14
When he had gone, Evanna washed herself and went downstairs to help with the preparation of breakfast. She felt as though a huge weight had landed on her shoulders, and the thought of managing to get through another day filled her with dread, yet she knew she had to do it. The killing of a man, even in self-defense, was something she had never contemplated either doing or watching, and she simply could not come to terms with it.
Evanna wanted to feel as if it had happened to someone else, but it had not. It had happened to her. Although she told herself over and over again that there was nothing else Fraser could have done, she still felt an overwhelming sense of guilt. Fraser had acted to save her life, but a man had still lost his life because of her. Even though he was an evil swine of a man, she had not wanted to be the one who took part in his killing. It was no consolation to tell herself that she had not struck the fatal blow. She had helped to dispose of the body.
Fortunately, Lexie, Flora, and Donna had not yet awakened, and she was all alone in the kitchen, so she was free to let go of her thoughts.
Outside, it had begun to pour with rain again, and the thought of Fraser riding through the foul weather in his torn clothes almost made her weep. However, that would be the least of his worries if Gordon Gilchrist decided to side with Rowan.
“What will I do then?” she said aloud, as if she were talking to something or someone apart from the empty air.
As it happened, the air was not empty as Lexie came into the kitchen at that moment. Her reddish hair was tousled from sleep, and her eyes were still half closed. She rubbed them with the heels of her hands.
“What will ye do when?” she asked Evanna as she stifled a yawn and drew her robe more tightly around herself.
Evanna turned to her thankfully, then went to hug her. Lexie stroked her hair, frowning. “Something has happened,” she said warily. She put Evanna away a little to look into her eyes and saw the glitter of tears there. “What is it? Is it Fraser? Is he—”
“No, he is no’ dead, if that is what ye were goin’ tae say,” Evanna replied. “No, he is gone, Lexie. He left this morning.”
“There is something else.” Lexie looked deeply into her eyes.
“Somebody tried tae kill me last night, Lexie,” she answered at last. “Fraser saved my life.”
Lexie let out a long, slow breath, collecting herself. “By killing the would-be murderer himself, I expect?”
Evanna nodded. “Aye, Lexie.”
Suddenly the image of the dead man’s body appeared in front of her face—the ghastly, gaping wound in his chest, the staring eyes, and the blood pooling around him like a horrible red flower.
“It was…it was terrible.” She tried to say something more, but the words would not leave her mouth, and as she tried to focus on Lexie, her face blurred and faded before a dark curtain came down over her.
* * *
Fraser was absolutely frozen to the bone by the time he reached Burntstane Castle. As he approached, however, he saw that many of the guards were not at their posts but seemed to be readying themselves for battle. Therefore, he was able to go in unchallenged, and inside the courtyard, he found a state of orderly chaos.
He dismounted from Evanna’s horse and looped her reins over a post, then looked around in disbelief.
A blacksmith had set up shop in the courtyard and was busy making shoes for many of the heavy warhorses that were waiting patiently for their turn to be seen.
A castle the size of Burntstane had stabling for almost a hundred horses, although they were not all warhorses. Some were draft animals, some were ponies for the laird’s children, and some were delicate mounts for ladies. However, today only the massive beasts who carried soldiers were in evidence. He was also sharpening swords, and an armorer was mending metal helms. A farrier was at work on the bridles and saddles. One of the kitchen maids came out with cups of ale, which she was distributing among the workers and guards.
Briefly, Fraser wondered what was going on, then realization hit him like a punch to the stomach. The Gilchrists and McLachlans were preparing for war, no doubt with the Mulhollands.
For a moment, no one noticed him as he dismounted, then ambled around, taking in everything he saw. Should he wander out again before he was seen? It was still teeming with rain outside, but at least he would be alive. Perhaps coming to the castle had been a bad decision.
However, the decision was soon taken out of his hands as a familiar voice shouted, “Fraser McLachlan! What are ye doin’ here?” He stood, gaping in amazement. “Ye’re dead!”
Fraser looked down at himself. “If that is what ye think, Andy McLennan, ye are even dafter than I thought ye were! I am no’ dead. I had a bit o’ a cut, but it was nowhere near bad enough tae kill me!” He laughed loudly and looked around at the crowd of men who were gathering, crowding in on him to make sure that escape was impossible.
One of Rowan McLachlan’s company ran up to him and threw all his weight behind a hefty punch aimed at Fraser’s jaw. He was a stocky, dark fellow of medium height, and it would have been a fine punch had it ever landed, but it did not. Fraser caught the other man’s wrist in mid-arc and squeezed it so tightly that he screamed before sinking to his knees on the floor, his face screwed up in agony.
A dozen of his friends came to his rescue and pulled Fraser, whose blue eyes were blazing in fury, away from the injured man. They were about to beat him to a pulp, and Fraser knew it. All he could do was endure it and hope he would still be alive at the end. Briefly, he thought of Evanna waiting for him at the tavern. If he died, she would be wondering why he had deserted her, and he hoped that someone else had told her the story of his death.
He braced himself for the first punch, but suddenly a shout rang out in an all-too-familiar voice.
“What are ye doin’?” Rowan Mclachlan asked irritably as he forced his way through the crowd of men. As he pushed the last one aside and came face-to-face with Fraser, his jaw dropped and his strange eyes widened with shock. “Fraser…Fraser McLachlan? How did ye… Ye are supposed tae be dead!”
“Well, despite yer best efforts, I am still here, Rowan,” Fraser pointed out grimly, scowling at his cousin. “Twice ye have tried tae murder me, an’ twice ye have failed, an’ just in case ye were wonderin’, one o’ yer men is in the forest near the tavern. I killed him wi’ my own hands since he tried tae kill me first, but no doubt the boars will have dined on him by now.” He raised his chin as he looked at his cousin defiantly.