by Eliza Knight
Bronwen narrowed her gaze at Euan. “Why did ye no’ tell me about the bet? Even after I confessed to ye.”
The bet? Euan’s gut sank. So, this was Hector’s play to twist the stipulations of the will into a wager. To get her to hate him by revealing something she might see as treachery. “Because my grandfather’s will—what Hector has deemed a bet—was of little consequence.” And this was an honest answer, as cruel as it might have sounded coming out.
Pain flashed in her eyes, and he knew she’d misinterpreted him. He meant it made no difference because he loved her; there was no contest of falsity in that. The will didn’t matter to him anymore, especially right now. If it cost him everything, he still would love her. They’d find a way. And his sisters would understand that. They’d had to find a way before when they’d been orphaned. They were no strangers to hardships.
“Ye see, pet?” Hector crooned cruelly, grinning most vilely at Euan. “He does no’ care for ye.”
“I trusted ye,” Bronwen whispered, her fiery gaze directed at Euan. “Ye used me.”
Hector had turned her against him or attempted to, and it appeared to be working. If Hector suspected there were any feelings between Euan and Bronwen before, it was confirmed now by Bronwen’s admission. Damn his cousin for playing on Bronwen’s emotions.
“I was no’ lying,” Euan said to her. “About anything. I may have omitted a stipulation in my grandfather’s will, but that changes nothing between us. Changes nothing about what I said or what we’ve shared.”
From the way her eyes searched his, he could tell she was struggling with whether to believe him or not. Euan kept his face serious, his eyes locked on hers. Pleading with his gaze for her to believe him. Because he loved her so damn much.
“Whatever Hector has told ye, I’m certain it was with a spin of untruth, or at least to favor himself,” Euan continued. “I’d never do anything to hurt ye, Bronwen. And I admit to my failure at keeping ye out of harm’s way. This was the last thing I wanted to happen to ye. I’ll spend every day trying to make it up to ye for the rest of my life.”
“Well, that is cruel,” Hector said in a sarcastic tone, followed by a bitter laugh. “And it does no’ matter what ye say. Ye see, there are no circumstances in which whatever truths and sentiments ye think she should remember matter. I’ve had my sights on this lass for a lot longer than ye have, cousin. And I’m no’ about to give her up because ye’ve developed a heart.”
Euan’s suspicions were correct about his cousin and how much deeper this went between him and Bronwen. Bloody fecking hell! He’d not wanted to be right. Had hoped it was only an exaggerated thought brought on by the terror of the man holding a knife to her throat.
Bronwen’s gaze flicked to Hector from the sides of her eyes, and confusion registered on her face for a brief second. Good God, was it possible she’d not yet realized that Hector was the man responsible for her parents’ demise?
“Ye can no’ trust him, Bronwen. Think about what he’s admitting. He is the one who’s been after ye.”
Horror struck her then as she gaped at Euan, realizing exactly who the man was that held her dangerously close.
“Prince?” she whispered.
What did she mean Prince?
Hector’s knife pressed menacingly against her delicate neck, and his grin widened as he took great pleasure in their mutual fear.
“I see the two of ye have finally put together some things. Aye, I’m Prince, The Trojan is mine, blah blah blah. But I can no’ take all the credit. Ye see, my father introduced me to this life. Ye could say I took over the business, as I’m soon going to take over Drum. We want to keep things in the family if ye know what I mean.” He laughed then, his body jostling Bronwen, and she stiffened to keep her neck away from the wiggling blade.
“Ye bastard. Over my dead body,” Euan growled, his fingernails digging into the outside paneling of the carriage, scratching into the paint the way he wanted to cut into his cousin’s flesh.
Hector shrugged as if he didn’t care at all. “That can be arranged.”
Bronwen struggled to keep her breaths even. She had to think clearly if she was going to get out of this situation. Somehow, despite the mastermind he proclaimed to be, Hector had failed to notice she’d grabbed a fork from the table when he had his two men absconded with her. She’d been able to slip it into the pocket of the day gown she’d donned, and now, ever so slowly, she was inching it out.
