Devil of the Highlands Page 0,103

"He was so sweet. Always there to comfort me, always murmuring reassuring words that the lass was beyond Campbell's reach now and she was safe at least from that. I truly thought that was the proof of how wonderful he really was despite his wandering ways."

Biddy let her breath out on a little sigh, and added, "And then I found Jenny's letter. It must have been in the solar all that time, but I did not find it until I finally ventured back into the room to find the embroidery I'd been working on before she died. I read what Darach had done… to my own sister! 'Twas bad enough watching him sniffing after every other female around, but my sister?"

She ground her teeth and shook her head. "He ruined her. Jenny was a child, and he treated her like a common whore. In her naivety she thought it was love, until the last time they were together he said some very cruel things, and she fled Donnachaidh." Biddy turned furious eyes to Cullen, and said, "The night she left, Darach actually had the spine to tell me that she'd taken all his teasing and flirting seriously and that he'd had to set her straight and explain to her that he loved me," she added bitterly. "He forgot to mention that he deflowered her first and bedded her several times more."

Cullen let his breath out on an unhappy sigh at her acid words.

"Jenny was so ashamed of what she'd done, she planned to keep the whole matter to herself," Biddy said sadly. "But when she realized she was with child—Darach's child—she knew there was no way to hide it from the Campbell. She fled here scared witless and desperate for Darach's help." Her mouth tightened, and she said, "Do ye ken what that heartless bastard did?"

Cullen shook his head.

"He said 'twas not his problem and that he would deny it was his if she tried to drag him into her shame. Her shame," she said furiously. "He said if she tried to come tell me the truth, he'd get three or four of his men to claim they were her lovers, and she was nothing more than a common whore."

Biddy took several deep breaths, obviously trying to calm herself, then continued sadly, "Jenny did not know what to do. She knew the church said taking her own life would see her in hell, but felt sure she was headed there anyway for betraying me, and so she killed herself."

"I'm sorry, Biddy," Cullen said quietly, and the face she turned to him was stark.

"I forgave him for so much Cullen, for so many women… But I could not forgive him Jenny. I would not, not after I read that letter."

Biddy fell silent for a minute as she apparently reflected on the devastation Darach had wrought, then she sighed.

"I stormed below stairs, determined to confront the bastard, but you had all gone out to hunt boar." She ground her teeth. "I grabbed me bow and quiver, and rode out. I had no difficulty finding ye all. I trailed the hunting party, and when ye rode up on the boars and chaos broke out, I took me opportunity. I shot Darach as he fell, got him with the first try, and felt such peace when 'twas done."

Her expression was almost rebellious as she admitted that, but then Biddy sighed again, and continued, "It did not last long. By the time I got back to the keep the guilt had set in. It was almost a relief when ye men arrived back, and I learned he was no dead. I vowed I'd mend him, and at first he seemed to be improving, but…" She shook her head unhappily, and added, "In the end, I wasna able to save him."

Cullen stared at his aunt as the silence fell around them again. His feelings were a mixture of many emotions; pity for Jenny, grief at her abuse and wasted life, rage at his uncle for acting in such a callous and heinous way with his own wife's sister, and even pity for Biddy. Had he been the one to find that letter and read it, Cullen could not be at all sure that he himself might not have shot the bastard with an arrow. Surely, Darach had deserved to die for ruining Jenny and probably many other young noblewomen and others over the years. If her being so young and his sister-in-law—his responsibility while visiting—had not