Page 11 of Highland Steel

“How do I even know what you say is true?” asked Rhoswen stubbornly.

Her father’s hand shot out and he gripped her hard around her wrist. “He did it. He told me so in a missive. We must get vengeance . . . for your sister’s death.”

“So let me try to understand this,” she said, pulling out of her father’s grip and rubbing her wrist. For a dying man, he still had a lot of strength in him, probably set off by his thirst for revenge. “The whole plan all along was to kill Drummond and to risk your children’s lives to do it? We don’t even have a home to go back to anymore, do we?”

“I’m sorry, Rhoswen . . . but I couldn’t . . . leave you. Unless you find the sword . . . and return it . . . we have no . . . title, lands . . . or castle.”

Rhoswen froze. If her father died, she and her siblings would be trapped in Scotland, homeless and with nowhere to go. Returning to England could mean their deaths. And without the sword as trade, she would never get her sister’s child.

Her father seemed to be losing strength quickly. He could die at any minute and this frightened her more than anything, because she didn’t know what to do.

“Wake up!” she spat, shaking him until his eyes opened. “Don’t you dare die and leave us like this. I will never forgive you.”

“Kill . . . Drummond . . . and set my . . . soul free.”

“Nothing is ever going to set your conscious free from the things you did. It is your fault that Ailsa is dead and your fault that Mother took her own life. You don’t want to save an innocent child, but yet you want to save your soul? Forget it, Father, I will not do your bidding. I will save Lockie, but I don’t care about the sword. And I will not kill a man no matter what he did.”

“I taught you to fight . . . now do it.”

“I don’t want to do it. I am a lady, not one of your soldiers. You can’t order me to do anything.”

“I am . . . dying . . . Daughter.” His eyes closed and his breathing became shallower.

Rhoswen was doomed. Because of her father’s choices and now his vow of vengeance even from his deathbed, her family had no hope for the future. It angered her and she felt as if she wanted to scream. She’d thought her father was teaching her to wield a sword in secret because he loved her and wanted to teach her how to protect herself. She was wrong. It was clear to her now that he only did it in case he needed her help to kill someone someday, and now that day had come. Well, she refused to be a part of this deceit any longer.

“If you’re going to die, then do so already,” she said, feeling her heart harden. “You didn’t care about Ailsa or mother or even little Lockie, who we’ve never even met. So why should I care if you find redemption and why should I give a damn if your soul goes to hell?” she said through gritted teeth.

“Rhoswen? Is everything all right?” asked Logan, sticking his head inside the room.

“I’m . . . sorry. Please . . . forgive me,” said her father, reaching out for her with a shaking hand, but Rhoswen didn’t take it.

“Everything is fine,” said Rhoswen, flashing a fake smile at Logan. “Why don’t we go get something to eat?”

“Rhos . . . wen,” her father’s weak voice called out as she headed to the door. “I love . . . you,” he said, his words causing her to stop in the doorway. She’d longed to hear those words from his mouth her entire life, but she never had. Why did he have to tell her this now, when it no longer mattered? Part of her wanted to turn around and rush back into his arms and tell him she forgave him, but she couldn’t. He’d lied, cheated, stolen and killed. He’d made a fool out of her and she no longer knew who he was. It was something that could never be forgiven.

“Rhoswen?” Logan held the door and looked back at the dying man on the table. “Did ye hear yer faither?”

“I heard him,” she said.

“Are ye sure ye want to leave him now? He’s dyin’. Isna there somethin’ ye want to say to him as well?”

“I’ve already said everything that he needed to hear,” she said, pushing past him, walking out into the tavern as her father drew his last breath.

“Rhoswen? How is he?” asked her sister, running to her side. Newell was there as well.

“He’s dead,” she said, feeling no emotion at all.

“Nay!” cried Blaine, starting to run for the kitchen, but Rhoswen grabbed her arm and held her back.

“Sit down and eat,” she told her sister in a stern voice.

“What’s the matter with you?” snapped Newell. “We want to see him one last time. You act as if you have a cold heart.”

“Father has been dead for a long time,” she told them. “The man in that room is not the man we once knew. Now, I’ll tell you again – sit down and eat your dinner.”

Blaine and Newell looked at each other, tears welling up in their eyes.

“Sit down!” she commanded, and they slowly sat down, but neither of them ate. Rhoswen slowly settled herself on the bench and picked up the spoon. With the poise of a lady and with no emotion at all, she ate the pottage, feeling numb inside. She didn’t feel the loss of her father and she no longer felt anger, love, or anything at all. Tears wouldn’t come, and neither did she want them to. She had to be strong now, and figure out how to keep her family alive. She needed to figure out where to go, where to live, and how to save little Lockie. That was all that mattered.