“He was turning us into men,” Hamish spat.
“He was turning us into monsters.”
“I still doona see why ye felt ye had to do away with him,” Hamish expounded. “Ye canna really rape a whore, can ye? Besides, ye were weak even then. Ye couldna go through with it.”
Hearing that caused a tear of relief to join the steady trickle of moisture from Mena’s eyes.
“I found her body in Bryneloch Bog.” Liam’s temper was overcoming his caution; she could tell by the heat in his voice. “Ye know he murdered her to keep her silent, so she wouldna stir the clan against him.”
“That’s what’s always been wrong with ye, Liam. Ye think that her insignificant life was worth the death of a great man.”
“He was an evil man,” Liam snarled. “He killed innocent people. His own clan.”
Hamish scoffed at that. “All great men do evil things.”
“Ye’re wrong.”
“How would ye know? Ye’re neither a great man nor a righteous one. But ye’re not famous for yer good deeds, are ye?”
The darkness was silent for several heartbeats. Hamish’s taunt had hit its mark.
“What about Dougan?” Liam’s soft, tortured question barely traversed the distance between them. “Father ordered the death of his own son.”
“Dougan was just as much a monster as any of us. Worse, I’d wager. He murdered a bloody priest before he saw the age of fifteen.”
Mena’s heart bled. She wanted to tell Liam that she still thought he was a good man. A great man. That she was glad his father had answered for all the vicious, unspeakable things he did. She hesitated because it seemed that Hamish had all but forgotten her. His hold didn’t waver, but he no longer seemed to be focused on her death.
“One would think, dear brother, that ye ought to have more sympathy for our father’s bastards.” Gavin St. James startled both Mena and Hamish as he strode into the clearing from the east, looking relaxed as you please. “Seeing as ye are one.”
“Sod off, Thorne,” Hamish snarled. Every muscle in his mangled body tensed, and Mena cried out as his grip on the back of her neck tightened. He blessedly took the knife he held beneath Mena’s chin and brandished it at Gavin. “I should have smothered ye the second yer wretched mother whelped ye into this—”
Mena heard the slight whoosh of air as the dagger left the shadows, twirling end over end until it whirled by her ear.
Hamish screamed as it found its mark, and Mena was released just in time to duck as the Demon Highlander rose from the mist, leaped to the altar rock, and vaulted for his brother.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The impact was like two leviathans colliding, and it shook the earth. They went down, swallowed by the vapor, and Mena scrambled away. The cold rasp of stone abraded her fingertips as she pulled herself up by the altar rock and clung to it. The terrible sounds of flesh connecting with flesh in violence echoed through the clearing, and a little part of her died every second she couldn’t see Liam. She wanted to do anything but stand and watch the events unfold before her, but knew the smartest thing to do was to stay out of Liam’s way. She would help no one by putting herself in danger. There were two daggers down there in the mist, and Lord only knew what damage was being done.
Thorne rushed forward, and it was then she realized that he was not alone. Russell barreled in behind him, followed by a stern-looking Thomas Campbell.
“We heard ye scream, lass,” Russell called. “Are ye hurt?”
“No, but the laird—”
Before the clansmen had a chance to reach her, Liam surged out of the mist, his own dirk poised where Hamish’s neck met his mangled shoulder. The laird’s powerful arm bulged with the strain of keeping his wounded brother in check.
“I should kill ye for laying yer hands on her,” he snarled.
“Doona do it, brother.” Thorne approached the two furious Highlanders cautiously. “He has many crimes to answer for.”
“And his justice should be swift,” Liam insisted through clenched teeth. His dark eyes were wide and wild with furious frenzy as the muscles in his arm clenched with the restraint it took not to slide the blade home.
“Hamish. It canna be,” Russell marveled, wearing an identically stricken look to Campbell’s as he took in Hamish’s distorted form. They were seeing a ghost. A hideous, disfigured specter of a man they all once knew. If he wasn’t so evil, he’d have been pitiable.
“Finish what he started if ye have the stones,” Hamish hissed, though he was out of breath. “Ye could just work through slaughtering yer entire family. First yer father, then me.” He turned to Gavin, his lips pulled away from a few sharp teeth. “Ye’ll be next,” he predicted ominously. His face was bleeding from a cut on his head, but in all the chaos of his scars, Mena couldn’t find the source of the wound.
Thorne’s expression faltered, at the revelation of what Liam had done.
He hadn’t known, Mena realized. He hadn’t known that his brother had killed their father.
The earl took his belt off, and gestured for Russell to do the same, his movements methodical. “Let us take him to the dungeon, Liam. We’ll deliver him to the regiment tomorrow by train. I’m certain Trenwyth will have more than a few charges to bring.”
“They’ll only hang him,” Liam gritted out.
“Liam.” Mena stepped forward, reaching for him.