Highland Hellion (Highland Weddings #3)(12)

I am not helpless…

Katherine repeated that several times, using it as a shield to defend herself against the fear swelling up inside her.

“I was not on your land,” Katherine said smoothly.

“But ye are in a kilt,” Colum declared. “And someone has taught ye how to use that dagger like a man.”

He stopped and made a low sound in the back of his throat. His men were contemplating her, their foreheads furrowing as they took in her male attire.

“Unnatural…”

“English…”

“So,” Colum said. “At last I have an answer to why the MacPhersons seem to always best me men.” His eyes suddenly glowed with vicious intent. “For why my son is rotting in his grave and no’ here to lead this clan.”

His men looked to him while Katherine felt her breath catch. She recalled that tone of voice. It stirred the memory of the way the Earl of Morton had sounded so many years before, when he’d ordered her to be wed at barely fourteen years of age.

“The MacPhersons have an English witch.”

“I am not a witch,” Katherine insisted. Her rising alarm brought out her English accent and earned her more than one curse.

Colum listened to the rumble of discontentment from his people for a long moment, the gleam in his eye becoming one of enjoyment that sickened her with just how brightly it glowed. Hatred truly was an ugly thing.

“I do nae care if ye are a witch or no’,” he muttered with a wave of his hand.

His men didn’t like what he said, but Katherine wasn’t relieved because the laird’s lips rose into a twisted grin even more horrific than the enjoyment sparkling in his eyes. It chilled her blood.

“I wondered why I’ve lived this long…” The hall went quiet as the laird continued to speak. “Bhaic MacPherson laid me son, Lye Rob, in his grave. I do nae care why, only that Fate has delivered a woman to me that Bhaic and Marcus call sister.” Colum fingered one of the bear claws. “They took me family, and I will take a member of theirs. Blood for blood.”

“You are insane.” She didn’t mean to speak, but the horrified words slipped past her lips. There was no going back, so she stiffened her spine and took a brazen approach. “You would leave your clan with a feud started for the sake of vengeance?”

Colum scowled at her. “No English bitch is going to lecture me.”

“Someone should,” Katherine insisted, raising her voice so it carried through the hall. “For it will be the women of your clan who are left to mourn their husbands and sons when the MacPhersons extract vengeance for you spilling my blood.”

“Well, now.” Colum leaned forward and pointed one gnarled finger at her. “The good Earl of Morton will be ordering them to stop. The MacPhersons do what that man tells them to, sure enough.”

There was a gleam of unholy victory in his eyes, which sickened her.

“The earl is a long way from here.” She meant it as a warning, but it also served as one to her, because the men around her were not shifting in their stances. There was no hint of any of them questioning their laird.

Colum didn’t miss her rising fear. He chuckled at her, still smiling brightly. “And the beauty of it all is that even should me descendants find themselves answering to the earl, this will be a matter of a witch being burned. Put her somewhere where she can see the courtyard. I want her to watch the pyre being built.”

Tyree was the one who hooked his hands into her hair and dragged her away. Katherine held back the cry of pain and stumbled as he half threw her ahead of him, only to then recapture her and toss her forward again.

But she saw them at last. Those Gordons who did not share in their laird’s bloodlust. They were near the back of the hall, many of them looking away from her, shamed by her circumstances and the fact that they didn’t dare go against their laird’s will.

And then Tyree had hold of her hair again. She’d braided it tightly to keep it under her bonnet. He dug his fingers into it and jerked her along until she heard a door grinding open, the hinges stiff with rust.

“This will do well enough for a witch.”

Tyree kicked her to get her to move inside the dank room. Katherine faced him instead.

“At least I do not make excuses when I am laid low.”

His face twisted with rage and he raised his hand, but something flickered in his eyes. He was suddenly loosening the rope that bound her, pulling it free, and then in the next moment, he stripped her down to her shirt before pushing her into the room.

“A witch does nae need clothing to stay warm.”

Tyree closed the door after his parting shot. Katherine started to tremble as she heard the bar being lowered into place to secure the room. It was pitch-black, raising the tiny hairs along the surface of her skin.

Alone…

She struggled against the memory of being helpless and alone, but in the darkness, there was no defense. She sank down and pulled her arms inside her shirt to try to keep warm. But the true battle was against her circumstances. This time, she’d brought them on herself.

She didn’t regret it.

Couldn’t, because to do so would make her a creature like Colum or Tyree and his followers. Better to center her thoughts on the men she’d saved. Wasn’t it wiser to lose one life instead of five?

Well, perhaps she was just trying to ensure her plight had a purpose that was more than a life full of unkind circumstances. She refused to tumble into that pit of despair.