Chapter 15

Kenna stared at him in horrified silence. She was stupefied.

"You did something like that?" Her eyes were wide with horror, then she shook her head. "I don't believe you. You are lying. I know many lairds and sons of lairds who would do such a thing, but you are not one of them. I am a good judge of character, and I know a good man when I see one."

"And why would I lie about a thing like that?" His voice was bitter. "If I were a good man, why would I tell you I was not, Kenna?" He stood up, walked restlessly to the window, and looked out before turning back. "I am a bad man, Kenna. Even as I speak to you, I am committing a sin."

She backed away from him fearfully, her heart racing. She was beginning to feel the first stirrings of alarm inside and swallowed nervously as she asked, "What do you mean?"

Maxwell turned and regarded her for a few moments but did not come close. Kenna could almost see the battle that was going on inside him as he moved restlessly in front of her, clenching his fists and then running his fingers through his hair. If there had been room in the tiny chamber, she had no doubt that he would have been pacing from one side to the other.

Finally he stopped, looked her in the eye, then squared his shoulders and blew out a deep breath.

"My name is not Ewan Montgomery."

At first, Kenna could not believe what she was hearing. She felt as though something huge and heavy had knocked the wind out of her, and she gulped in one almighty lungful of air before he spoke again.

"It is Maxwell Forbes." The words seemed, like a physical thing, to hang in the air before thudding onto the floor. "You might have heard of me."

"I-I don't believe you." Kenna could feel the blood draining from her face as she spoke. "Maxwell Forbes ran away. He is likely hundreds of miles away by now."

Even as she said the words, she realized how foolish she sounded. Who in his right mind would volunteer to take on the identity of a murderer? It must be true.

Then her dire situation hit her full force, and she clapped her hands over her mouth to stop herself from screaming. She was alone in a room with a killer, and she was helpless. She could not get past him; he was simply too big, and if he caught hold of her, she had no way of escaping. Once Ewan—or Maxwell—had her in his clutches, she was doomed.

Kenna looked around frantically for a weapon, but the only thing she could see was the poker, and she would somehow have to manage to get past Maxwell to reach it.

Maxwell, seeing the terror in her face, hastened to reassure her.

"I am not going to harm you, Kenna." His voice was soft. "I know what everyone thinks of me, but they are all wrong."

He felt bitterly angry as he saw her backing away from him, but when he reached out his hands to touch her shoulders, she gave a little shriek and cowered away from him.

Nothing could have prepared him for the stab of pain that shot through him at Kenna's reaction.

"I am so very sorry I frightened you," he murmured before walking to the window to put a little distance between them. "I want to explain something to you, Kenna. I will be very happy if you believe me, but if you don't, so be it. Then you must do as you see fit with me."

Kenna nodded and relaxed a little, but her gaze still darted to the door.

"Kenna, unlock the door," Maxwell suggested. "That way you can leave if you want to, and I promise I will not stop you."

Kenna took the keys from her pocket and went to the door to unlock it, giving Maxwell as wide a berth as she could in the small room. He could see that she was absolutely terrified of him as she returned to the bed and sat down. She began to wring her hands together nervously and her eyes, round with fear, never left his face.

Hating that he had scared her, Maxwell nevertheless began to talk.

"I don't know what you have heard about me," he said grimly, "but I am not a murderer. I told you that I was not kind when I was growing up, and I am still not the sort of man I would like to be, but I am not brutal, Kenna. I could never kill a man in cold blood.

"I could never be a murderer. God knows, I tried soldiering for a few months and found that I did not have the stomach for it. Does that make me a coward? I don't know. All I know is that I cannot bear to see blood spilt.

"Douglas, Lachlan, and I were boyhood friends since our fathers were also close friends. Anyway, when we were in our teens, you can imagine what life was like for us. We were thoroughly spoiled, wanted for nothing, young, unattached men with absolutely no ties and no responsibilities. We enjoyed complete freedom, and I confess I was having the time of my life. I will not lie to you, Kenna. I bedded many women during that time, but all of them were willing. I have never forced a woman into my bed, and I never will.

