Ian felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders—a weight he had carried since the moment he first learned of the calamity at Flodden. He had redeemed himself by saving his clan from certain disaster.
The fight was not over. Hugh still had supporters—some in the hall and others who slipped out of the castle in the chaos. They would have to be dealt with eventually, but they would cause no more trouble tonight.
Ian wanted to share this moment with Sileas. Smiling, he turned to look for her.
His heart swelled when he saw her, because she was smiling back at him, her eyes shining. People moved out of his way as he pushed through the crowd toward her. Suddenly, her gaze shifted to something behind him, and she screamed.
He spun around in time to see a flash of steel behind Connor, Alex, and Duncan, where the men were holding Hugh. In the midst of the tumultuous jubilation, no one else seemed to notice when one of the men holding Hugh sank to the ground with blood gushing from his throat. A moment later, the second man holding Hugh doubled over, with blood seeping between his lips.
Neither did anyone heed Ian’s cry of warning as Hugh pulled the dead man’s dirk from his belt. Ian was already pushing through the crowd, racing to get to Connor before Hugh did.
Though Ian was running as fast as he could, he saw everything with piercing clarity, as if time had slowed. He saw each person who fell out of his way, Duncan’s hands clapping, Alex’s head thrown back in laughter—and Hugh moving toward Connor with the point of his blade aimed at Connor’s back.
“No!” Ian shouted, as he took the last three steps at a dead run and flew through the air.
He felt the sting of a blade glancing off his back as he crashed to the floor on top of Connor with a hard thump. When he looked up, with his dirk ready in his hand, Duncan and Alex were holding Hugh above him. Screams and shouts echoed off the walls, and every dirk and claymore in the hall was unsheathed.
“I appreciate ye saving my life,” Connor grunted from beneath him. “But do ye think ye could get off of me now? I feel as if a horse fell on me.”
“I hope I didn’t break open any of your wounds,” Ian said, as he got up. “Ach, from the blood it looks as though I did.”
“The blood is yours this time,” Connor said after Ian helped him up. “Turn ’round and let’s see how bad he cut ye.”
“I don’t even feel it,” Ian said, looking over his shoulder at his bloody shirt.
“Connor, what do ye want us to do with this murderer?” Alex asked, and gave Hugh a shake.
“My father was a great chieftain, and my brother Ragnall would have been an even greater one,” Connor said, looking at his uncle. “You have deprived the clan of their leadership.”
Ian thought Connor would be a better chieftain than either of them, but it wasn’t the time to say it.
“You haven’t the hardness it takes to be chieftain,” Hugh spat out. “Your father at least had that.”
“I won’t mar tonight’s celebration with an execution—but say your prayers, Hugh, for you’ll die in the morning.” Connor turned to several clansmen who were standing nearby. “Take him to the dungeon. He’s a slippery one, so mind him closely.”
The noise in the hall was deafening as men carried Connor around in the chieftain’s chair. In the wake of the revelation of their former chieftain’s murder, the clan’s choice was clear. That did not mean no one had doubts about Connor’s leadership, but none would express them tonight.
They chose Connor because he was his father’s son and Ragnall’s brother—and because he was not Hugh. Most members of the clan did not know Connor’s mettle yet. In time, he would prove himself to them. Once they knew him as Ian did, they would follow Connor because of the good man he was and the great man he was destined to be.
For tonight, Connor and the clan were safe. The celebrations would go on through most of the night, but Ian did not need to stay for them. He had one more thing he must do to make up for the past, one last step to redeem himself with the person who mattered most.
He found Sileas elbowing her way through the throng of men crowded around the front. When she felt his gaze, she gave him a broad smile, as before. After all the ways he had failed her, her smile was a small miracle, a gift he hoped to earn in time.
He lifted her in his arms and carried her out of the hall.
Most of the guests would be sleeping on the floor of the hall tonight, but Ian intended to take one of the few bedchambers. Connor owed him that.
CHAPTER 42
As soon as the chamber door was closed behind them, he pulled Sileas into his arms. He buried his face in her hair and breathed in the familiar scent of her hair and skin. While she was in danger, all his focus was on rescuing her. Then he had to turn his mind to getting Connor to the gathering and making him chieftain.
“I almost lost you.”
Only now that his tasks were completed and the dangers passed, did it fully hit him. His knees felt weak at the thought of how close it had been. He ran his hands over her to assure himself that she was whole.
“I should have prevented Murdoc from taking ye,” he said.
“Ian, ye can’t blame yourself for everything that happens.” Sileas leaned back and looked at him with her honest green eyes. “And ye did save me.”
“I’ve failed ye so many times—starting with the day I found ye outside the tunnel and didn’t believe ye were in danger,” he said. “I never should have left ye to deal with everything alone while I went off to France. I don’t know how to tell ye how sorry I am for it all.”
“Ye returned home precisely when we needed ye most,” she said, touching her fingers to his cheek. “If ye had been here all along, ye might have been killed at Flodden with the rest of them. And where would we be now without ye? Your da would still be lying in bed spewing venom at Niall, Hugh would be chieftain, and I’d likely be wed to that brute Angus.”
