Hamish screamed as it found its mark, and Mena was released just in time to duck as the Demon Highlander rose from the mist, leaped to the altar rock, and vaulted for his brother.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The impact was like two leviathans colliding, and it shook the earth. They went down, swallowed by the vapor, and Mena scrambled away. The cold rasp of stone abraded her fingertips as she pulled herself up by the altar rock and clung to it. The terrible sounds of flesh connecting with flesh in violence echoed through the clearing, and a little part of her died every second she couldn’t see Liam. She wanted to do anything but stand and watch the events unfold before her, but knew the smartest thing to do was to stay out of Liam’s way. She would help no one by putting herself in danger. There were two daggers down there in the mist, and Lord only knew what damage was being done.
Thorne rushed forward, and it was then she realized that he was not alone. Russell barreled in behind him, followed by a stern-looking Thomas Campbell.
“We heard ye scream, lass,” Russell called. “Are ye hurt?”
“No, but the laird—”
Before the clansmen had a chance to reach her, Liam surged out of the mist, his own dirk poised where Hamish’s neck met his mangled shoulder. The laird’s powerful arm bulged with the strain of keeping his wounded brother in check.
“I should kill ye for laying yer hands on her,” he snarled.
“Doona do it, brother.” Thorne approached the two furious Highlanders cautiously. “He has many crimes to answer for.”
“And his justice should be swift,” Liam insisted through clenched teeth. His dark eyes were wide and wild with furious frenzy as the muscles in his arm clenched with the restraint it took not to slide the blade home.
“Hamish. It canna be,” Russell marveled, wearing an identically stricken look to Campbell’s as he took in Hamish’s distorted form. They were seeing a ghost. A hideous, disfigured specter of a man they all once knew. If he wasn’t so evil, he’d have been pitiable.
“Finish what he started if ye have the stones,” Hamish hissed, though he was out of breath. “Ye could just work through slaughtering yer entire family. First yer father, then me.” He turned to Gavin, his lips pulled away from a few sharp teeth. “Ye’ll be next,” he predicted ominously. His face was bleeding from a cut on his head, but in all the chaos of his scars, Mena couldn’t find the source of the wound.
Thorne’s expression faltered, at the revelation of what Liam had done.
He hadn’t known, Mena realized. He hadn’t known that his brother had killed their father.
The earl took his belt off, and gestured for Russell to do the same, his movements methodical. “Let us take him to the dungeon, Liam. We’ll deliver him to the regiment tomorrow by train. I’m certain Trenwyth will have more than a few charges to bring.”
“They’ll only hang him,” Liam gritted out.
“Liam.” Mena stepped forward, reaching for him.
“Stay back,” he ordered. “Doona get close.”
Mena hesitated, letting her hand drop to her side. She wondered who he truly warned her away from. Hamish? Or himself.
“Do ye think I’m finished with ye?” Hamish taunted. “That I’m the only one who would see ye dead?”
“I know you’re angry now.” Mena tried to ballast the poison spewed by Hamish. “But you don’t want your own brother to be just another sin that haunts you.”
She couldn’t tell if she was getting through to him, didn’t know if her words penetrated the haze of pure, white-hot fury radiating from the Demon Highlander’s massive frame.
“I’m sure yer tormentors are legion,” Hamish drawled. “I’ve killed many, but none so much as ye. I admit that I see them at night, the faces of my victims. I find them in my dreams, and sometimes when I’m awake. Do ye see their faces, Liam? Do ye find them in the darkness?”
Ignoring his order, Mena stepped behind Liam and pressed a hand to his back, the soft skin of her palm settling over the interruptions of long-ago wounds that never truly healed. She said nothing as the muscles twitched and shuddered beneath her chilled fingers.
“Nay, brother,” Liam finally said, maneuvering himself so Gavin could bind Hamish’s hands behind him. “I doona find them.… They find me.”
* * *
Liam watched his brothers disappear into the forest, aided by Thomas and Russell. He tried to feel the things he understood that he should be feeling. But he’d grieved for Hamish already. He’d alternately hated and loved his elder brother with the same complicated feelings he’d possessed for his father. They battled the same monstrous rage, only Liam put up more of a fight against it, instead of letting it dissolve his soul completely.
The moment Hamish had touched Mena in violence, his life had become forfeit, just like that fucking bastard who’d harmed her in London, whoever he was.
He could feel Mena’s gaze from behind him as tangible as her kind hand had been on his back. She’d done it again. Bedeviled him with her gentle magic and smothered the flames of his fury with one simple caress.
Anger and aggression still pounded through his veins and thrummed through his muscle, but it was joined by relief and fear.
What must she think of him now? Now that she knew his darkest sins. Now that she completely understood just exactly how damned his soul was. What would he find in her eyes? Revulsion? Terror?
Condemnation?
Awareness prickled along his spine and stung beneath his scars. He knew he was mostly bare, but never had he felt so naked. So exposed. Only one scar in a hundred had remained on his skin, but every single one had lashed at his soul.
Nothing Liam had ever done—no danger he’d ever faced—had taken as much courage as did turning around to meet her unflinching gaze.
Mena used the altar rock to support herself. The indigo mists climbed and caressed her body as though trying to seduce her with embracing wisps of moisture.
She was the most beautiful creature ever crafted of the mystifying and enchanted elements that made up a woman. If he was stone and steel, she was serenity and softness. The long tendrils of her luxurious hair tumbled down her arms and grazed the dramatic flare of her round hips. The flimsy material of her bodice—God love whatever it was called—enhanced more than concealed her breasts as they heaved with her own panting, unsteady breaths.
Christ, he could have lost her tonight. Liam’s knees weakened as he truly realized how close that blade had been held to her delicate throat.
He saw his severe relief mirrored in her lovely, pale eyes.
An ache throbbed deep in his body, as a shudder coursed down the length of his spine, starting at the shoulders and landing at the base, sending heat and desire into his loins. A raw, unbidden sound rose from deep in his chest, and escaped on a breath of undiluted need.
She tilted unsteadily forward, like a siren beckoning him to his destruction. He had about as much power against her.
In that moment, they both knew it.
Nothing else need be said between them. No words or platitudes uttered. No fears or sins confessed. He saw absolution in her eyes. Understanding. Acceptance.
And still he gave her a moment. A warning. A chance to escape.
Because once he got his hands on her, there would be no stopping him.