And now he was watching her.
He wanted her dead. Nay, worse. He apparently intended to kill her himself. Why? Oh god, why? It seemed that this was to be a very special ceremony. The blood of the MacGinnis female who had laid claim as head of the family was about to be shed in some hellish attempt at…
What?
To honor a prince of darkness?
Something was…touching her.
Damp, hot…slowing moving against her body.
Her eyes flew open. She could no longer keep them closed, for something was indeed brushing against her. She screamed, writhing, as she realized that a cloaked and cowled figure was painting her naked body with something red…
“Shush, shush!” She heard her great-uncle say, moving his fingers with a gentle touch upon her temple.
“You didn’t drug her properly!” someone said. Did she recognize the voice? Aye, it was that of Fergus Anderson!
“Aye, she should be awake at the moment of the knife,” someone else said.
“This isn’t proper!”
Then she heard Lowell’s voice, again.
Lowell. Her own great-uncle. Her own flesh and blood.
“I say what is and isn’t here!” Lowell suddenly thundered, spinning around to accost anyone who would question his authority.
He turned back to Shawna. He smiled at her.
“Be still, child. You have to die.”
“Why?” she demanded.
“It wasna right, lass, you being head of the family.”
So that was it. His hatred had been brewing since her father’s death.
Was it possible to reason with him?
“I’m not really head of the family now. I’ve married David Douglas.”
“Aye, the ruddy bastard should have been dead. And instead, you’ve bred among them now, and the lad’s been stolen away.”
“You tried to kill David all those years ago.”
“Aye, that I did. He was meant to die in the fire. Gawain was all consumed with worry about his lad Alistair, and it gave me great opportunity. You should have died in the fire as well.”
“Why do I need to die?”
“You’ve no right to live, lass. But then…” He shrugged. “When one does murder in my way, lass, with my followers about it, it must be done the right way.” He bent to whisper to her. “Ritual sacrifice, you know! A man can lose his followers if he is not careful.”
“Don’t talk to her, man!” Fergus cried.
“What does it matter?” Lowell asked.
“You promised a true celebration of the rites tonight, debauchery, and the like. If you’d take your time killing her, give her over to me and me boys?—”
“Ach, shut up, Anderson!”