morrow, and then I'll believe ye can change the future. For I'm certain the only thing yer future holds is a bit of dirt—or ash, o'course."
They entered the hall to a mixture of applause and whistles. A wet bit of something struck him on the neck as he was led forward to face The Gordon. The smell that followed told him it had been an apple. He was simply grateful to have something pleasant to breathe for a change. He was also pleased to note the laird’s throne was not nearly as grand as the Great Ross Chair made by Monty’s grandfather.
Percy made a slight bow to his father and moved away. The guard remained at Quinn’s back. An impressively tall man with an equally impressive mane of red hair stood to the old man’s left. He glared at Quinn, sized him up, then gave him a wink.
The Gordon’s spawn laughed. They were queued up along the wall to his left as if they were waiting in line to kick him as soon as he was down. So brave.
No wonder The Runt will be able to take the reins here once the father is gone.
He tried to be as hopeful and fearless as Juliet. She seemed to see no complication so great that it couldn’t be faced, bashed, then run from.
He laughed just thinking about the stories she’d told. If only half of them were true, he might have a sporting chance against the red beast if he but kept to her daft excuse for a plan. The only thing she hadn’t considered was that he could never flee and leave her behind. Or perhaps she had considered it just before she asked for that promise—a promise he could not make.
Better get on, then. If he could best the man, he would at least have one more night in the dark with Juliet. Perhaps, once his date with the hangman was over, she’d be able to cajole her way out of the Gordon keep since she’d no longer be burdened with saving his hide.
He faced the laird of the clan.
"I've been told I'll be fighting this day,” he said.
"Aye, ye will be." The Gordon leaned to one side of his large chair and grinned.
Quinn tried to think of something that might douse the old man’s mood.
"Are you certain?” he asked. “What if I refuse the play?"
It worked. The Cock o’ the North sat forward and frowned.
"Then the woman below will be sent home with her husband." He pointed to the tall one. “And ye will meet yer maker on the morn, as I’ve said. I suspected ye’d rather leave this world fightin’, but if ye’d rather leave it like a woman, then so be it.”
The redhead met his gaze, but he couldn't guess what the man was thinking. It was a fact, the man was trying to say something with his brows, but only the devil could know.
Quinn turned back to his host. "And if I beat this man?"
The Gordon grinned. “‘Tis...unlikely.”
The hall erupted in laughter.
“’Tis possible,” Quinn shouted to be heard.
The laird lifted a hand and the hall went silent.
"I’m ever a man of me word, Montgomery Ross. I promised ye a hanging in the mornin’, and if yer still alive when the sun shows itself, I’ll not fail ye. If he kills ye, then ye'll be spared the hangin' is all. But you were the one to claimed to have The Sight. We'll still burn ye; we'll do it proper or not at all."
Quinn grinned. "I prefer not at all, of course."
"Noted." The Gordon sat back and relaxed.
Quinn couldn’t leave it at that. "But surely I’ll deserve a proper reward?"
Gordon frowned, then smiled knowingly. "Ye want the lass in yer cell for yer final night, is that it?"
The redhead’s mouth dropped open. He looked fairly irritated at the turn of the conversation. Either he didn’t care to hear that he might not win the battle—which meant he thought quite highly of himself—or he didn’t care for the idea of Quinn having the lass alone in the dark. And that didn’t make sense unless the bastard had similar intentions for Juliet.
Something was amiss with this one. Perhaps his journey through the tomb had left his brains a bit foosty.
Quinn shook his head and answered Gordon.
"Not at all. I want her released. I want her returned to Castle Ross and protected from him." He pointed at the hitman.
"Well, if he's dead, then she'll have no need to fear him, aye?"
Everyone