Page 78 of Deception of a Highlander

She slid the black mask over her face, and nausea threatened her composure. She had worn it to a masque she’d attended the previous year, back when she thought her sins could not slide any deeper. The small mirror caught her reflection. The woman who stared back at her was not Mariel Brandon but a stranger, a foreign beast borne of desperation.

She turned from the horrific image, unable to stand the nightmare looking back at her. The knife rested on her bed, a silvered glint of moonlight upon her mattress. Were it not for Jack, she would sooner plunge that blade into her chest than Kieran’s.

Mariel wrapped her hands around the hilt of the blade and drew a deep breath. Now.

Soundlessly, she slipped from her room and made her way down the hall to Kieran’s door. The metal latch was cool beneath her sweat-dampened palm.

With a slight press of her thumb, the latch gave, and the door shifted open. Unlocked. Fear and dread mingled in a bitter, metallic taste in the back of her throat.

His warm, masculine scent lingered in the air and clawed at her tender heart.

Kieran flopped onto his bed fully clothed with his dirty boots still strapped to his feet. The poor man must have been exhausted. His large arms were folded over his chest, calling to mind not only his raw strength but also the number of times he held her in his arms. He’d offered her safety and love while she offered him betrayal and death.

Mariel bit down on her lip until she tasted blood. Her hands trembled beneath the weight of the dagger.

One thrust to the throat. Death would come quickly and with little pain.

For Jack’s life.

To protect Blair and Dougal.

The pale light of the moon spilled across his smooth jaw. Despite the hell that he must have been through and the traces of fatigue on his face, he had shaved recently. For her.

She pulled in a breath against the pain in her chest and immediately steeled herself for the onslaught of emotion. Despite her resolve, the hand holding the knife quavered.

A knot lodged in her throat, and the energy coursing through her body went still. Her arms dropped to her sides. She could not do it. She could not kill Kieran.

She backed away from his sleeping form, committing his image to memory before she turned toward the door. If she hurried, she could obtain the necessary boat to leave the island before anyone noticed her missing. A simple note to Kieran while en route to Inverness might provide him with enough time to hide himself as well as Blair and Dougal. She tightened her grip on her blade until the hilt bit into her palm to bring a sense of reality to the surreal night.

The journey would be difficult, but if she hurried, it would be possible to arrive with enough time to observe the house and monitor guard rotations. In the cover of night, she could launch a silent attack to save Jack on her own.

She reached for the door latch and paused. One last glance to balm her wounded heart, to remember forever the only man she would ever truly love. She looked behind her and froze.

The bed was empty.

* * *

Kieran narrowed his eyes in the darkness, studying the figure in black. Finally, the English assassin showed his cowardly face.

Not visiting Mariel had proven a wise choice. Kieran’s blood ran cold at the thought of placing her in danger. He would deal with this bastard as silently as possible to keep from waking her. In no way would he have her exposed to this ugliness, not after all she had been through.

Energy pulsed through his veins, his exhaustion nothing more than a distant memory. Before the whoreson could turn back to the door, Kieran threw his weight against the man and knocked them both to the floor. The assassin grunted as his slender body absorbed the impact of Kieran’s weight. Despite his grip, the intruder writhed away with alarming dexterity and darted toward the open window.

He wouldn’t get off that easy.

Kieran lunged at him again with arms outstretched and caught the man’s ankles. The assassin’s head slammed against the floor with a dull thunk, and his body fell still.

Kieran smirked. That had almost been too easy.

The man’s foot shot out and slammed into Kieran’s chest. The impact sent him staggering back. The bastard might be small, but he was tough as hell.

Kieran grasped the man’s arm, but the wiry coward twisted free once more and ran again toward the window.

Before Kieran could reach him, the assassin swung his legs over the edge in preparation to jump. Kieran grasped the smooth fabric of the man’s shirt, halting the freefall before it could begin. With a savage jerk, Kieran swung the masked man back into his bedroom and slammed the shutters of his window closed.

The assassin stared up at him, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Good, the bastard was scared. He should be.

Caught but not defeated, the assassin sprinted toward the door. Kieran was faster and headed him off. A savage shove to the man’s chest, and he crashed against the wall where he crumpled to the floor.