"However, sometimes we enjoyed ourselves too much and often became so drunk we could not remember what we had done the next day. We acquired a reputation for our exploits, and it was not a good one. Lachlan's and Douglas's parents, my father, and my sister tried to stop us, but we would obey them for a while then gradually sink back into our bad old ways.

"This went on for a few years 'til we were all old enough to know better. I almost caused an accident one night by knocking over a maidservant who was carrying a tray of hot food, and that was when I decided that things would have to change. I realized that I might cause serious damage to myself and others, so I cut back on my drinking and tried to leave the young women alone.

"I succeeded to a certain extent. Although I still enjoyed a drink, I never became drunk again. Lachlan and Douglas had made no such resolution, however, and carried on in their usual fashion.

"Although they were my friends and I loved them dearly, I could not bear to see them abusing the servants as they did. They called me a hypocrite when I complained or intervened because I had been just as bad as they were at one time. I had heard the same comment so often that I laughed it off. They were my friends and we often insulted each other, both in seriousness or in jest.

"Anyway, on the night of September the seventh, it was the twins' twenty-fourth birthday, and there was a grand ceilidh. You know. You were there."

Kenna put her hands over her mouth and gasped.

"Yes, I was, but I was in the kitchen when Lachlan was…was…" She stared at him in disbelief. "Why did I not recognize you?"

Maxwell shrugged. "I looked a lot different then. I have aged ten years in the past year, and I grew a beard, although you took it away. But I did not recognize you either. If I had seen you, I would never have forgotten you. Anyway, I don't know what you heard, but I did not kill Lachlan."

Kenna was puzzled. "I heard that you had pushed him down a flight of stairs."

"No." Maxwell shook his head vehemently. "Let me tell you the truth of it."

Douglas was staggering along the parapet on the parapets of the first row of turrets when Maxwell met him. He was singing an obscene song and was not best pleased when Maxwell met him at the end and blocked his way.

"Let me past, Max!" he cried indignantly. "I need another drink."

He tried to push past Maxwell, but he was much bigger, much stronger, and much more sober.

"Do you not think it is time you stopped for the night, Dougie?" Maxwell asked gruffly.

He was holding Douglas's forearms so tightly that the smaller man had no hope of getting away.

Douglas was wincing in pain but was not cowed.

"I have had enough when I say so!" he roared into Maxwell's face, so close that he could feel Douglas's spittle spraying over him.

Maxwell knew that Douglas could fall over and do himself some damage in his present condition since he had done it before, and he wanted to protect him from himself. He knew he had no right to do so, but he could not just leave him to hurt himself.

"Do I have to pick you up and carry you?" he asked silkily. "Because I can do that. You know that I have done it before."

This was true. Maxwell had scraped either Douglas or Lachlan over his shoulder many times, slung them over his shoulder, then deposited them in their bedroom to sober up.

Douglas looked up into Maxwell's silver-grey eyes that were now black with anger and decided that he would have to comply. He nodded resignedly, and Maxwell took him by the arm and led him downstairs in order to make sure he did not trip and fall head over heels all the way to the bottom.

However, when they reached the bottom of the staircase, Maxwell encountered yet another problem. They were passing the stairway that led to the kitchen when they saw Lachlan carrying a young, pretty maidservant in his arms. She was struggling and screaming, and judging by the mess on the floor, had dropped her entire load of plates, glasses, cutlery, and food.

Lachlan had a look of evil determination on his face.

"Come and warm my bed tonight, Annie," he invited with a leer. "You will have fun, I promise."

"Put me down!" Annie yelled, then she tugged at his hair so hard that he yelped with pain, but instead of obeying her, he tightened his grip around her.

That was when Maxwell intervened.

"Put her down!" he ordered, and his voice was thunderous. "You are not going to rape this woman."

"Who said anything about rape?" Lachlan asked, laughing drunkenly. "I am just going to love her. You want me to love you, don't you, Annie?"

