Free Sword Dance by Marie Laval Page A

loans cancelled and Wrath financially secure. I want you to stop the clearances at Westmore, and I want assurances that the people you have displaced so far have adequate shelter and employment. That’s all.’
    â€˜And I don’t believe you.’ McRae’s response shot cold and clear.
    He stubbed his cigar into the ashtray, rose to his feet and walked to one of the patio doors overlooking the park, the dark patches of forest and the grey, forever moving surface of the sea beyond.
    â€˜No man in their right mind would forsake all this – and a fat slice of the McRae fortune – for a draughty ruin at Wrath and the welfare of a bunch of crofters. Why do you care so much about them anyway? They’re little more than animals scratching the ground for a pittance. What is it to you if I move them out of the straths to set up sheep farms? Cheviot sheep, that’s where the money is, not crofters.’
    Bruce forced a few deep breaths down. Sweat pearled on his forehead, rolling down to sting his eyes.
    â€˜Not everyone is a greedy as you. I happen to value people more than sheep.’ He pulled his cravat off and used it to wipe his forehead.
    â€˜Anyway, I have given you my terms. What's your answer? Shall we settle things here and now, or later in court?’
    McRae spun round and marched up to him, stopping only when he was a couple of steps away.
    â€˜You said you grew up despising the McRaes, well, I’ll tell you how I grew up. From the day my mother told me about you when I was sixteen, the fear never left me that one day you’d finally find out who you truly were. I had nightmares about you riding up to the front door, ordering me to pack up, kicking me out while you took control of Westmore, and of everything.’ He smiled. ‘But that’s not going to happen. Ever. I won’t agree to anything with you, privately or publicly. The only proof anything ever went on between my father and your slut of a mother, and that you’re his bastard son is that letter you claim to have. My father’s portrait suffered an unfortunate accident this morning – it fell into the fire… I am most upset about it, naturally, since it was the only painting ever made of the man.’
    Bruce thought about the medallion he’d foolishly thrown into the fire and cursed himself. That would have been his best chance of proving he was Niall’s son – since there was no letter. He had to gain time and carry on bluffing.
    â€˜Your mother knew, and the lawyers of course… Who else?’
    â€˜Your grandfather, of all people.’ Cameron shook his head. ‘The cunning old devil managed to blackmail my mother into giving him rather large sums of money on a few occasions.’
    So that was why they’d come to Westmore that time when he was ten.
    â€˜The last time he came here begging for money, my mother bought you a commission in the 92nd Highlanders. I think she was hoping you’d get yourself killed. To tell the truth, I think he too was hoping the same thing. He really didn’t seem to like you very much…’
    A shooting pain sliced through Bruce’s chest, the blood drained from his face, and he started shaking. Any second now and he would fall to the ground. McRae’s face swam in front of his eyes. He could hardly keep them open.
    â€˜Oh dear, you really don’t look so good. You should sit down.’
    McRae pushed Bruce into the armchair. His pale, long-fingered hands gripped either side and he leaned over until he was so close Bruce smelled the cigar smoke on his breath.
    â€˜I have a little surprise for you. A few people you may remember from a recent trip to Inverness have now arrived at Westmore. They’ve just been to see Langford and Stewart to sign an affidavit and I believe they’ll be with us any second now.’
    Bruce could hardly hear him. His heart raced, too loud, too fast. His head pounded, the pain