Page 29 of Highlander’s Evil Twin

“Stay, Heather. You are the prize. You need to be here to congratulate the winner.” Connor laughed maniacally. “The winner takes it all!” He gestured to the castle and land and then pointed to Heather. “Or you could go and wait in your room for me to arrive.” He blew her a kiss.

Hiram threw himself at Connor; his weight took Connor off his feet and they rolled together over the sturdy sofa and onto the floor behind it. Hiram could feel blood coursing through his veins; it felt as if a river of energy fueled every cell in his body, feeding oxygen directly to his muscles. He felt invincible. Sitting on top of Connor, he reined angry blows onto his face, intent on wiping the smile off his face. He felt charged with emotion—it consumed him. There was no love between them anymore. Connor was a monster, he couldn’t be trusted, and Hiram knew that if he didn’t stop him, it would only be a matter of time before he attacked Heather again.

He stopped hitting him and placed his large hands around his throat and squeezed. Connor squirmed underneath his invading fingers and began to choke.

“You have one final chance Connor. I will kill you now or you can get up and get out of here and never come back.” Hiram squeezed tighter and Connor coughed and gurgled again, his eyes bulging.

“Hiram please!” This time, his mother’s frantic voice broke into the moment. “Give him a chance. He is sorry.”

Hiram squeezed tighter. He didn’t want to let him go. He didn’t want to give Connor another chance. Time seemed to stand still. Connor’s eyes were wide and bulging. He coughed again as Hiram’s fingers tightened around his throat. Connor’s hand slapped against the floor. He gasped as the last of the air was squeezed out of his lungs.

“Hiram!” His mother wailed.

Finally, sense returned to his angered state and he released his fingers, moving back as if in slow motion while Connor rolled onto his knees and coughed, gasping for air.

“You could have killed him!” His mother’s eyes filled with tears as she looked at her favored son kneeling on the ground and struggling to breathe.

“That was my intention,” he said, his eyes dark and steely. “Even though he has admitted to killing Patrick, you still defend him. What is wrong with you? Know this, he goes today. If you want to join him, be my guest.”

Heather stood in the doorway. Her green eyes filled with tears and her red hair tumbled over her shoulders in waves. Her hands clasped over her mouth as she fought against nausea rising within her. Hiram’s expression softened when he saw the marks on her pale skin where Connor had clutched her to try to control her the day before. No one will ever hurt her again, he vowed. No one. The noise behind him faded to a blur. He knew his mother was crying and bending over Connor as if tending to the little boy she imagined him to be. All he could see were the shiny depths of her emerald eyes drawing him towards his wife. She was like a magnet to him and he felt his heart beating erratically beneath his ribs. As she stood silently, her hands dropped away to her sides and he focused on her full lips and the intensity of her gaze.

“Hiram.” He saw her expression change before he heard the anguish of her words. He felt the blow against the side of his head and as he crumbled to his knees. He fell onto broken glass, disorientated, the room spinning. Fighting down nausea, he tried to stand up but was dizzy, and clutched the wall unit for support. Blood trickled down the side of his face and he wiped it away. He’d been stupid to turn his back on Connor.

“You shouldn’t have let me go brother.” Connor had lost all control. He waved a large blade at Hiram and it glinted menacingly in the artificial light.

“Don’t be stupid,” Hiram told him. “Just pack up your things and get out. Don’t come back. This is your final chance.”

“I don’t want another chance. I’d rather die than have you get everything.” Madness raged through every part of him. Hiram could see that the brother he had once known had gone. Now all that was left was this deadly threat to all he loved.

Connor charged at him, the blade coming dangerously close to his chest, but Hiram somehow managed to deflect it, turning his body to the side so that the blade merely grazed him. It was sharp and cut through his T-shirt with ease, the momentum sending Connor sprawling and the blade hitting the floor. Hiram kicked it away and punched Connor with everything he had, transmuting all energy through that single punch. The shock rippled through his arm and he knew that the force of it must have hurt him, but he was fueled by madness and knew that nothing would stop him. He didn’t experience fear and that alone made him dangerous. Hiram went to pick up the blade; he couldn’t let Connor have it.

“Hiram!” Heather shrieked.

As he spun round Connor launched another attack, charging at him and without realizing, had impaled himself on the blade of which Hiram had in front of him. Hiram gasped as he realized the blade had plunged deep into Connor’s stomach and was now embedded within. Blood spurted out from the wound and Connor opened his eyes wide with shock. He couldn’t straighten up and held onto the knife as if in disbelief that it had happened. He grunted and pulled the knife out. Hiram took a step back instinctively, but it clattered to the floor and Connor fell with it, rolling onto his back.

“Get help!” He shouted to his mother, but she was rooted to the ground. Her eyes were fixed on Connor, watching as blood pumped out of his body and soaked into the floor. Hiram watched without emotion as his lifeblood drained away. He knew there would come a time when he felt the pain of this moment, but there was only relief. He hadn’t planned to use the blade, he hadn’t wanted to kill his brother this way, but he had wanted to end the madness. This had brought the fight to a close. Hiram knew Connor should not have removed the blade, but he also knew that Connor had done this on purpose.

