Read Online Highland Sacrifice (Highland Wars Book 2) by Eliza Knight - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Eliza Knight
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win—why else give him such a valuable weapon?
“We must greet him,” Ceana said.
Macrath shook his head, clearing the cobwebs of his memories. “I do not care to.”
She let out a soft laugh. “Neither do I, husband, but we must. Then you can dismiss him. But you must face him first. Face him as the prince not as the brother he’s shunned.”
Macrath nodded, pressing his forehead to hers. “He is no brother to me. ’Twill be most unpleasant.”
“Aye”—she kissed him—“but ’twould be more so if you ignored him, for I do not put it past Victor to barge through our doors, even if he has sworn his oath to you. To a man like him, oaths are not worth anything. He whispers them to appease you, not because he truly means them.”
Macrath glanced back out the window. Victor was pointing and shouting at the grooms who led his horse to the stables. Macrath toyed with the dagger at his belt. “He is dangerous.”
“Aye. And impulsive. He could be your greatest enemy next to the council.”
A frantic knocking at their chamber door made them sigh in unison. “And so it begins,” Macrath murmured.
“Wait,” Ceana said. “They must learn we will come when we want, not a moment sooner.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and tugged him down for a kiss.
Her lips were warm, her tongue heady and velvet soft. They’d been quick in the alcove and he wanted to be slow. To savor her.
But the knocking persisted, and they each broke away, irritated.
“I won’t let him delay the execution,” Macrath said.
By the gods, whatever his brother had arrived to tell him had better be important, else he was half-inclined to throw the horn-beast into the dungeon and leave him there to rot.
CEANA nodded, not wanting to speak on the subject of Gowp’s execution. How Macrath treated his brother was his business and she would support him any way he asked. Victor was a self-important, vicious little man, and he didn’t deserve Macrath’s attention at all. If he’d been her brother, she would have banished him from the land, for no good could come from Victor.
In life there was good and evil. Some people were born good and turned to evil, and others were just bad from the beginning. Victor gave her chills and she was certain he was the kind who was born bad. Born of hate. Born from a woman whose soul had blackened. And then raised to be prejudiced, mean and entitled. He had no empathy for others, nor did he take responsibility for his actions. He was the worst of humans, and having resources at his command made him all the more powerful and treacherous.
As for the execution, well, she’d rather not think about that, either. The idea of taking another life, no matter how deserved, made her want to curl up and cry with great sadness. She’d thought that when the games were over, they would be done with that. But what she was coming to learn as a leader was that the unpleasantries of life were never truly over, only muted.
With that in mind, she stiffened her back once more, afraid that one of these times when she did it, she would snap in half.
Macrath gave her one last longing look and then opened the door.
Beyond the entry stood a guard. He had sandy hair, a beard to match and was broad in the shoulders. He looked strong and robust. She recognized him but couldn’t place his name. The man regarded her and Macrath with great respect. Was it possible they could count him on their side?
“Aye, what is it?” Macrath asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He was several inches taller than the warrior, and just as broad.
The man cleared his throat, hands straight at his sides at attention. “My laird, there is a guest here to see you.”
“My brother is no guest,” Macrath growled.
The man shifted on his feet with nervousness, obviously having not realized until then that Macrath would feel that way about someone of his blood. He quickly gained control of himself, giving a curt nod. “Aye, my
“We must greet him,” Ceana said.
Macrath shook his head, clearing the cobwebs of his memories. “I do not care to.”
She let out a soft laugh. “Neither do I, husband, but we must. Then you can dismiss him. But you must face him first. Face him as the prince not as the brother he’s shunned.”
Macrath nodded, pressing his forehead to hers. “He is no brother to me. ’Twill be most unpleasant.”
“Aye”—she kissed him—“but ’twould be more so if you ignored him, for I do not put it past Victor to barge through our doors, even if he has sworn his oath to you. To a man like him, oaths are not worth anything. He whispers them to appease you, not because he truly means them.”
Macrath glanced back out the window. Victor was pointing and shouting at the grooms who led his horse to the stables. Macrath toyed with the dagger at his belt. “He is dangerous.”
“Aye. And impulsive. He could be your greatest enemy next to the council.”
A frantic knocking at their chamber door made them sigh in unison. “And so it begins,” Macrath murmured.
“Wait,” Ceana said. “They must learn we will come when we want, not a moment sooner.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and tugged him down for a kiss.
Her lips were warm, her tongue heady and velvet soft. They’d been quick in the alcove and he wanted to be slow. To savor her.
But the knocking persisted, and they each broke away, irritated.
“I won’t let him delay the execution,” Macrath said.
By the gods, whatever his brother had arrived to tell him had better be important, else he was half-inclined to throw the horn-beast into the dungeon and leave him there to rot.
CEANA nodded, not wanting to speak on the subject of Gowp’s execution. How Macrath treated his brother was his business and she would support him any way he asked. Victor was a self-important, vicious little man, and he didn’t deserve Macrath’s attention at all. If he’d been her brother, she would have banished him from the land, for no good could come from Victor.
In life there was good and evil. Some people were born good and turned to evil, and others were just bad from the beginning. Victor gave her chills and she was certain he was the kind who was born bad. Born of hate. Born from a woman whose soul had blackened. And then raised to be prejudiced, mean and entitled. He had no empathy for others, nor did he take responsibility for his actions. He was the worst of humans, and having resources at his command made him all the more powerful and treacherous.
As for the execution, well, she’d rather not think about that, either. The idea of taking another life, no matter how deserved, made her want to curl up and cry with great sadness. She’d thought that when the games were over, they would be done with that. But what she was coming to learn as a leader was that the unpleasantries of life were never truly over, only muted.
With that in mind, she stiffened her back once more, afraid that one of these times when she did it, she would snap in half.
Macrath gave her one last longing look and then opened the door.
Beyond the entry stood a guard. He had sandy hair, a beard to match and was broad in the shoulders. He looked strong and robust. She recognized him but couldn’t place his name. The man regarded her and Macrath with great respect. Was it possible they could count him on their side?
“Aye, what is it?” Macrath asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He was several inches taller than the warrior, and just as broad.
The man cleared his throat, hands straight at his sides at attention. “My laird, there is a guest here to see you.”
“My brother is no guest,” Macrath growled.
The man shifted on his feet with nervousness, obviously having not realized until then that Macrath would feel that way about someone of his blood. He quickly gained control of himself, giving a curt nod. “Aye, my
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