Sometimes a lass had to take her future into her own hands—and this was such a time.
Euan kept his attention on Hector, the two of them sparring back and forth. She could barely hear the words coming out of their mouths but hoped they’d keep on talking long enough for her to have the advantage of a surprise strike.
Hector held the knife at her neck, and the other arm around her shoulders, leaving her arms unrestrained. She just needed to get the perfect stabbing angle and pray that Euan’s cousin did not slit her throat in the process. A gamble, to be sure, and she’d made it a point all of her adult life not to be the wagering sort. Well, she supposed this time she needed to make an exception. If she calculated it right, he’d be completely shocked and would drop the weapon.
But there was also the chance he would react, and in that instance, she was dead.
Well, to sit here and think about it was to let others decide her fate. She had to act.
Hector was a criminal after all and not unfamiliar with murder. So, she could do nothing and would be forced into whatever horrible plan he had for her or, she could risk her own life in order to take his. Her own death seemed a better bet than the future he had in store for her. And she’d never know unless she tried.
Grasping the handle of the fork tightly in her left hand, she’d have to reach across her body to the right and upward to jab it into his face. It was now or never.
Bronwen drew in a deep breath, and as she exhaled, she jerked her arm across and up, feeling the prongs of the fork sink into their mark as her arm jarred from the forceful attack. Hector screamed, but before he could slice at her neck, Euan was on him, wrestling the knife away. Bronwen scrambled across the cabin to see that her fork had landed smack in the middle of his eyeball.
“Ye bitch!” Hector shrieked, his hand reaching and then falling away from the fork over and over. Blood dripped down his cheek. “My eye! Ye bloody stabbed my eye!”
Bronwen nodded, trembling. She would have stabbed his eye all over again, a thousand times, if only it would have brought her parents back to life. They might have gotten into the wrong things, but they didn’t deserve to die for it.
“Ye’re lucky that’s all ye’re losing today,” Euan growled, hauling the man out of the coach and leaving her inside for a moment to stare down at her trembling hands.
The left one had flecks of blood on it from the impact. But the right was completely clean. She started to tremble all over, shaking uncontrollably. A low sobbing sound came from her throat, but no tears accompanied it.
A second later, Maggie’s head popped into the carriage, her blue eyes full of concern locking on Bronwen. “Thank God ye were no’ hurt,” she said, climbing in and shutting the door behind her, cutting off the sounds of Hector’s screams. “But are ye all right?”
Bronwen nodded, then shook her head, her words stuck somewhere inside her throat. All she could do was hold her hands out, unsure of what to do with them. Maggie glanced down at her hands, and then with the hem of her skirt, wiped them clean.
“Ye need no’ say anything yet, Bronwen. Let’s get ye inside, and I’ll get ye some whisky.” Maggie’s voice held calm authority.
Bronwen cleared her throat, her voice coming out hoarse. “Thank ye.”
Maggie opened the carriage door, revealing the rest of the Irvine sisters, who waited there. They formed a cocoon of gowns and ribbons around Bronwen as they led her inside. Over their heads, she could see Euan glancing her way, but they blocked her view of Hector and his goons, all of them scream
ing obscenities.
With the care all of sisters, and Euan, too, were taking with her—with the words he’d expressed when Hector still had her locked in his hold—she felt a fool for having let Hector trick her. Of course, Euan loved her, and nothing a madman said was going to change that. His sisters were protecting her right now, showing her without words that she was part of their family. Just as they had in every other instance.
Bronwen knew better. Actions spoke louder than words, and she needed to remember that.
They led her up to her bedchamber, settling her on the chair before the banked hearth. A small cup with a dram of whisky was thrust into her hands.
“Drink this. It will calm your nerves,” Maggie said with a nod.
Bronwen did as they bid, sipping the whisky that burned a soothing path down her throat, warming her belly.
She kicked off her slippers and sank her stockinged feet into the plush carpet.
