Highland Wrath

by Madeline Martin

  He studied Sylvi’s profile for a hint of jealousy. He’d always hated jealousy in women. It made them needy and drove them to the point of unnecessary distraction. But he wanted jealousy from Sylvi. He wanted her to have seen the conversation and taken note on his feigned inability to be affected by the harsh words.

  She glanced up and her step faltered. Her gaze narrowed on the dancing sign. “Does that say Rutting Inn?”

  He caught the edge of the sign and held it up. “Strutting Inn. What have ye got on yer mind, my angel?”

  “Don’t call me that.” The warning edge to her voice had returned.

  She shot him a glare and shoved through the door of the inn. The room was dark with the shutters closed and the air thick with a haze of smoke from tallow candles and peat.

  A large woman in a dress stood beside several men at a table midway into the room. She slapped down the rag she was holding and strode toward them.

  “Can I help ye with something?” The woman asked in a brusque tone. She was most likely one of the tallest women Ian had ever seen in his life.

  “Do you have any rooms available?” Sylvi asked.

  “I’ve got three,” the woman said.

  “Is there another inn nearby?” Sylvi asked.

  The woman shook her head. “No’ anything less than a day’s ride from here.”

  “We’ll take them,” Sylvi said, handing her some coins before Ian could pull out his coin purse to do so. “Is there a back door leading to the rooms?”

  The woman jerked her head to the right. “By the stables.”

  Sylvi nodded her thanks, and Ian turned with her to go. Once they were outside, he leaned closer to her. “Does that mean ye’ll be sleeping with me tonight?”

  “That means the room will be crowded for the lot of women and you’ll have a room to yourself.” She marched forward through the overgrown grass.

  She’d quickly changed out of the dress before they left, opting for her men’s trews and léine as she had before. While he had enjoyed her in the dress and the idea of how easy it would be to lift her skirts, he appreciated the snugness of the fitted cloth against her round bottom and long legs. Aye, the lass had a fine arse.

  He quickened his pace to keep up. “What if I’d rather sleep with ye?”

  She stopped and glanced into the forest where the rest of their party waited. “What started between us should never have begun.”

  His heart flinched against her words. “Because I’m too charming and ye fear ye might fall in love with me?” He forced his most enchanting smile even though his insides had gone hollow.

  The stern expression on her face slipped for a brief moment to the softness of vulnerability. She licked her lips and opened her mouth to speak. But then she said nothing and resumed her march toward the other women.

  He reached out and caught her by the arm. “Come see me when we’re inside.”

  She turned slightly to him, looked at where he held her arm, and turned her hard gaze on him. “Why?”

  “To talk.” He shrugged. “To offer me protection from Isabel.”

  She pulled her arm from his grasp. “Very well.” Then she turned away from him and headed away to where the others waited.

  If nothing else, he could at least determine why she had suddenly gone so cold with him. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Of that he was certain.

  It had all changed when she’d received word of Reginald’s men. Perhaps Sylvi truly would choose vengeance above all else.

  Chapter 13

  Sylvi’s heart should not be beating so hard. Certainly her hands should not be shaking.

  She was stronger than this.

  She faced a door. A plain, simple door with the grain running downward in long, stretching loops. The other ladies were settled in for the evening, their food eaten within their rooms to avoid being seen.

  In truth, it was mainly Isabel and Percy she had wanted to keep hidden away. Some secrets were best kept shielded.

  The candle flame flickered in the simple wooden sconce she carried. She had promised to speak to Ian, and she had to do it now.

  She rapped softly upon the wood and waited.

  What she had said to him back at Kindrochit, about the moonlit glen and their time together being a waste, had been wrong.

  But then, did he not deserve to know?

  The door opened, and Ian was there with that damn charming smile. Their eyes met, and everything unsaid was laid out in the small space between them. The hurt Ian hid behind his smile, the nervousness rattling through Sylvi’s body. The longing to push aside her fears and fall into the blissful affection they shared, easy and carefree.

  But Sylvi could never be easy and carefree.

  The moment held too long and passed into a nervous energy that left them both shifting their gazes away.

  He opened the door wider in invitation. Firelight burned in the hearth behind him, and the smoky warmth of peat lured her forward.

  Sylvi’s stomach gave a nervous twist. This anxiety was something she was unaccustomed to. Emotions were complicated, messy things. She did not like being a victim to them.

  Even through it all, her heart knocked hard against her ribs when she turned back around and faced him.

  “I wasna sure if ye’d come.” He closed the door and locked them both in the room together. “But I’m glad ye came.”

  The intimacy of the silence weighed on her and threatened to break apart her wits. She needed to stop everything with him before he got hurt. Before she got hurt. While she still could stop everything.

  Her mouth was dry, and the speed of her pounding heart was driving her to distraction. Why was this so damn hard?

  “I believe the word ye’re looking for is ‘sorry,’” he said.

  She stared at him, incredulous. “What?”

  He laughed and held up his hands defensively. “Ye’ll feel better after ye apologize to me.”

  “For what?” She knew what she’d done, but an apology would bring them closer. And she’d come to end this foolish behavior with him.

