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Mhairi’s death would never be avenged. She'd never have justice. She’d never return to her home and kinfolk.

She'd never see the Mackinnon again.

It made no sense at all, but somehow that was the hardest loss of all to bear.

"I willnae jump just because you're waving that bodkin at me, mistress."

Her arm hurt like the devil and when she raised her hand to the cut, her fingers met hot, sticky blood. She didn't look down to check the damage. Some instinct warned her that if she broke eye contact with Sheena, the girl wouldn’t hesitate to shove her over the edge.

"If ye willnae jump, I'll push ye." Sheena stepped closer, and Mhairi backed away until she recalled the fall behind her.

"Ye can try."

She edged around to create greater distance between her and the lip of the cliff, only to come to a trembling stop when Sheena’s knife slashed the air in front of her. Mhairi jerked back on knees that felt like wet wool.

In the rosy dawn light, the blade was already stained red with her blood. The sight sent an icy shaft of panic through her.

"Nae tricks."

"Ye cannae imagine you’ll get away with this," Mhairi said, although the cruel truth was that it was highly likely that the girl would.

"Only a few more inches, and you're done for," Sheena said in a gloating voice.

"You're mad." Mhairi's heart pounded in great, panicked thumps, while alarm tightened her throat to the point of pain. She tasted bile in her mouth. "The Mackinnon willnae marry ye, even if I'm dead."

It was difficult to talk. She was too aware of the cliff behind her. She shivered with dread. And the freezing spray from the Mare's Tail which soaked her blouse.

"He'll want comforting, now he’s lost his Drummond whore. I'm grand at comforting a laddie."

Sheena stepped closer but despite the knife poised mere inches from her ribs, Mhairi didn't budge. She was too close to falling.

She braced to leap forward and snatch the blade from Sheena. The chances of success weren't great, but she refused to die like a whimpering coward.

The point shifted forward and pressed into Mhairi’s sodden linen blouse. "It will be a quick death."

"How verra kind," Mhairi said sarcastically and reached forward with both hands to grab Sheena's wrist.

The girl's hand twisted under the attack, and the blade sliced the wet linen, scratching a long, stinging line across the skin of Mhairi’s stomach. She cried out and flung herself to the right, finding her balance after a few dizzying seconds. Even above the waterfall’s din, she heard stones clattering down the cliff behind her, dislodged by the reckless leap.

Sheena was strong, and Mhairi was already injured. Fingers slippery with blood had trouble keeping a firm grip on the girl’s hand. Panting, Mhairi managed to drag Sheena closer to the edge. It wasn’t enough.

Within seconds, Mhairi felt Sheena gain the advantage. This time, it was Mhairi who swayed above the void.

Despair crashed down. All her defiance counted for nothing. She was going to die. And she wanted so much to live.

She broke away from Sheena, although she was still too near the edge. Sheena lunged after her but slipped on the wet grass. The swipe of the knife went wild.

Mhairi whirled around to flee. But hands as hard as steel shot out to grab her wounded arm. As agony lanced through her, she let out a cry. Stars blinded her.

She heard the sharp crack of a gunshot.

Suddenly she was free. She opened dazed eyes to see Sheena clutching at her shoulder. Blood blossomed red on her gray sleeve.

Sheena reeled back on unsteady legs. “Rot in hell, ye Drummond bitch.”

The girl staggered on the rim of the cliff. There was a sickening rattle of stones. Then with a long, jagged scream, she disappeared over the side.

Chapter 18


Tags: Anna Campbell The Lairds Most Likely Historical