“I know ye may no’ want to get into it yet, but when ye’re ready to tell us what happened, we will all be here to support ye.” Maggie and her sisters all took up seats around Bronwen, some on furniture, some on the floor.
Her chest swelled at the warmth of their concern. And she also knew that she didn’t want to keep any more secrets from them.
“Hector is Prince, the man who my parents were in debt to. He had them killed.” Bronwen couldn’t believe how easy it was to tell them. But then again, she could. They were nothing but open ears, waiting patiently for her to tell them the story and offering her comfort in return and no judgment.
And so she did. She told them every gritty, ugly detail.
“I’d have stabbed him, too.” Raine balled her fist and made a stabbing motion as if practicing.
“Aye, me too,” the rest chimed in.
As the sisters burst into a chorus of all the things they would do to the man who’d tried to harm her, Euan entered the bedroom, his face stricken and pale.
Maggie stood and shooed the rest of the lasses out of the room, leaving the two of them alone, even shutting the door behind them.
“My God, Bronwen.” Euan rushed forward, bending onto one knee at her feet. “I thought I was going to lose ye.”
“I’m so sorry.” Tears welled in her throat for every negative thought she’d had where he was concerned. For believing any of the things that Hector had told her.
“Ye have nothing to apologize for.” Euan grasped her hands in his and started to kiss them frantically.
“But I do. I should have had more faith in ye. But I… It was easy to believe, given my background, that ye were only—” She swallowed, cutting herself off. “I know ye’re a good man. A kind man. And I felt your love in my bones. I am so sorry that I was so weak as to let a few words from a stranger sway me.”
Euan’s gaze locked on hers, and there was such depth of emotion there, she thought she might burst. “Ye’ve lived a lifetime with people causing ye to lose faith, my love. A few weeks with my family is no’ going to change that instantly. But I promise ye, if ye give it time, one day ye’ll trust me.”
Bronwen slipped off her chair falling to her knees on the carpet and pressed her hands to either side of his face. “I do trust ye. Pray, forgive me for my momentary lapse.”
“Ye are more than forgiven.”
“Do ye still wish to marry me?” she asked.
“Och, lass, if ye would have me, after knowing my cousin was behind this. My own blood.” He hung his head in shame. “I still can no’ believe it.”
“Ye are no’ him. Clearly.” She laughed softly. “And ye are no’ responsible for his vile actions.”
“He will pay for his crimes.” Conviction dripped from every word.
Bronwen knew well what would happen to such a man if he were from Tanner’s Close, but she didn’t know if the same fate would be meted out to a man of noble blood, and she didn’t want to ask. They needed to work on their healing and not think about the hangman’s noose.
“Let us forget those men and their crimes for now and celebrate that we are both alive,” she said, touching her lips to his.
Euan enfolded her in his embrace, kissing her back as fervently as she kissed him. She might have had the knife at her neck, but Euan seemed more shaken than she was. All she wanted to do was soothe away that fear and pain and panic. She shoved her hands through his hair, clinging tight to him. To what they had. To life. To love.
“I love ye,” she said against his mouth, her eyes opening to lock on his.
She could have drowned in the deep blue pools of his gaze. Wrapped herself up in the warmth of his love. Pure happiness filled her. Elation, relief, hope. All things she’d only dared to feel before felt more within her grasp now than ever before.
“And I love ye so verra much, Bronwen.”
Euan pressed her down to the carpet, and she wrapped her arms around him, prepared to go to heaven and back.
Epilogue
Bronwen stood beside Euan’s desk as they awaited the solicitor’s visit regarding the new will his grandfather had left behind. It’d been a few weeks since the whole debacle with Hector and his brutes, and they were both happy to finally put the entire mess behind them.
They’d been married two weeks now and living blissfully within the city, going from one event to another and collapsing into bed when they weren’t dancing the night away. Married, and their love well-expressed all over Edinburgh. When the man who held the future in his hands arrived today, there would be no contest as to whether or not Euan was given his birthright, not after what happened with Hector. With his cousin taking up his new quarters in prison, there was also little prospect that he’d be able to follow through on his chance at the ultimate prize. No solicitor could argue with that.
