Page 53

By damn, she was courageous, refusing to show the fear that undoubtedly pummeled her.

“Just stay perfectly still, my sweet, and look at me.” She smiled, adoration radiating from her brown eyes. “See how much I love you?”

Cora gave a wobbly nod, her trusting gaze meshed with her mother’s.

“Drop yer knife, Brother,” Lorne ordered, derision and gloating flashing in his demented gaze. “All these years, the wily bastard kept that sordid secret. Can ye imagine how the guilt must’ve gnawed our father? Now I understand Gordan’s rage toward him. Havin’ to claim ye as his heir when ye were his twin’s whelp.”

Marjorie’s swift inhalation drew Keane’s focus for a fraction. The unasked question burned in her eyes—almost black with terror—as she veered her gaze from him to Lorne, then back to him.

Keane tightened the corners of his eyes in answer, giving an infinitesimal dip of his chin.

Shock registered, and she sucked her bloodied lower lip into her battered mouth, wincing at the movement.

Abruptly, Lorne stood, heartlessly hauling a whimpering Cora before him.

“You monster.” Marjorie’s throat worked as tears of frustration trailed down her wan face, and she frantically wrenched at the ropes binding her wrists.

Still wearing a lunatic’s grin, his eyes glittering with madness, Lorne angled his blade toward Keane. “I’ll no’ ask ye again. I shall cut this wee lass.”

Cowering and quivering, Cora released a terrified squeal.

“Shh, darling,” Marjorie soothed between the terror strangling her voice. “Mama’s right here. Just do as he says.”

As if to demonstrate his absolute control and power, Lorne lopped off one of Cora’s shiny curls. He dangled the tresses between his thumb and forefinger before tossing it onto the floor.

Fury flooding every pore, Keane advanced two predatory steps, the instinctive, primal urge to protect Cora making him see red. By God, without a speck of remorse, he’d spill Lorne’s blood and rid the earth of his putrid presence.

Dual shadows of rage and fear contorted Lorne’s face. “Another inch and I swear I’ll draw her blood,” he gritted out between his teeth. “See if I dinna.”

“Mama,” Cora wailed, quaking and trembling. “Dinna let the bad mon hurt me, Mama. Keane,” she pleaded between hiccupping sobs. “Please help me.”

Lorne laughed, a high-pitched cackle. “He canna help ye, brat.” In an instant, his features turned to granite, and he pricked Cora’s cheek with his knife. “Drop. The. Blade.”

Keane let the dirk fall from his fingers, inwardly cursing all the while. Weaponless, his chances of cutting Marjorie free and rescuing Cora diminished profoundly.

No doubt remained in Keane’s mind that Lorne had tumbled straight off the precipice into total madness.

Unstable as he was, could Keane reason with him?

Perchance make a bargain?

Mayhap tempt him with something he couldn’t refuse?

“Cora and Marjorie have nothin’ to do with our differences, Lorne.” Keane held his hands out, palm upward. “Let them go, and I vow I’ll remain without a struggle.”

“Do ye think me that stupid?” Lorne shook his head. “Father told me ye mean to wed the English bitch, and that he hoped ye had many fine sons.” His sneer transformed into a feral snarl. “That was the last thing the craven ever said.”

He made a slicing gesture across his throat.

God Almighty, he killed Bothan?

Was there no end to Lorne’s vileness?

Bothan mightn’t have been a person worthy of admiration, but to be killed by his son’s hand…

Marjorie’s horrified gaze collided with Keane’s.

He tried to pore all of the reassurance and comfort into his eyes as he could. He would find a way out of this debacle. Somehow. Or he’d die trying.