Page 104 of Auctioned to the Cruel Highlander
His eyes sharpened. “Mind yer tongue.”
“Nay.” The word came out before fear could thin it. “Ye daenae get to put all of it at Ciaran’s feet and call it justice. Isla couldnaebear what happened. That bloodbath began because of men and rage and pride long before she died.”
A hand clamped harder on her upper arm. One of the men behind her forced her half a step nearer the cliff, and a low groan of pain escaped her lips. Loose stones shifted under her shoes and fell away into the dark.
Laird O’Malley watched her flinch and seemed to take some satisfaction in it. “Ye speak too boldly for a woman standing where ye are right now.”
“And ye, old man, speak too casually of yer daughter for someone who helped make her life unbearable.”
His mouth twisted, and he took two slow steps closer to her until she could smell damp wool and stale age on him. “Ye ken nothing.”
“I ken enough.” Ava lifted her chin. “I ken she didnae ride into that wedding believing everyone would die. I ken she cried out when she saw it, and I ken yer hatred has had a decade to fester and still hasnae taught ye the truth.”
He reached out and seized the front of her dress. His grip was shockingly strong for his age. He dragged her closer still, enough that the wind from the drop struck harder at her side.
“I wasnae there that day.” Each word came with careful force. “I didnae stand in that hall and watch the slaughter. But I watchedwhat happened after. I watched me daughter waste away, and I watched her choose the cliff over her own life after that family was done with her.”
Ava’s breath caught.
The men behind her shifted. One of them looked away. Laird O’Malley did not.
“And because I watched,” he gritted out, “I learned patience. I learned what years can do that one blade cannae.” His fingers twisted tighter in her dress. “I had yer father’s castle set on fire because I kent ye were fond of visiting there. I hoped ye would be inside when it burned down.”
The words hit so hard that a breath whooshed out of her.
What?
“Ye vile?—”
He spoke over her. “And the only reason I had to do that was because ye lived through the wedding. That was nae supposed to happen.”
Her mouth had gone dry. She knew what he meant before he said it.
“Yer wedding day,” he sneered. “Ye think that beast Jack came of his own accord? I sent him.”
Ava stared at him.
For one beat, the wind, the cliff, the ropes—all of it dropped away before the sheer horror of his admission.
Jack had already been nightmare enough in Ciaran’s life. Enough blood had hung on his name. To hear Laird O’Malley speak of sending him,usinghim,directinghim, made the past widen into something even fouler.
“Ye used him! Ye have been using him all along!”
Laird O’Malley gave a small shrug. “Poor lad lost his mind when Isla took her life. Would never question anything. Did whatever he was told.”
The casual cruelty of it made Ava sick.
“And ye didnae lose yer mind?” she hissed.
That struck home; she could see it when his eyes flashed.
“Nay,” he said. “I kept mine well enough. That is why I am standing here and she isnae.”
He meant Isla. He meant Jack. He meant every dead person his hatred had already claimed.
Ava’s voice sharpened. “Ye speak of vengeance as if it is holy, but it is nothing but filth. Ye used yer daughter’s pain to justify every rotten thing after it, and ye still daenae see that this has nothing to do with her.”
“I hold yer life in me hands, lass. I’d be careful if me words if I were ye.”
