“She didnae lie!” Angus shouted right back. “She lied to me, to everyone, about many things, but that wasnae one of them. She didnae ken that Hamish killed Cormag. That was all on him, Donal . . . she never wanted her father to die like that.”
It didn’t matter to Donal whether Vika had known about Cormag’s death or not. She was responsible for so many other deaths and misfortunes that Cormag’s death was just another atrocity in the list of crimes that she had committed. Just the sight of her dead body was enough to bring back every terrible memory of her that Donal had, reminding him of the feud that she had created between him and Angus, and of the fact that she had tried to have him killed.
Donal thought that was more than enough reason to be furious at her, and even angry at Angus. He had watched his best friend perish because of her, drowning in his own sorrow day after day. He had watched him become a different person, someone that Donal could hardly recognize, Vika’s vile actions leaving a mark inside Angus, a wound that Donal had thought would never heal.
When Ishbel had come so suddenly into Angus’ life, though, Donal had thought that she would be the one to fix all the damage that Vika had done, and for a while, he had hope. Every time that he watched the two of them together, every time either of them spoke to him about the other, Donal had the hope that Angus would be able to rebuild his life.
And yet there he was, mourning for Vika as though she deserved it. Her ghost had never left him, and no matter how much he insisted that she meant nothing to him anymore, Donal just couldn’t believe it, not when he saw him by her side.
His men were dying outside that tent, and yet Angus had stayed with her.
“Why are ye defending her?” Donal stood then, towering over Angus as the two of them argued, but it didn’t take Angus long to do the same, the two of them standing toe to toe as they screamed at each other. “Why are ye defending that wench, when all she did was bring us all more pain than we could ever imagine?”
“Why are ye so angry about this?” Angus asked, instead of answering Donal’s question, which only served to infuriate him even more, forcing him to clench his fists by his sides until his nails dug into his flesh, breaking his skin. “What does it matter to ye that I stayed with her after she died? It’s nae a declaration of love, Donal! I dinnae love her! I . . . I dinnae ken why I stayed, but I ken that I dinnae love her. Whatever it is that ye think is happening here is wrong.”
“I’m angry because ye dinnae seem to want to leave her,” Donal explained. “Because I’m looking at ye, and I dinnae see ye rejoicing that she’s finally dead and gone. She was hardly the kind of person that deserves anyone to mourn her, Angus . . . she was hardly a person at all. After everything she did—”
“After everything she did, perhaps she got what she deserved, but that doesnae mean it was any easier to watch her take her own life!” Angus roared. “Ye of all people should ken that.”
Donal saw nothing but red. How could Angus talk about his brother taking his own life, how could he compare it to Vika doing the same thing, when she was the reason his brother had killed himself in the first place?
How could he be so bloody blind, Donal wondered.
“Dinnae ye talk about me brother, and dinnae compare him to Vika,” he said, voice barely a whisper. He didn’t trust himself with speaking any louder, knowing that the moment he did, he would end up screaming. “Ronald didnae deserve what happened to him; he didnae deserve to go that way. It was Vika who forced his hand, and noo yer defending her and her, claiming she didnae lie about Cormag, claiming that she deserved better. Nay, Angus . . . she deserved worse, and I would’ve made sure she had suffered if I were ye.”
“I’m nae defending her!” Angus protested. “Ye dinnae ken what it’s like . . . ye dinnae ken, Donal. I’m nae defending her, but I canna simply pretend that I never watched her slice her own throat and choke on her own blood! Do you see this?” he asked, shoving his hands right in front of Donal’s eyes, the blood having caked over them long ago, forming a dark layer over his skin. “That’s her blood. Look at it, Donal. Look at me hands and tell me that ye wouldnae react the same way if ye were in me place.”
Donal did as he was told. He looked at Angus’ hands, and then he looked back at him with a frown. “I wouldnae react the same way, Angus,” he said, voice certain and unwavering. “I was never in love with her. She never poisoned me own mind; she only poisoned yers. Tell me . . . how are ye better than Hamish? Ye were both fools, fools that trusted her.”
Donal was expecting a punch, perhaps a slap, some sort of attempt from Angus to hurt him. The pain never came, though. Instead, Angus walked to the other side of the tent, running his bloody hands through his hair and spreading what blood remained wet through his strands before he realized what he was doing and stopped in disgust. Under any other circumstances, Donal would have laughed, and perhaps he would have made a witty remark, but he was too blinded with rage to say anything of the sort.
He didn’t think he would be able to laugh for a long time.
It was his own grief talking, of course, his grief for the men that he had lost. It was that grief that filled him with fury, and it was that grief that made him take his fury out on Angus.
Of course, Donal didn’t care, not at that moment. He didn’t even admit it to himself that what he was feeling went deeper than simple anger. He didn’t want to think about such a thing.
“Get out,” Angus said, and it was nothing but a growl, one that sent a shiver down Donal’s spine. He had never heard Angus like that before, not even when Vika had tried to turn them against each other. “Get out, Donal . . . I’ll come when I’m ready.”
