“Aye,” William finally choked out, his head throbbing with the effort to hold back his rage. “It makes sense now why ye sent him away. Or did ye imprison him?” William asked as casually as he could.
Brothwell’s fingers drummed the goblet he had once again picked up. “I imprisoned him,” the man said. “I offered him the chance for freedom or death once I got him to Trethway Island. All he had to do was kill one of the king’s guards whom I had captured, but he would nae do it. He’s set to die in a fortnight.” Brothwell’s gaze turned cold. “I befriended yer brother. I dunnae ever do that, and this has reminded me why. He’ll die at Trethway. Do ye ken the place?”
“I do,” William said, picking up his goblet and drinking down the entire contents. He feared if he spoke too soon, he’d reveal himself. He wanted to wrap his hands around Brothwell’s throat and squeeze the life out of him for so casually and emotionlessly saying Bram would die at Trethway. But at least he was alive, and William had a fortnight to save him.
“How do ye ken Trethway?” Brothwell asked with a frown.
“I trained with the Dark Riders,” William replied, suspecting Brothwell already knew this and that the man was once again testing him.
Brothwell nodded. “I had heard rumors, and when I saw the way ye shot an arrow, I suspected the rumors to be true. So, ye ken Trethway belongs to the Order? The Dark Riders dunnae care for the Order.”
They didn’t care for the men in the Order; they were unfair and powerful, which was a dangerous combination. The Order was a group of six lairds from border area between Scotland and England who used the island to unjustly imprison any men who opposed their rule of the borders. Any man taken to the island was left to be killed or tortured until they submitted to their captor’s commands. The king knew of it and intended to do something to stop them, but it was a delicate situation. The men of the Order supported him, and he needed their support while he opposed his nephew.
“I ken it.”
“Have ye been? To Trethway, that is?”
William shook his head, his thoughts pulled between this conversation and Ada. She was his enemy. She was the king’s enemy, and he would have to wed her. He desired her, but he would need to control that desire and guard himself around her.
“Yet ye ken it? Why?”
“My debt to the Dark Riders for their training me was five missions. One was to free a prisoner from Trethway Island.”
Astonishment touched Brothwell’s face. “An impossible task. The guard towers that face out to the water are manned at all times, and ye have to cross the water to reach the island. Dunnae tell me ye fulfilled the mission?”
William considered how much to reveal. He’d fallen ill and never completed the mission. Should he say that? It was the simplest explanation but made him look weak and would lead to more questions. The truth was that Brodee had come searching for William at the king’s behest, found him, and completed the missions for him. It was why William was indebted to Brodee. He wanted to serve his friend as Brodee served the king as his right hand.
“I did nae free the prisoner. He died before I reached the island. After that, they sent me on other missions, which had naught to do with Trethway.”
Brothwell chuckled. “’Tis a good thing. Ye would have died there.”
William forced a small smile, his mind turning with what Brodee had told him about the waters and how he had survived. The information would be most useful when he went to free Bram. And hopefully, by then, Ada would be useful with her gift activated.
The door to the antechamber suddenly opened, and the MacKinney emerged with that same smug smile still on his face. He inclined his head to Brothwell and cocked his eyebrows to William. “She says she will speak to ye now, but I dunnae believe ye should bother. She’ll choose me.”
“Ye’re verra certain,” Brothwell said, before William could speak.
The MacKinney nodded. “I beg pardon, but Lady Ada was quite passionate with me—”
Another bout of rage exploded inside William. He had his dagger to the MacKinney’s neck before the man could even move his hand to his weapon. “Are ye telling me that ye touched the woman that will be my wife?” William seethed.
“I think ye best answer the man,” Brothwell said in an amused tone.
The MacKinney’s face was red with his own rage. “She kissed me, MacLean.” The words were a triple punch to his gut, and he despised that it bothered him, that hot jealousy seared through his veins, that all he could see were Ada’s plump, lovely lips on this scoundrel’s face. And just like that, reason fled him, and without a care for the consequences, he whipped his fist backward and then drove it into the MacKinney’s nose.
