She heard her father's gruff voice warning her, but she ignored it and took another step closer. She was close enough now to share in the heat radiating from him. For a brief moment, her mind betrayed her, and she wondered what it would feel like if she leaned forward those last few inches and pressed her lips to his neck where she could see his pulse beating. She looked up and realized he was examining her as well, almost like he was searching for something on her face.
“Have ye suddenly lost yer fear of me, lass?”
“Jane!” her father called again, but she ignored him and stood her ground.
“This is our home, nae the theater of yer uprising, my laird. And my sister shall never be offended in my presence. Yer man will be thrown in the dungeon for his deeds, and if ye think to insult my sister again—”
Her words stopped, and her whole being froze as she felt a stinging slap to her face. But it was herfather’shand that branded her cheek with his ire.
“Silence yerself, lass! This talk is none of yer business. Retire tae yer chambers now, both of ye!Ye,” he turned to the guards, “take the criminal tae the dungeons and lock him up. I’ll see tae his judgement later.”
Her father was furious. Jane, utterly humiliated, before leaving turnedtoward Darach who was shaking with anger, barely holding himself together. She exited the room, but not before hearing hisfinal words to her father..
“This is nae the end of things, MacThomas.”
* * *
Jane’s voice echoed fiercely in Darach’s ears as she chastised him. With each step she took toward him, the worry in his heart increased until he could barely breathe.
He glanced down at her face as she spoke out angrily, defending her sister.
She was beautiful, and her loyalty to her family was admirable. She was the kind of woman who would make a good wife. She would give him fine sons and daughters who would be strong and fearless, just like her. She would be a natural leader of a clan and an asset to her laird. And, God in heaven, what sort of fire might she stoke behind the closed doors of his chambers, with her golden hair scattered on the bed?
Then he looked over her head to her father, who stood still in the middle of the hall, calling the lass to attention. When she didn’t heed him quickly enough, he stepped forward and landed a blow on her cheek.
The sound of the hit made Darach’s blood boil.
He couldn’t look away from the lass’ face. Her eyes were wide with shock, pain and humiliation. Her mouth opened and then shut, and she gasped, her face going white, except for the red hand drawn on her cheek. For a moment, Darach went numb.
Why would he hit her?
His heart started thumping, and he could hear blood passing through his ears.Thump, thump, thump. He could feel his chest moving up and down under the layers of his clothing. His hands trembled over the hilt of his sword, and his vision became blurry until all he could see was the girl’s pain-stricken face as she looked at her father.
Why would he hit her?!
The sound of the slap had awakened a most profound anger, and it filled his head with a wild, unbridled fury that the previous dispute had already stoked. He staggered toward MacThomas and heard the unmistakable sound of swords being drawn, and then a warning shout went out. He heard MacThomas bark out orders to his daughters to retreat to their chambers and then instruct his guards to throw Kenn in a dungeon.
Darach's blood turned to fire, and he knew what was coming next.
A part of him was being awakened, a part he’d decided to bury because it was monstrous and evil and without restraint. He knew he had to get out of the hall. He was hot, starting to break a sweat, and had to get out in the night air to regain his calm.
“This is nae the end of things, MacThomas,” he bit out as he stormed off.
As he shot through the hallway, a trembling traveled down into his arms and legs, leaving him unsteady on his feet. He must not stop; he knew that. He knew he must move away as far as possible from the object of his fury. His heart seemed to pound even faster, harder. He tried taking a deep breath to calm himself, but his breaths were sharp and shallow. His vision grew darker, narrower, and he saw thousands of colors swirling around, making him dizzy. He closed his eyes and guided himself with his left hand on the wall.
Ye’re a beast, a voice in his head said.
Ye maim and kill; that’s what ye are.
Ye killed yer own wife.
“Nay,” Darach gasped. “Nay!” He staggered into an alcove and slowly sank to the floor. The memory of that night flooded his mind.
He remembered Maira’s ashen face as he held her in his arms, how she sagged in them, lifeless. The knowledge of what he had done had struck him so hard that he’d staggered back, and his knees had buckled. He had fallen to the ground, holding her against his chest.
“Maira, nay! Nay! Oh, God, Maira, nay. Nay…nay!”
A crowd had gathered as he sobbed. He hadn’t cared. He had no pride, just shame—shame and regret for what had happened earlier in the night.