Chapter Thirty-Five

“Well, Wife, and if you are done reuniting with your brother, I think we had best finish this.” Stuart Avrie walked slowly into the chamber, his expression guarded, and took up a place at Deirdre’s side. Aye, Finnan thought, and the man came armed for the job with sword and dirk thrust through his belt, both of which glittered in the dying light.

And so his life would end on a blade after all, following his wandering and fighting, all the battles and struggles. He once more raised his eyes to the sky. At least he would die in this place he loved more than his own existence.

He moved his gaze from that beloved sky to his sister’s face. Her hair shone in a halo of red, and that of the man beside her in gold.

“Ah, no, Husband. I have only begun to pay my beloved brother as he deserves.”

Pay as he deserves. Finnan heard an echo of his own words, his own sentiments, in hers. He had lost the past ten years of his life to the need for vengeance in one form or another. It seemed Deirdre had, as well. Aye, so, and they were far too alike.

That hard knowledge seemed to settle beneath his breastbone like a rock.

Deirdre stepped closer, reached out with one foot, and caressed Finnan’s cheek with her toe. Finnan could feel the waves of hate coming off her and knew this gesture for the precursor to pain. He stiffened in an effort to prepare himself but, again, the foot did not strike.

Instead, Deirdre slanted a look at her husband. “Surely you will not deny me my satisfaction? Have I ever denied you yours?”

Stuart Avrie stepped forward also. His arm snaked around Deirdre’s waist in a gesture of pure possession, and he drew her against his side. Finnan’s jaw clenched as he watched the man’s hand stroke her hip and move lower. For an instant he was sure he would vomit; somehow he choked back the sickness.

“Satisfaction,” Stuart echoed, “or revenge?”

Deirdre smiled, and again Finnan saw himself in her face. “They are one,” she purred.

Finnan closed his eyes because, suddenly, he did not want to behold that sharp avarice in a face so like his own. He had never denied himself that sort of satisfaction—not against Gregor Avrie, not against Jeannie MacWherter.

Jeannie. A vision of her swam into his mind: golden hair spilling down across her shoulders, bodice unfastened, and desire in those wide, blue eyes.

Desire…or was that love?

Nay, Jeannie had never really loved him, though he had invited that emotion in hopes he might wound her more deeply. It had been mere lust they shared. He doubted her capable of actual love.

And he? Of what tender emotions was he capable? He had loved his father and mother, been bonded deeply with Geordie. He had loved this woman who now stood here wrapped in hate.

He opened his eyes to find her crouched down beside him. She peered into his face. “Give me the lend of your dirk, Husband,” she requested and reached back a hand. “I would busy myself a while repaying him.”

Stuart extracted his knife from the loop at his hip. “Better to end it, Wife. Until he dies, you do not own the land.”

“I know that very well.” She slanted a look at Stuart. “Only promise me when the time comes he will die by my hand.”

Stuart grunted. “I care not how, so long as he dies.”

“Leave that to me.”

Somewhat to Finnan’s surprise, Stuart went out. Finnan gazed into his sister’s eyes.

“Well, now.” She settled herself on the stones beside him, the dirk in her hands. “Do you know how long I have waited for this? Dreamed of it?”

“Ten years.”

“Aye, since I was fifteen. Fifteen, Brother. That was my age when they took me that night. Would you like to hear a story before you die? Shall I tell you the tale of all that befell me?”

“Much befell both of us.”

“And there speaks my matchless brother, selfish to the bone. Will you think of no one else, even when you stare death in the face?”

Finnan closed his eyes on another wave of despair. “Tell me.”

“They came at me out of the dark whilst I lay sound asleep. Suddenly they were just there, in my chamber, five men. Not Gregor Avrie, no—he and Trent were busy killing Da. But he sent Stuart. ’Twas the first time he touched me, that night.

“They bundled me out of the room so swiftly I barely had time to comprehend what was happening. He covered my mouth so I could not scream. But I could hear mother wailing out there in the courtyard when she discovered Father dead. I thought she would come for me then, and save me. Or you would.”

“I lay asleep, Deirdre, and did not know. It would have been too late, anyway—from what you say, Stuart had already been sent to seize you even before they slew Da. That must have been their plan all the while, to secure you before they came for me. There is no way I could have reached you in time.”

“Perhaps so. Still, you might have caught me up, had you tried. Oh, aye, Brother, I have been over and over it in my mind. Despair does that to a lass. She relives. She even hopes for a while that her brother will rescue her.”

“We searched everywhere for you, as I say. You were nowhere to be found.”

“So you went blithely off and saved your own skin.”

“Nay—”

“Never fear, Brother. Gregor Avrie arriving with a stout troop of hired men did put our household guard to the rout, and you could not best them all that night. I will give you that. But let me ask you this.” She leaned toward him, the dirk balanced in her fingers, her gaze accusing. “After that night, did I cease to exist? Did the thought of me in their hands, awaiting succor, never touch you?”

“To be sure, it did.” Finnan’s throat, tight and dry, almost prohibited speech.

“Yet, somehow, you never returned nor risked yourself for me.”

“I thought you dead like Da. I was but a lad, and buried under the weight of my own pain.”

“Ah, so ’tis all about Finnan—again.”

Finnan searched her face and flinched at what he saw there. “I did inquire after you. For years I did. I asked Da’s friend in Fort William to search out word of you. There was none. I did not know—”

“That I was wife to Stuart Avrie? But I was, from that very night. They dragged me away to a priest, and let Stuart pluck me, too.”

“By all that is holy, I am sorry, Deirdre!”

A curious smile curved her lips. “My husband and I came to terms eventually, just as soon as my anger hardened and it became evident he and I wanted the same thing. He is no’ so bad when you get used to him.” She widened her eyes deliberately. “And a braw man between the blankets once he got me broke in.”

Again Finnan felt his stomach heave. He closed his eyes in an effort to shut the images away, but found he could not.

“I did no’ forget you, Dee. ’Tis why I battled so hard to come back. ’Tis why I slew that bastard Gregor Avrie.”

“Aye.” She nodded solemnly. “For revenge—the same thing that drives me now. Look at me, Brother. Look at me!”

Finnan obeyed, straining at his bonds. He gazed into his sister’s face and saw his own determined hate.

“You,” she said almost lightly, “live for revenge against the Avries, and I for revenge against you. Are we not alike? Now I need only decide how best to take my price from you—in pain.”