Donal was having none of it, though. He didn’t care if Angus wasn’t ready, and he certainly didn’t care if he was angry.
So, in the heat of the moment, he turned to him, his frown deepening.
“Euan is dead.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The moment that those words were out of Donal’s mouth, Angus ran out of the tent in search of Euan. His gaze was unfocused, blurry at the edges as he rushed around what was left of the camp, Donal’s men and his own looking at him with the same concern painted over their faces.
Angus could hardly blame them. He didn’t know what he looked like at that moment, but he suspected that he seemed crazed with all that blood on him, as though he had lost his own mind.
Perhaps he had. He had stayed in that tent for so long, sitting by Vika’s body, and never once had it occurred to him that some of his men were dead, too, people who mattered to him much more than Vika ever could.
He didn’t want to think about what it meant that he had stayed by Vika’s body for so long, at least not yet, not when his own men were right there, and they needed him.
“Where is Euan?” Angus shouted at anyone that would hear. “I need to . . . I need to see him! Where is he?”
No one replied to him. No one stepped forward to assure him that Euan was alright, and Euan himself was nowhere to be found, which could only mean one thing.
Donal had told him the truth; Euan was dead.
Nothing had hit him the same way as Euan’s death. With Cormag, at least Angus had known that he was an old man, at the twilight of his life. Even if Hamish hadn’t murdered him in cold blood, he would have died from natural causes not too long afterward. He also knew that Cormag had lived his life, and it had been a full one, a happy one. He had had Vanora and Ishbel, and he had had the chance to do anything that he wished in his lifetime.
Euan was a young man, though, younger than Angus himself. He was one of the youngest men in his council, and he had had his entire life to look forward to, only to have it snatched from him because of Vika’s desire for revenge and Hamish’s hunger for power.
“M'lord.”
The voice came from behind him, and Angus turned to see Diarmad there, standing awkwardly by a cart that they had taken from the Keiths. He nodded towards it, and Angus approached him, looking at the car
t’s contents.
There were several men there, all of them belonging to his clan. They were all dead, with glazed eyes that could see nothing anymore, and pale complexions, their bodies emptied of blood.
And among them, Angus saw Euan.
His body was right there, his clothes drenched in blood, his face expressionless, lifeless. They had had so many arguments, the two of them. They had had so many differences, so many clashing opinions, that they had never seen eye to eye, but seeing him there, in that cart, made Angus wish that they would have had the chance to push their differences aside.
Despite all their arguments, Angus had always had respect for Euan. It was the reason why he had put him in his council, after all, even though the rest of the men had insisted that he was too young and too brash to be there.
Angus had seen Donal in him. He had seen Donal when he was younger, and he could tell that Euan would turn out to be a leader like him, kind and compassionate, but also confident in his leadership. Now, though, it seemed that Euan would never get the chance to do such a thing.
Donal suddenly appeared next to Angus, and he, too, looked at the corpses in the cart. With a sigh, he turned around once again, as though the sight of them was too much to bear, and Angus couldn’t help but share his friend’s grief for those that they had lost.
“Do ye ken what he said before he died?” Donal asked him and then continued without waiting for an answer. “He said to tell ye that it was an honor to fight with ye, Angus. That’s what he said. He also said to tell ye to nae be foolish, but I suppose that it’s too late for that.”
At first, Angus was touched, and then he even mustered a laugh. It sounded just like Euan to call him a fool with his dying breath.
When he heard Donal’s comment, though, he frowned, stomping towards him where he stood as far away from the carts as he could.
“What is that supposed to mean, Donal?” he asked, even though something told him that he didn’t want to know the answer.
“It means what it means,” Donal said. “This isnae the place and time to talk about such things.”
Angus followed Donal’s gaze, and he noticed that he was looking at all the other men who were gathered there. A part of him didn’t want to have that discussion in front of them, either, as he feared that it would not only lower morale, but it would also make them distrust their leaders, the two of them.
Another part of him, though, wanted to have that fight right then and there. A fight between them seemed to be unavoidable, after all, and his mind was screaming, begging him to have it and get it over with. It didn’t matter who was there, and it didn’t matter who could hear them; all that mattered was that Donal was a stubborn fool, and Angus refused to let him get away with it, even if it was his grief doing the talking.
“I think it’s the perfect time to talk about such things, Donal,” Angus insisted. “Whatever ye have to say to me, ye can say it in front of me men. There are nay secrets here, nae among us. Unless what ye are avoiding is having yer own men hear what ye wish to say to me.”
That seemed to strike a chord with Donal, and he turned to look at him, furious. Angus couldn’t remember the last time that he had seen him like that, but he knew that kind of anger had never been directed at him before, and for a moment he faltered, wondering if he was taking a route that he shouldn’t take.
What if they ended up fighting to the point that they could never go back to being friends? What if he lost what was so valuable to him simply because they were both too stubborn and too miserable to take a moment and breathe instead of fighting?
