Page 77 of Wedded to the Devilish Highlander
“All right, all right,” Mack cried. “I had a moment of weakness and I smuggled a case of broadswords. That was supposed to be it, but he kept askin’ for more, and he blackmailed me into doin’ it. I didnae want to do it, Me Laird. Ye have to believe me.”
“I dinnae believe ye, Mack. Nae about bein’ sorry or nae wantin’ to do it. Ye sat on me council while goin’ behind me back. A man in me forge was murdered, was he nae? It wasnae an accident, was it? That’s on yer hands, Mack. And someone came for me in the night, and that’s on yer hands, too.”
“Nay, I didnae ken about that, Me Laird. I would never hurt ye.” Mack’s body shook as Archer kept him pinned to the tree.
“But the man in the forge, aye? Ye dinnae deny that. What about the man at the funeral? Was he involved, or did ye set him up as a scapegoat? I want to ken who else ye’re workin’ with.”
Archer moved his face a few inches from Mack’s and could see the fear in his eyes.
Mack’s breath was rancid, acidic, and blunt. He inhaled quickly through his nose to stop the snot from dribbling down. But then something shifted in his gaze, and his expression hardened like the steel in the forge.
“Ye dinnae have a clue, do ye?” he spat.
Archer had to admire the man’s bravery. He’d been a coward for far too long, but now, knowing his end was near, he found the courage he’d been lacking for so long.
“Nay, I dinnae, so why dinnae ye enlighten me?” Archer pressed the blade to his neck, ready to off him.
“Yer faither died because he couldnae let sleepin’ dogs lie.” Mack breathed heavily through his nose as he stared him down.
Archer suddenly felt his world spin. His instincts screamed at him to drive his dirk into the bastard’s neck until the bladetouched the rough bark of the tree and the head was cleaved clean off, but he halted. He needed answers.
He stepped back before he did anything stupid.
“What did ye say?” he asked, his voice cracking.
Mack snorted. “Do ye really think anyone wanted ye to become the Laird, Fleming? Nay, ye were only instated because ye dinnae ask any questions. Well, until now. Ye’ve outgrown yer usefulness.”
Archer breathed heavily, gripping the hilt of his dirk so tightly that he feared he might crush it. He pointed the blade at Mack, a red haze clouding his vision as he pieced it all together.
“Ye killed him ‘cause he started asking questions?”
“He was killed when he became a danger to us.”
“That’s why there was an attempt on me,” Archer concluded. “As soon as I asked Calum to investigate the death at the forge, ye came for me.”
“Maybe ye’re nae as stupid as everyone thinks,” Mack jeered.
Calum and the two guards watched on, not intervening, witnesses to the despicable ploys that had started long before Archer inherited the lairdship.
“Far too many dead,” Archer muttered.
“Ye have to spill some blood from time to time,” Mack drawled with a smile.
He knew his life was over.
“I want to ken who is workin’ with ye,” Archer said. “Ye had men smuggle weapons with ye. Ye’re nae the only O’Gunn man workin’ in the castle. Ye’re nae the only traitor.”
“Ye paint pictures in black and white, Fleming,” Mack snarled. “The clans will always fight each other. The best we can do is grab a little coin and power while we can. I dinnae care about our clan or any other. I only care about meself and havin’ the life I’m worthy of.”
“Ye’re nae worthy of any life, Mack, and dinnae call usyerclan. Ye dinnae have a clan anymore. Ye’re nothin’ more than a cockroach. Ye wanted a better life, and all ye’ll get is death. Aye, ye might put on a brave face, but ye deserve exactly what ye’ll get. Ye wanted me in power, and it’ll be the end of ye, Mack. Ye wanted a better life, but all ye’ll get is a coward’s death, and ye’ll be buried in an unmarked grave. Nay one will mourn ye, and the clan will continue thrivin’.”
Mack swallowed hard as he stood with his back pinned to the tree. Archer watched as his confidence wavered. Still, he remained stoic and steadfast. Even in his cowardice, he wouldn’t give up the names of his accomplices.
That only frustrated Archer more. They had no way of telling how far and wide the corruption spread.
“Yer short sword,” Archer said to one of the guards.
The squat, red-headed guard unsheathed his sword and walked over to Archer, handing it to him handle-first. Archer waited until the guard had returned to his spot before he tossed the sword at Mack’s feet.