Annie's terrified eyes stared back at him. She was paralyzed with fear, but Lachlan took her silence for assent.

"See?" he asked Lachlan and the few interested spectators who had gathered around to watch.

None of them wanted to intervene in case they lost their jobs, but Maxwell had nothing to worry about in that regard. He could say what he liked, and he did just that. He let go of Douglas's arm, then went up to Lachlan, and his voice was throbbing with damped-down rage as he said, "Put. Her. Down."

"No!" Lachlan yelled defiantly.

Maxwell had had enough. Before anyone could stop him, he lunged forward and swept Annie out of Lachlan's arms. As soon as the young woman's feet touched the ground, she ran into the arms of an older woman who whisked her away to safety.

However, Lachlan was still standing at the top of the kitchen steps, his heels hanging over the edge, and Maxwell's snatch had unbalanced him. His arms windmilled in the air for a moment before he screamed and toppled backward. There were twenty stairs, and his head struck every one of them with an audible thump before he landed at the bottom, and a sickening crack announced that his neck was broken.

"And then I ran," Maxwell said bitterly. "Like a craven coward, Kenna. I did not even stay to defend myself because I knew what was going to happen. The servants would likely have stood up for me, but Dougie's word is worth far more than all of theirs put together.

"I traveled to Edinburgh, and even there I heard the news of Dougie's death being gossiped about by servants shopping at a market where I was trying to find food. I ran away there, too, because a man my size is bound to be noticed. I had a beard down to my chest, but I am taller than everyone else I could see, so I fled."

Maxwell looked up at Kenna as he spoke.

"I am not proud of what happened, Kenna. I lost my best friend, but when I think of what he was about to do, I wonder if he was a friend worth having."

"He pushed you out of a tree once," Kenna reminded him. "Remember that."

"Only by accident," Maxwell replied quickly. "We were just teenage boys, hardly able to grow a beard."

"Are you sure about that?" Kenna asked, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Are you saying that he might have done it on purpose?" Maxwell was horrified at the notion.

"I was not there," Kenna replied, shrugging. "So I cannot tell. But from what you tell me about his character, it certainly seems like a possibility to me."

"Then Dougie likely thinks I killed his brother in revenge." Maxwell sounded bitter. "But I was never as fond of him as I was of Lachlan, and I think the feeling was mutual." He sighed, then yawned. "However, I must leave now. Perhaps we will meet again sometime, Kenna. I hope so. I have enjoyed our time together, and I wish it could have been longer."

He took a step toward her and reached out his hands to take hers, looking down into her beautiful eyes.

"You cannot go out in this." Kenna was decisive. "You will have to stay overnight. I cannot in good conscience let you go out in this weather, or you will freeze to death."

She stood up and spread his blanket on the floor, then looked up at him and was surprised to see the tenderness on his face.

"What about you?'" Maxwell asked. "Are you not tired of me yet?"

His words were serious but belied by the twinkle in his eyes.

Kenna knew what the answer to his question was. She would miss him dreadfully when he was gone, but she would not tell him that. He had become a solid presence in her life, and she had, in a strange way, come to enjoy and even depend upon him being with her. She would miss him—more than miss him. Her heart would ache for him.

"I will survive," she assured him flatly. "I did before, and I will do so again."

Maxwell had no answer to that. He sighed, a little disappointed by her reply. Then, into the silence, came a growl of annoyance from Kenna. A flood of guilt washed over her as she remembered his food.

"Damn!" she said angrily. "Maxwell, I am so sorry! I rushed back here in such a hurry after that idiot scared me so much that I left your food in the kitchen! Wait here a moment, and I will fetch it."

Maxwell suddenly felt something in his belly that was not hunger but a dreadful premonition of danger.

"Kenna, I will survive 'til morning. Please don't worry," he begged.

"Why?" Kenna asked in disbelief. "Maxwell, you are starving. I will not let you suffer a moment longer."

Then she left, grabbed a candle from the table, and locked the door behind her.