There was no putting a stop to the argument, though, even if he wanted to. Donal was looking at him as though he was ready to tear his head clean off, and Angus would be damned if he didn’t try and defend himself.
After all, what Donal was accusing him of was ridiculous. He didn’t know why he was grieving, but he knew it certainly wasn’t because he had lost Vika, or whatever other strange notion Donal had. He liked to think that seeing someone slicing their own throat was reason enough to be shaken, after all.
“I told ye what I had to say to ye already,” Donal said. “But if ye want me to repeat meself, then so be it. Yer a fool, Angus, and yer a fool because of what happened in that tent. Yer own men were dying out here, and ye were with Vika.”
There was a collective gasp from the men around them, followed by a chorus of accusations from both sides, all directed towards Angus. It was only the phrasing, though, in his opinion, that made him seem like the villain, when in fact he hadn’t done what Donal was accusing him of.
“The battle out here was over!” Angus roared. “Dinnae ye dare to try and make me seem like someone who would abandon his own men when they needed him! The battle out here was over, and the only reason I was in that tent was because I had just seen Vika take her own life! Nay one needed me out here when I was in there.”
“That’s where yer wrong, Angus,” Donal insisted. “There was nae a battle, but yer men were still dying. The wounded were dying, Euan was dying. And yet ye didnae come out to be with them. Ye stayed in there, with Vika, because yer just as in love with her as ye used to be. Isnae that why yer with Ishbel noo? Because she looks just like her.”
Angus hadn’t punched Donal earlier, even though he had considered it. Now, though, every fiber in his body was screaming at him to lunge at the other man and take him down.
Once again, there were whispers around them, but Angus didn’t pay them any mind. He could tell that some of the men agreed with Donal, while others sided with him, but he couldn’t care less about what the men were saying, not when his friendship with Donal was about to be ruined.
“Ye have nay idea what yer saying,” Angus told him. “And if I were ye, I would be careful with me words, Donal . . . ye ken that Ishbel isnae like Vika. Ye ken that I am the first to say that Vika was sinister and that all she wanted was to spread pain around her. How can ye say that I love her still? How can ye look at me and say that I love her, after everything that she did not only to me, but to ye and to Ronald, as well? To the village folk? To me own men? What kind of man do ye think I am that would make me be in love with her still?”
There was a short pause, and Donal seemed to be thinking about what Angus had said. For a moment, Angus had the hope that Donal would come to his senses, but when he opened his mouth to speak once more, he realized that that was not the case.
“I thought I kent who ye were,” he said. “I thought I kent ye weel, Angus, but I’m nae as certain the noo. I dinnae think I ken anything about ye anymore.”
“Because ye saw me kneeling next to Vika?” Angus could hardly believe that the two of them were even having such an argument. In fact, he wasn’t even so certain that they were fighting about Vika or his own feelings for her anymore. He suspected that there was something deeper there, something that Donal didn’t want to discuss, but that was the real reason behind their argument, while Vika was only the catalyst.
Could Donal be resenting him because he had brought his men to that battle, and he had lost too many of them, Angus wondered. Could he be grieving so much that he couldn’t even control his own emotions and his own actions?
“Aye, because I saw ye kneeling next to Vika!” Donal shouted. “Because that’s all that I needed to see!”
“Ye must have gone insane then, Donal,” Angus told him. “I did what I did, but it doesnae mean that I’m in love with Vika. Nor does it mean that I married Ishbel because she reminds me of her, and ye of all people should ken this. Did ye ken that Vika was the one who spread the rumor that I killed Kirsteen and our daughter? Did ye? She only just confessed to me that it was her. Does that sound like a woman that I could ever love, after what she did? She didnae only spread rumors about me . . . she didnae only disrespect me, she disrespected Kirsteen and me daughter, and if ye think that I could ever love a woman who would do such a thing, then perhaps ye dinnae ken me at all.”
“Perhaps I dinnae ken ye, nay,” D
onal agreed, stubborn as always. The fight seemed to have drained out of him, though, either because he was exhausted from the battle or because perhaps, he was beginning to see reason, Angus thought—or rather hoped. Either way, he gestured at his men to follow him, and then he climbed onto his horse, ready to depart. “We’ll head to Knapdale for noo, but once everything is arranged there, we will leave. I will leave, Angus.”
“Fine.”
There was nothing else that Angus could say to him. There had been a time, not too long ago, when Donal had been the one to beg Angus to come back to his senses, and that had only worked because Donal had had proof that Vika had killed his brother. Now, Angus didn’t know what kind of proof he could show Donal to convince him that he didn’t love Vika.
Perhaps time would be enough for him, though, Angus thought. Perhaps he could give him some time, perhaps he could give himself some time, too, and then they would be able to resolve that silly argument between them.
Highlander’s Veiled Bride: Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance (Highland Seductresses Book 2) Page 22
