“My family will triple the coin the Rosses would give ye. They can take care of themselves. We’d welcome the war. I promise ye.” Tremors left over from Heather’s cry laced her words. Duncan shook his head and locked eyes with hers, which were rimmed red and a brighter blue than purple at that moment. He resisted the urge to wipe the wetness from her cheeks. “’Tis not the coin that holds me.” He’d plenty buried in the stone walls of the abbey. “I’ve told ye I had nothing to do with your family’s slaughter, though if I could have, I would have tried to stop it.” “Ye were barely old enough, if even born yet.” He supposed he ought to tell her his weakness. Where Lady Ross had him, strictly by the ballocks. “Ye see, if I dinna deliver ye, they will burn my abbey, and all those who reside inside it.” Heather gasped. “How can they? That will certainly condemn them all to hell.”