  He lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. “Anything ye feel like apologizing for. I’ve got all night, unless ye’ve got better ways for us to spend our time.”

  She rolled her eyes and made for the door. “It’s always a jest with you, isn’t it?” His large hand settled over the door, and he blocked her path.

  Gone was the charming smile, and in its place was a serious expression. “Sylvi, I care about ye. Far more than I have ever cared about a woman.”

  She stared into his amber eyes, and her heart went warm in spite of her resolve.

  “Perhaps it’s me who should apologize as I’ve clearly offended ye in some way. I’m just … ” He shook his head. “I’m no’ good at apologizing.”

  Her heart twisted in the complexity of the situation. She could not allow him to take full responsibility. Not when it truly all rested on her shoulders.

  “I’m not good at apologizing either,” she said quietly. “And it’s me who owes you one.”

  He relaxed away from the door and motioned for her to sit on the bed, one they would have eagerly used for different purposes the day before. She sank to the firm mattress and resisted the urge to cross her arms.

  The bed ropes gave a long groan of protest when Ian sat on the stiff, thin bedding beside her.

  “I regret that I lost Reginald in the beginning,” she said. “But I am glad I saved your life.”

  “Thank ye for that.” He gave a soft chuckle, his good-natured mood restored.

  “But I cannot apologize for having chosen to come here over a tryst with you.” She looked hard at him, determined to explain how she felt. “All my life I have been looking for Reginald and his men. To kill them.” The frustration knotting her muscles pushed out in a great sigh. “And now with my goal so close, I can’t let it be jeopardized by anything, or anyone.” She looked up. “Including you.”


  “What will ye do when it’s done?”

  She blinked. The resolution of her goal had always seemed like such an impossibility—one she never lost sight of, but one she never expected either.

  “I don’t know,” she finally said.

  He studied her for a long moment and gave her a lopsided smile, boyish and hopeful. “Then perhaps we can keep being together until ye know.”

  “I will never love you, Ian.” She wanted to look away when she said it but knew she could not. He needed to see the honesty in her gaze. For in her heart, she knew she was not capable of love. Not anymore. Not after what Reginald and his men did to her family.

  “Good thing I’m no’ asking ye to marry me, or that might have hurt.” He offered a thin chuckle and glanced away.

  She tried to ignore the inward wince in her chest. “And what of you? What will you do?”

  He shook his head. “I dinna know either. Perhaps return to hiring out my sword for coin until I find a place to settle.”

  “You could go home.” She couldn’t help but think of her own family when she spoke any more than she could stop the heart-aching wish to have the opportunity to see them all again. “I lost my family. You shouldn’t lose yours.”

  He was quiet a long moment and then finally spoke. “Ye say ye’ve spent yer whole life focused on finding these men and killing them. Why?”

  She clenched her hand into a fist and let her fingernails bite into the flesh of her palm.

  “Talking about it will help ye heal.”

  Sylvi scoffed. “You’re one to talk with how you brush everything off with playful wit.”

  He cocked his head. “My angel has a point. Very well. I’ll agree to be honest with ye, free of jesting, if ye are honest with me in return.” And indeed, his face did go stern with sincerity. “I’m about to kill a lot of men for ye, Sylvi. I’d like to know why.”

  Sylvi drew a deep breath. “You’re right.” Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, and her stomach twisted into knots. “Reginald and his men … they killed my entire family. They tried to kill me too. But I survived.”

  His gaze went to the ribbon on her throat, and she touched her hand to it as if she could prevent his seeing it and the understanding that dawned in his eyes. “What happened?”

  Her throat constricted. Suddenly she wanted the jests and lack of sincerity. And she wanted this conversation over with. She’d never revealed anything more to anyone about her family’s deaths—only that they’d been killed. “I can’t—”

  He gently touched the underside of her chin. “There’s no’ anything my angel canna do.”

  She let herself bask for a brief moment in the power of his stare before lifting her chin from his fingertips. “I don’t even know where to begin.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’ve never told anyone more than what I just told you.”

  He untucked her hand from where it was folded snugly in the crook of her arm and held it. “Tell me what happened. Please, Sylvi—I want to know all of it.”

  “We were poor,” she said softly. “My parents came from Norway for a new life in Scotland. I don’t know how it started, but my father made replicas of coins.”

  She remembered her father’s large hand, with a gold coin shining like all the treasure in the world within his ruddy palm. “We had so little money,” she said. “The idea of someone being wealthy enough to pay my father to make money was incredible, like God making the heavens larger. I didn’t realize at the time counterfeit was considered treasonous. My father knew it was wrong, but he didn’t care. He was a goldsmith in a foreign land seeking to feed his wife and four children.”

  She glanced at Ian, but he remained silent, his expression soft. Weary lines creased his brow. She was near numb with exhaustion herself. They’d all foregone a night of sleep to ride into the next day.

  Perhaps this was why she was telling him now. Her mind was too impacted by fatigue to put up a fight. And perhaps that was why the scene in her head played out more vividly now than it had ever before. A wooden floor the color of honey and the small stool etched with an ornate shield atop its darkened surface.