He was only vaguely aware that Heather had taken his mother from the room and a stillness settled across the bloody scene. He should say something prosaic, something to let Connor know he was forgiven, but he couldn’t. Anger still resided within him and he would never forgive his brother for trying to kill Heather. She was his life. Connor was the brother who was unpredictable, moody, and manipulative. Now, as his brother gurgled in his final moments, Hiram felt free.

He waited until Connor had taken his last breath and then sighed, feeling exhausted mentally and physically. He should have tried to save him, but deep within, he knew there was relief for them both. Connor was mad, had been mad, there was an insanity that lurked within the family. But it was over. It would take time to come to terms with this but they would do it somehow and move on. There was just the problem of their mother to deal with now. She would be devastated, he knew. Hiram bent down to close his brother’s eyes and walked away, shutting the door firmly behind him.

16

Days passed. Hiram busied himself keeping the castle and land in shape. It was important now more than ever to ensure all was working as it should be, and he had to stamp his authority on the place. It was just him managing it all and he was kept busy from early morning to night. But he knew he was also distracting himself from what had happened. However, there was a more pressing problem. Somehow, he had to make the castle resilient again. They dare not show weakness. With his father and Connor gone, they were vulnerable to attack. He had to get their army in place. That was vital for their survival. He needed at least fifty good men from across the land, but they needed more. Somehow, he had to consider making a match for his sister, but he could only imagine that not going down well. She was pretty enough but a bit of a tomboy. She had never shown signs of wanting to marry. He didn’t even know if she had even dated.

As he gazed over the land, his eyes scanning the horizon, he drank in the vibrant green and purple shades. There was nothing like Scotland, he mused, and no one would ever convince him otherwise. This place, it was as if it ran through his veins. He belonged here and would never leave. The sky was moody and foreboding today. Dark clouds hovered with menace over the rolling hills as if in defiance of the sun that cast a subdued glow across the surrounding peaks. The weather had been unpredictable ever since Connor had died. Hiram had caught the servants whispering in the corners about how the tragedy had set off a sinister sequence of impending doom. One of them had sworn she had seen the apparition of Connor roaming the moors trying to get into the grounds. Hiram had glared at them and had the satisfaction of seeing them run back to the kitchens.

There would have been more heartbreak and doom had Connor lived. It was the best result. If he had lived, some poor woman would have received the brunt of his wrath. If Hiram had stayed, he could be mourning his own wife and child-to-be at this moment. He closed his eyes, feeling a chill run through him at that thought. He couldn’t lose them; they were his life now. They were everything. Connor had been a blot on the landscape, he’d been a plague within the family. The son who had never grown up, but had been a child inside, never having broken that tether to their mother. Hiram sighed. He felt as if he was trying to justify his actions and in some ways he was, but there was a relief that lifted his mood more often than not. The last thing he needed were stupid servants whispering about ghost stories.

A movement to his left caught his attention and he saw Heather entering the garden area. He knew how she loved to sit in there and to relax. It was so important for her now. She was looking radiant, albeit it a little tired, but her formerly flat stomach was now rounded. It wasn’t too obvious to others yet, but when he watched her undress at night, peeling off each layer, he would catch his breath at her stomach knowing how inside that protective layer, their baby was growing. He’d experienced a myriad of emotions: love, protectiveness, and a surge of passion for wanting her so much, though being afraid he might hurt the baby. Heather had simply smiled and had opened up to him, wrapping her long legs around him and encouraging his movements.

“Just gently,” she had whispered to him.

He’d obeyed, his movements soft and gentle but matching the rhythm of her hips and loving every moment of this union. It was even more intense, more loving than he could have imagined. He’d looked into her sparkling green eyes and saw his own love reflected back at him. Their climax had been incredible, and they had lain together trembling while he had stroked the slight swell of her tummy, marveling that they had created life together.

At least they were safe, providing he could muster enough men for an army or forge a new alliance if Maggie would agree to marriage. He wondered how to broach the subject. Brow furrowed, he turned his attention back to the land. This was a labor of love. While he hadn’t expected this responsibility so soon, he cherished the opportunity to steer this castle and family to greatness.

The clouds scurried above him and then, as if on cue, the skies opened. Hiram ran towards the castle entrance, hearing thunder rip across the sky and lightning flashing its presence to all. The dark skies claimed the land again, albeit briefly, as he took off his boots in the entrance and marveled at the suddenness of the storms here. The trees that surrounded the grounds like silent sentries bent at the mercy of the winds that whipped across the moors, the large open expanse of land which always chilled visitors to the castle, unprepared for the playground of the elements where the ground lay sodden for weeks after rainfall and mist, and a bitter breeze battered them above ground. There was stark beauty here. The sky dark and brooding in its intensity showered torrents of rain down onto ground still soaked from the drenching only days before. Low clouds passed by discarding their load before the wind whisked them away. Startled birds flew to cover, frantically battling winds. He noticed the hooded crows being swept along croaking furiously before landing safely in the castle turrets. Survivors, he thought, smiling wryly. Battling the odds and still coming through. That’s us. That’s what we must do.