He shrugged, a grin tugging at his lips. “What did ye expect? I am who I am.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but before a word could escape, the far doors of the hall burst open. The slam echoed off the rafters and turned every head.
A group of villagers stormed in, armed with daggers and rusted axes. Lily felt her skin crawl as a wave of horrified gasps rippled through the hall. She watched the villagers push off tables and throw trays of food across the hall, nothing but anger in their eyes. Their screams rent the air and the last shred of her courage.
Alasdair was on his feet in an instant. His hand caught her wrist and pulled her up. “Behind me,” he ordered.
Her body obeyed before her mind caught up. She stepped behind him, her heart pounding.
“Who are these people? Where did they come from?” she asked, her voice quivering with fear.
“If I have to guess,” Alasdair said calmly, though his shoulders were tight, “unsatisfied clansmen.”
“Unsatisfied?” She clutched his sleeve. “Alasdair, what is this about?”
Before he could answer, one of the men stepped forward. His face was hard, and his eyes burned with fury. He raised his voice above the silence.
“How can ye all feast with a laird like this? How can ye trust a man who came out of nowhere and claimed the title for himself?” His voice dropped as his eyes settled on Lily, who remained behind Alasdair. “And worse, how can ye trust a woman who appeared just as suddenly, calling herself a healer? Who’s to say that the witch isnae poisoning our men or bleeding them for her sacrifices?”
The words struck like a whip.
Witch.
Lily felt her blood run cold. She had been called many things, but never that. Nathan, who was standing beside them, drew his sword at once and stepped forward, but Alasdair raised a hand without even looking.
“Stand down,” he said, his voice firm.
Nathan obeyed, his blade lowering, though his eyes never left the man.
Alasdair stepped forward and cleared his throat. Then, he narrowed his eyes at the man, before speaking. “I have fought battles for this clan these past ten years. I have bled for ye, and I have faced death more times than I could count. I have been dragged into prisons and tortured by lairds who would have burned yer villages to the ground. And this was before I revealed who I truly was to ye all.”
He paused, and Lily’s heart stuttered.
Where was he going with this?
“Where was this doubt then?” he bit out. “Where was this suspicion when I held the line and kept swords from yer throats?”
The crowd shifted uneasily.
“As for me wife,” he continued, his voice darkening. “Instead of calling her what she is—a skilled healer who has saved more men than ye could count—ye dare call her awitch? Ye dare speak of sacrifices? For shame.”
With deliberate calm, he drew his sword. The sound of steel sliding free rang in the tense silence, and he set the blade flat on the table before him.
Lily swallowed. The gesture, for some reason, felt even more dangerous than if he had raised it.
“I see this can only be settled one way.”
The spokesman sneered. “Ye daenae scare me, ye impostor of a laird.”
The others muttered in agreement and stepped closer, their weapons raised.
Alasdair tilted his head slightly. “Then go on. Who wishes to start this little dance?”
For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then, three men lunged.
The clash of steel against steel tore through the hall as Alasdair met them head-on. His blade cut the first man’s axe clean from his hands. He swung again, striking the second across the arm and sending him stumbling. The third roared and came forward, but Alasdair sidestepped and slammed his fist into his gut, shoving him down.
Gasps filled the air as the fight broke wider. Nathan and Finn leapt in as well, their swords flashing as they blocked the rest of the intruders. The village men and the council members scattered, dragging the women and children to the walls.
