She despised Father Bisby. He had helped Silas spread the gossip that she dabbled in black magic, and how it was only by Silas’s good graces, and the priest’s regular cleansing of her soul, were they able to aid her in driving the Devil from her body enough that she was permitted to live.
“Take her to the chapel,” he said to William. “Ye ken what to do. I’ll send for ye when I’m done with the Kincaide men.”
“Try nae to shed too much blood,” William said.
The amusement in his voice made her suck in a sharp breath of complete understanding. “Ye’re nae here to take me,” she stated.
“Oh aye, I am, but nae just ye,” Brodee said. “I’m here to take the castle.”
He started to turn away, but she grasped at his arm, driven surely by madness. Under her fingertips, his muscles tensed, and the sheer power leashed there filled her with awe and fear. “Please, ye must nae kill them.”
He pried her fingertips from his arm, his rebuttal of her plea stinging her. Things would be no different with this man from how they had been with her first two husbands. She would be less than nothing to him, especially since it did not seem she would ever provide heirs.
Brodee gave her a grave look. “I dunnae ever fell any man unless he tries to fell me. That, ye can count upon.”
Around them, the men had begun moving—or creeping more specifically—toward the door to the castle. The way they flowed silently, like a shadow, swept gooseflesh over her skin and left it tingling.
Brodee passed the torch silently to William, and then the night swallowed up the Savage Slayer, who might not be quite as savage as rumor would have her believe. She smiled at that, then frowned that it even mattered to her.
She knew better than to care.