  “He kept a bag for us to use hidden under the floorboards of a stool with spare clothing for each of us inside,” she said. “It also held most of the coin he’d earned. Real coin—nothing imitation. He always told us if something happened to him, we were to take the bag and live off the money until we were safe and able to work.” She looked down at where her hand was clasped within his. Her skin had begun to sweat where it pressed to his, but she reveled in the strength the simple gesture gave her. “That bag saved my life.”

  “Do ye think he knew something bad was going to happen?”

  Her father had always been so large, so powerful, like Odin himself. He protected his family against all things: nighttime fears, hunger, hurt. But even Odin could not protect everyone all the time.

  She nodded once. “Yes. Yes, he knew, but I don’t think—” Her throat squeezed and cut off her words. “I don’t think he thought we’d all be there when it did.” Her eyes went hot and her nose tingled. A tear slid down her cheek, and for the first time since she was a little girl, she could not keep herself from crying.

  •••

  Ian held Sylvi against his chest. His heart ached anew with each beat at the pain of her loss. She’d kept her sobbing silent, an element of control even when breaking.

  Holding women while they cried was a thing he’d done many times before, but it had been for simple things. Someone whose ire had parted a friendship, frustration at a father who had rules too strict, a man they would need to marry and did not care for.

  Sylvi’s hurt ran far deeper. She stayed on his chest for only a moment after her back stopped trembling, her tears themselves lasting little more than seconds. She sat upright and gently pushed at his chest. He wanted to pull her closer and let his comfort balm her hurt.

  “I’m fine.” Her voice was all the huskier with emotion. “I shouldn’t have—” She cleared her throat and met his gaze with her reddened eyes. “I haven’t cried in a very long time.”

  “I still think ye’re one of the toughest warriors I’ve ever known.” He pushed aside a tendril of blonde hair from her face. Her cheek was warm and still wet from her brushed-away tears. “I dinna realize this would be so hard for ye. Thank ye for sharing with me.”

  “You ought to know.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “And what better person to tell than the man who trusted me enough to let me temporarily kill him?”

  It was on the tip of his tongue to throw in a quip, but he merely nodded in understanding.

  She looked down at her hands. “It was a spring morning. Mamma was tending to Einar with my sisters, and Pappa was working on several of the coins for the man who paid him to make them gold. I was sitting near the door when it flew open.”

  She paused and drew a deep breath. “A man grabbed me and held me in place while another man, Reginald, rushed forward and swiped his blade at my father. It was so fast, I thought he’d missed. But then Pappa’s neck opened up, like a wine bag being split along the seam, and blood came out in great gushes. So much blood.”

  Ian reached for the hands she stared so intently at and clasped them in his own. But she wasn’t looking at her hands, she was seeing what he could not, a horrible event long ago passed.

  “Mamma ran forward. She had a dagger in her hand and slashed at Reginald. She missed his face, but something flew from his head. I didn’t realize what it was until the chunk of his ear landed in front of me. The man holding me had been nervous about killing a child, but was told to obey orders, so he did.”

  She looked up and met Ian’s gaze. What he saw in the depths of those winter-blue eyes wrenched at his heart. Beyond the horror and sadness, he saw the scared little girl whose father had been killed in front of her, whose mother had fought to save her children.

  “He cut my throat. But his uncertainty left his
attempt halfhearted.” Her lips lifted in a sad smile. “I didn’t know any better. I was only eight. I thought I was dying. He threw me to the ground. Blood was everywhere. Hot on my skin, salty and metallic in my mouth, clogging my nose with the coppery thickness of it.”

  She fell silent.

  Ian’s stomach twisted. The last thing he wanted was for her to relive it all. “Sylvi … ye dinna—”

  She squeezed his hand and shook her head. “I’ve come too far now. Don’t make me stop.”

  She drew a soft breath, and a tear spattered on the back of his hand even though she was not sobbing as she’d done earlier. “They were all killed after that. Momma, my two sisters, Alva and Inka. Even little Einar, who wasn’t even able to talk yet.” She pursed her lips. “I heard it all.”

  “I was a coward.” She growled the words out through clenched teeth, and her hands tensed on his. “I was alive, and yet I lay there pretending to be dead while my family was slaughtered around me.”

  Her anger at herself knotted in his chest. “Ye were a girl.” Ian freed one hand to cup her face and wished he could pour his reasoning into her, make her understand what would have been so apparent to anyone else. “Ye couldna have stopped them.”

  Ian swiped away a single tear trailing down her cheek with his thumb, where it melted against the pad of his finger.

  Sylvi took his hand once more with her own and drew it back to her lap where it’d been. “They took all Pappa’s coin replicas, and there were a considerable amount. Bags worth. My body lay over the secret loose floorboard, and I was glad for it. I waited until they had left and lay there for longer still, until the sun stopped burning a red glow behind my eyelids. And then I opened my eyes. I thought my family might be playing at death like me.” She balled her hands into fists against his palms. “They were not. They were all dead, their bodies stiff and cold and empty.”

  She shook her head as if to clear it. “Reginald and his men took everything from me, Ian. They took my life and left me with nothing. And I lay there and let them do it.”