Page 65 of Hunted By the Hard Highlander

He took the final turn, his footsteps becoming louder in the opening. His eyes locked onto Aurora, standing there and staring at her uncle as he made a noise of frustration that came from deep within his lungs. There was a subtle smile on her face, one of realization.

She had figured it out.

Then, her gaze fell on him. There was a flicker of surprise, followed by a sharp exhale of relief. It was enough, though. Enough for Hendry to know she was still breathing and enough for Laird MacGonagal to realize they were not alone any longer.

When his beastly eyes found Hendry, his hatred seemed to flare.

Ach, ye arenae the only one unhappy about this situation, but ye willnae win. Ye are already trapped like a rat.

Chapter Thirty-One

The relief of seeing Hendry was short-lived. As soon as the sigh of relief left her lips, Laird MacGonagal swung back around to look at her. Before she could react, he was surging forward, pulling her against his chest and pressing a dagger she had not realized he had to her throat.

“Daenae,” she said through gritted teeth, trying to get away, but only getting the sharp tip of the blade pressed harder against the thin skin protecting the artery he was threatening.

“Ye arenae in the position to be makin’ demands of me, Niece,” he said, his voice close to her ear, his hot and sour breath assaulting her nostrils. She could tell that his eyes were locked on Hendry. “We might be locked in this wee cage, but he is locked out.”

“Bold of ye to assume that I cannae get inside,” Hendry said, walking forward with his sword already drawn. “Ye will let go of Aurora.”

“Nay until ye give me the boy,” Laird MacGonagal demanded, pressing his dagger hard enough against Aurora’s throat that he drew blood. “Do that, and ye may have yer precious wife back. There doesnae need to be any fightin’. This is a diplomatic issue.”

“I willnae be handin’ over Adair,” Hendry said, the sharpness of his voice morphing him into someone even stronger than Aurora had once thought him to be. “Ye have done enough. All of this ends now.”

Aurora heard her uncle begin to respond, but the words sounded as though they were coming from behind glass. Against her chest, inside her bodice, she felt the pressure of the sgian-dubh. The lesson that she had attended with Hendry flashed in her mind, a quick image of the way he’d instructed her to hold the blade, the sound of his voice telling her that she should always watch the shoulders.

Strike only once. Make it count.

She waited, frozen. If she moved too quickly, the dagger in her uncle’s hand would pierce her skin fully, and she could not allow that to happen. Her chance came when he shifted slightly, posturing himself as he continued to make demands for Adair.

Her hand plunged within her bodice, pulling the knife out in a motion that felt natural, like she had done this a thousand times before. It felt almost as if she had been born with this blade in her hand. When it connected with her uncle’s forearm, digging savagely into the flesh, it did not take nearly the amount of effort she thought it would have.

In fact, she felt powerful, like she was not a victim of her own circumstances, but a warrior in her own right.

With an echoing cry and a violent jerk of his entire body, her uncle released his hold on her. She took advantage of the opening, pulling her sgian-dubh back and rushing to the opposite side of their prison, pressing her back against the wall. Her heart pounded in her chest as she watched him attempt to stop the bleeding.

Her uncle roared again, a sound that was not pain but pure frustration. He seemed to completely forget that Hendry was there, watching them from the other side of the gate. As Laird MacGonagal took a large, angry step toward Aurora, she saw Hendry move from the corner of her eye.

“Ye have nay idea the mistake ye just made, ye ungrateful girl,” her uncle growled, picking up his dagger from where it had fallen after she had lashed out. “Do ye have any clue just how much I was doin’ for yer mother and yer father? Do ye ken the sacrifices that I made without askin’ for a single thing in return?”

“Ye were doin’ yer duty, and they were doin’ theirs,” Aurora said, her grip tightening on the handle of her blade. She heard the gate opening, the slide of Hendry getting closer, yet Laird MacGonagal was entirely focused on her. “It is the fault of nay one but yerself that ye think ye are owed somethin’.”

The words had the effect she expected. Her uncle let out a war cry before surging forward. She raised her blade, bracing herself for a blow that never came.

Her eyes closed as steel met steel. The air around her shifted, displaced by the bulk of Hendry’s body. He did not make a sound, striking faster than a predator hiding in the grass.

When she opened her eyes again, the men were in the middle of the floor. Her uncle had a new cut on his face, his eyebrow split from a strike that Hendry had landed in the short time that Aurora had not been looking. His right eye was closed, blood dripping from the lid and down his cheek.

“Ye should have kent better than to walk right into me territory,” Hendry snarled, lifting his sword and swinging it at Laird MacGonagal once more.

Her uncle attempted to block it with his dagger, his blade connecting with a tinny screech. He could not keep his grip on the object, though. The force of Hendry’s strike was too much for him. As the knife fell to the ground, her uncle scrambled backwards, sheer terror etched on his features.

“Ye shouldnae have taken somethin’ that doesnae belong to ye,” Laird MacGonagal said, somehow managing to maintain his snarky demeanor. He darted away from the next swipe Hendry made at him, barely managing to avoid getting hit. “Ye dinnae get permission to marry me niece. Ye dinnae ask before takin’ me nephew into yer walls. He is the rightful heir of his land.”

“Ye never intended to give him what belongs to him,” Hendry replied, feinting with his weapon before bringing his elbow down Laird MacGonagal’s shoulder. As her uncle struggled to keep himself upright and out of Hendry’s line of attack, Hendry continued, “Ye only wish to have him now because ye plan on killin’ him, on stealin’ what belongs to him. Ye have already taken away his parents. I willnae allow ye to steal anythin’ else.”

Hendry did not give her uncle the chance to say anything else. He took advantage of the opening, the shock her uncle must have felt at being stood up to for what might be the first time in his life. The tip of Hendry’s sword found its home in the center of the man’s chest, piercing flesh and bone, burying itself directly in her uncle’s heart.

For a moment, the tunnels went completely silent. The only sound that filled the area was Hendry’s harsh breaths and Aurora’s shaky ones. Then, as though time had slowed down, Laird MacGonagal’s body went limp. The sword was dislodged, and he fell to the ground with an undignified thud.