“Go to hell.”
It had been years since accusations of murder had been flung at him. Coming back to Bath, he’d hoped everyone’s memories of his youth here had faded. Everyone had been keen to blame Cillian—the stranger in their midst who no one ever quite trusted.
But he and Marshall knew the truth.
He closed the distance between them, bringing them toe-to-toe. He smelled alcohol on Marshall’s breath and cast a quick look over a fine wool jacket and a pearl-buttoned waistcoat that indicated the years had not been unkind to Marshall.
But of course the man would thrive after taking the life of the woman they both loved.
“I could kill you,” Cillian said through gritted teeth. “You’re a trespasser.”
“That’s your answer to everything is it not?” Marshall bunched his hands at his side and drew up his chin. “Kill anything that stands in your way? Ensure no one gets what you want?”
Cillian narrowed his gaze. “You believe your own lies now, is that it?”
Marshall met his gaze and held it for several moments. Cillian ground his teeth together. He’d tried hard to forget that time, but with Marshall in front of him it all came back—the accusations, the betrayal...the heartbreak.
“You’re going to get what’s coming to you, Cillian.” Marshall took a slight step back and folded his arms again. “I’m going to see to that.”
“You’re the one who killed her, or have you forgotten that?”
Marshall shook his head and spat on the ground. “Still telling the same old lies? No one believed you then and soon no one will believe you now.” He nodded toward the house. “It will all come crumbling down soon.”
A chill swirled into Cillian’s gut. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He tightened his posture and eyed the man he once called a friend. “You killed her, Marshall,” he said. “You killed her and had every finger pointed at me.”
“She loved me, damn it.” Marshall’s voice broke on the last word. “She loved me, and you couldn’t stand it.”
Cillian closed his eyes briefly. He never thought about Mary. Ever. She’d been beautiful and sweet and the first person to ever truly see him. Even Marshall, his friend of several years, didn’t understand him like Mary did.
She deserved better than either of them. Perhaps if they hadn’t fought over her, she’d still be alive and well.
Perhaps if Marshall wasn’t such a jealous bastard, she’d be here today.
“Get off my land.” Cillian bit each word out. “Before I live up to my reputation.”
Marshall glanced past Cillian and for a sickening moment, he feared Ivy was behind him. He turned slightly to follow the man’s gaze then eased out a breath. No Ivy. Thank God she had listened to his order. He had little idea how he’d explain Marshall’s presence or the accusations. Would she believe him?
Or would she trust Marshall’s word, just like everyone else had?
“Got yourself a pretty young wife too, did you not?” Marshall gave a dry chuckle. “I’ll admit, I did not expect that of you when I’d heard you inherited.”
“Marshall,” Cillian warned.
“I suppose you needed her young. Had to make sure she did not know anything about the real you.”
Cillian shook his head, his jaw so tight it was a miracle he hadn’t lost any teeth. “Do not make me tell you again. Get the hell off my land.”
“She likes animals does she not?”
The breath in Cillian’s lungs froze. “What do you mean?”
Marshall struggled, that strange smile lingering on his lips. “You had better be careful, Cillian. You have a lot of enemies.”
“If you’re threatening me—”
“All I am saying is she’ll find out the truth about you soon enough.” Marshall tipped his hat, pivoted, and strode away.
Cillian watched him until he’d vanished past the tree line. His chest remained tight, his gut frozen. He should have pounded the man into the ground, made him pay for what he did to Mary. But Ivy was watching, and he couldn’t have her scared of her damned husband.