Her husband was seated there casually as if they weren’t about to be evaluated by a stuffy man with judging eyes. That was, of course, the extent of her knowledge regarding solicitors, and she dared any one of them to change her mind. Well and truly, she would like to know a solicitor who had the best interests of others at heart. As she’d learned in Tanner’s Close, it was about more nefarious things than that.
“Sit down, my love,” Euan murmured, reaching for her hand and giving a little tug.
Bronwen grasped it, flashing him a smile. “I do no’ think I can.”
“All will be well.” He pulled her closer until she tumbled into his lap and then touched his forehead to hers. “Do ye remember the last time we were in this position?”
“Aye, your sister—”
There was a knock on the study door.
“Ah, aye, she interrupted us, just as whoever is beyond that door is doing now.” Euan sighed and lifted her back up to her feet beside his chair.
Bronwen smoothed her skirts as he called for the door to be opened.
Martin entered, announcing the solicitor.
As the older gentleman ambled in with a slight limp in his gait, all six of the Irvine sisters followed behind, each of them as nervous about the outcome of this ordeal, and presumably not wanting to be left to eavesdrop at the door.
“Captain Irvine,” the solicitor said. “A pleasure to see ye again, sir.”
Euan sat forward and indicated for the man to take the chair opposite him. “Let’s no’ dwell on pleasantries. I’d like ye to meet my wife, Mrs. Irvine.”
Bronwen nodded to the man, the way they’d practiced. She’d been so anxious, and it was hard to remember that she was no longer going to be bobbing curtsies to nearly everyone.
And she was a lady. She didn’t think she’d ever get used to that.
“An honor to meet ye, madam,” the solicitor said, then he glanced back at Euan. “And ye think that ye’ve followed the rules of the will?”
“I have indeed. Of more interest to ye might be that after having her parents killed, my cousin tried to murder my wife.” Euan stared at the man dead in the eyes. “I think considering that, he should be stricken from the will and the stipulations voided.”
>
The words said aloud, and so factual like that, made Bronwen stiffen. Even with nearly a month passing since the incident, she was still reeling from it. Still felt queasy every time Hector’s name was brought up. Still startled when she heard the clomp of boots coming toward the dining room.
The solicitor’s eyes widened. “I see. Well, that does no’ bode well for him.”
“He will pay the price for this and the string of crimes within the city he is involved with,” Euan said. “Joining my uncle in prison. In case ye thought that the stipulation would then go to him.”
“I see.” The solicitor glanced at Bronwen. “Well, I do agree. I am duty-bound to sign the documents saying thus, Captain. It is my honor to be the first one to congratulate ye on being the Baron of Drum and Bonshaw. The lands will all be deeded to ye and your heirs.”
“I appreciate your diligence in the matter,” Euan said. He stood and put his arm around Bronwen, and she sank against his side, feeling at home there. “My wife and I bid ye and your family well, sir.”
The solicitor stood. “For what it’s worth, I do believe the victory has gone to the right man.”
“We could no’ agree more.”
The solicitor nodded to Euan’s sisters—now her sisters—and exited the study. After that pleasant encounter, Bronwen was disposed to think that she’d been wrong about all solicitors being rubbish. That man had proven otherwise.
“Well,” Maggie said, beaming a smile at them. “I suppose the two of ye should be off.”
Bronwen glanced at Euan. “Off where?”
“Maggie has agreed to stay in Edinburgh with the lasses while we go back to Drum and have a bit of a honeymoon for ourselves.”
The entire castle to themselves? That was going to be a dream. She wrapped her arms around Euan’s neck and lifted on her tiptoes to kiss him as their sisters giggled behind them and filed out of the study to leave them alone.
“I’m so glad ye’re happy,” he said, stroking the side of her face.
