is behind this! He wants to bring ye down!” Cicilia cried after him as soon as she found her voice.
But the door was already swinging shut behind him, and Cicilia had no idea if he had heard.
He loves me. He loves me, as I love him. An’ I’ve nae idea if I’ll ever see him again.
Thomaes Cunningham had been plotting this day for more than a dozen years,
and at last, it was coming to fruition. Soon, he—not Declan, and not his fool son Alexander—would finally possess the power which he was owed. It had been a slow, painful protest, but now it was time to truly reap his rewards.
I’ve been patient. I’ve foregone a lot o’ progress in me life to make sure it all pays off. Nae wife, nae bairns. But who will nae want to wed me when I’m Laird?
And he knew who he would make his wife. The farm girl was rough at the edges, true, but she had an odd beauty about her. Her sharp attitude, her lovely figure…she’d be an excellent prize to claim after all of this was over.
He’d have to find something to do with the children. Ideally, he could just dispose of them, but he didn’t imagine his bride-to-be would appreciate that much. Perhaps he would simply send them on to whoever acquired the accursed farm when he put it to sale.
I’ll nae have those wild bairns thinkin’ that livin’ in me Castle gives them status.
He knew Cicilia was in the Castle now, too. He’d seen her enter. While his men and those foolish simpletons from the village fought with Alexander and Nathair’s pitiful rallied guards downstairs, he’d act. He’d take her some place and keep her locked away until she had her loyalties and priorities in order.
Getting into the residential wing and past the tripled guard was as easy as nodding his head. They had been instructed not to let in anyone who did not belong—but he, Thomaes, lived at this Castle. He was the Laird’s trusted accomptant and friend, just as he had been such to the previous Laird.
He’d worked hard to cultivate that image. It had been vital in his plan the whole time.
Thomaes located Cicilia’s bedroom quickly. The four guards posted outside stood to attention as soon as he approached. “Relax, lads,” he said in a friendly tone. “Gallagher sent me to check on the lassie an’ the bairns. They’re still inside?”
“Aye,” one of the men said with a firm nod. “They’ve been quiet. Nae body else has been in or out, sir.”
Thomaes nodded. “Good. Ye four are needed downstairs. I’ll stay up here to protect them. Gallagher’s orders.”
That was all it took to send the idiots away. They even nodded courteously at him before leaving.
There was no rush now. He could take his time. Alexander would die in the fighting, or he would be captured, and his title stripped from him. His loyalists would be injured, killed, or turned. And Thomaes, who knew the people, the Castle, and the clan, would take his place.
Perhaps that was why he was so confident when he knocked on the door and said, “Miss O’Donnel, let me in.”
There was silence from inside.
“Miss O’Donnel,” he said again, a little more firmly. “I ken ye’re in there. The guards just told me. Alexander has sent me to—”
“Alexander’s sent ye for naught,” Cicilia’s muffled voice echoed out. “Dinnae ye lie to me. I ken what ye’re up to. I ken ye’re behind all o’ this. Ye’re a villain!”
Thomaes blinked. “A villain?” he called back. “Ye think I’m a villain? Och, Cicilia, nay. I’m a hero to the clan, even if they dinnae ken it yet. I’ve dedicated the last thirteen years o’ me life makin’ sure everybody got to this position. I’m here to save Clan Gallagher from the MacKinnons an’ their foolishness for good.”
“Thirteen years?” Cicilia asked back through the door. “Ye—that’s before Alexander even became Laird. What are ye talkin’ about?”
“Alexander is nae the first feckless MacKinnon Laird I’ve had the misfortune o’ servin’,” Thomaes snapped. “He’s nae the first one I’ve had to pretend to listen to while I’m solvin’ all the problems in the background. He’s nae the first stuck-up lad who thinks he kens better than me!”
There was more silence, then Cicilia’s voice came through, much quieter and more broken. “His faither. His mither. It was nae an accident, was it?”
That’s what I like to see. Me future wife should be a lass who can solve a puzzle without needin’ to be led by the hand. When she rules by me side, she’ll be a real boon.
“I planted men in the Sinclair Clan a year before,” he explained. It was actually quite a relief to tell it all now when he’d had to keep it to himself for so long. “When the Laird an’ his wife traveled off to see their spoiled lassie, I kent the opportunity was perfect. One o’ me men loosened the wheels while another scared the horses at precisely the right time.”
“Ye killed them,” Cicilia said. She was barely audible through the door.
