To Matthew’s surprise, Freya lowered her gaze. “That was me. I would do anythin’ for him. Kill whoever I needed to kill if that meant I would one day have him for myself. I went to him one night, beause I thought he was intendin’ to toss me aside and… and I was right. He nay longer needed me. Once ye were gone, Mr. McDulaigh, he kent Jonet would be too broken to see anyone else. If he couldnae have her, then no one else could.”
Freya’s tears had stopped streaming down her face, though they still stained her cheeks. She took a long, shuddering breath. “Dougal overheard us. He burst into the room and said that he would reveal all he’d heard to the Laird. Jonathan and I panicked, and well… I slipped poison into his wine when Jonathan lured him to sit.”
“Then ye were the one to frame Jamilyn?” Jonet demanded. “Did ye put it in her head that she should leave?”
Freya shook her head. “I dinnae, but I did get her to find the body, as I did with Mr. Anderson. She was the one who grew frightened and decided to run, and so I thought that it was only me good fate. Ye wouldnae even think to look at me as the culprit.”
“And I will regret that for the rest of me life,” Jonet murmured. Anger trembled through her words and for a brief moment, Freya looked almost contrite.
“I had nae choice but to do what I did,” Freya continued. “Ye will do so much for the person ye love.”
That much Matthew could agree on. After all, he had just been willing to take revenge on Freya for the mere attempt on Jonet’s life. Right now, however, he was thinking much more clearly.
“And Mr. Luther?” Matthew asked. “How did ye kill him?”
“I dinnae. Jonathan took care of that himself as well. He lured him away, killed him, and threw his body into a loch.”
“Now I ken where ye get yer inspiration,” Jonet murmured as she walked away, her face pale.
Freya watched her go. Her body was lax, clearly accepting her fate.
“What will ye do of me now?” she asked. “Will ye have me killed?”
Matthew did not know what to say. That was not his sentence to pass, nor his place to say. He turned around to look at Jonet; she had wandered over to the bank of the loch and was staring out at the vastness. He wondered if she was thinking about Mr. Luther, wondering if he was somewhere at the bottom of this very loch.
He turned back to face Freya and an arrow lodged itself in her side.
She cried out, clutching her wound. Matthew whirled to see Jonathan was standing there, an ugly sneer on his lips.
“Ye dare to betray me?” he hissed at Freya, who was gasping through her pain. “Ye willnae see the light of day again after this! I will kill ye all!”
Matthew rushed forward, just as Jonathan let another arrow loose. He let out a hiss of pain when the arrow lodged itself in his abdomen, staggering forward. Jonathan was nocking his bow, preparing to shoot again. The world slowed around him, and Matthew acted, not hearing when Jonet cried out, not seeing when Freya again began to scramble out of the way.
Hand on his wound, Matthew rushed to the side, feeling the whip of wind when the arrow zipped by his face. Jonathan gritted his teeth, reaching for another arrow, but Matthew charged after him, knocking him to the ground. He broke the arrow in his arm, not feeling a lick of pain. Adrenaline was coursing through his veins, channelling the anger and his need for survival.
“Matthew!” Jonet cried out.
Matthew could not respond. He only prayed that she would not go near them as they thrashed on the ground. Jonathan had the upper hand. He took advantage of Matthew’s wound, pressing his finger against the piece of arrow still protruding from his side and rolling Matthew onto his back.
“If I cannae have her, then why should ye?” Jonathan hissed. “Why should anyone?”
He was not the same man he had known. The man who had warm eyes and quiet laugh; who had managed to make his presence known while saying so few words. This was the man who Freya described, the man capable of murder, with madness shining in his eyes.
Matthew did not answer. He couldn’t. Blood had coated his hands; his heart was racing as he struggled to fight off the hands that were closing around his throat.
“Ye think ye two will have yer happy life, do ye?” Jonathan gave him an evil smile, his hands tightening. “Nae if ye are at the bottom of that loch.”
Matthew jammed his hand into Jonathan’s elbow and took advantage of his lossened grip to punch him in the throat. Someone cried out, probably Freya. He shoved Jonathan off him, but he recovered quickly.
The years of training he had put into becoming a war chieftain weighed heavily during their tussle. Matthew struggled to get the upper hand. He saw flashes of the world around him, of Freya watching helplessly from her spot on the ground and Jonet… Jonet was nowhere to be found.
Jonathan managed to get his hands around Matthew’s neck again. Matthew rammed his bloody fist into Jonathan’s ear until the other man cursed and pulled his arm back for a punch. Matthew moved quicker, nicking him in the nose and throwing him off him.
“Matthew!”
It was Jonet, but she was close. Much too close to the fight for his comfort. He looked up for a second to see that she was standing by the loch again, tossing something at him. He caught it before he knew what it was.
Jonathan swung his leg out and sent Matthew crashing to the ground, knocking the wind out his chest. He clutched the rock Jonet had thrown at him in his hand, the same rock he had thrown at Freya. Jonathan did not seem aware of it.