“Latharn,” she murmured on a moan. He ached to lower the bodice of her dress, to seize one of her rosy nipples into his mouth, but he feared he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from making love to her if he did.
“There’s not a man alive who doesnae want tae do that—who wants tae do more than that,” he whispered, reluctantly releasing her as he stepped back. “Ye are the loveliest lass I’ve ever seen; I ken I’m not the only one who has noticed ye. So ye stay out of his path—and the path of other nobles. Or consequences be damned, I’ll march intae that castle and haul ye out myself.”
* * *
He found it difficult to concentrate after Eibhlin left; he was still worried about Neacal knowing who she was. What if she returned to a trap, and Padraig and Neacal raped her—before murdering her? What if—
“The lass is strong,” Crisdean murmured, sensing his worry for Eibhlin. “She’ll be fine. Tulach and the other spies willnae let anything happen tae her.”
He gritted his teeth, wanting to tell his brother that he should be the one to protect her, not his men. But he only offered his brother a curt nod.
"I think ye should consider what the lass said about Neacal," Crisdean said tentatively, but Latharn shot him a glare.
"No. I willnae ally myself with my enemy."
"I agree with Latharn," Gormal said. "Neacal remains our enemy—I donnae trust him."
Crisdean's mouth tightened, and it looked as if he wanted to say more. Instead, he got to his feet.
"I need tae take in air," he said, turning to leave the home.
"My laird,” Gormal said, once Crisdean had left them.
“Aye?” he asked absently, rubbing his temples, his thoughts already returning to Eibhlin.
“I ken ye care for the lass. That ye desire her."
Latharn tensed, but there was no use denying the truth of Gormal's words.
"But . . . as we gather more men, ye need tae think of yer actions as laird. A laird needs a lady, a suitable one. I think now's the time tae make an alliance with the clan I told ye about—Clan Creagach. I ken there are many suitable lassies in the clan ye can consider as yer bride.”
Latharn remained stoic, though unease now encircled his gut at the thought of taking a bride. Eibhlin's face flickered in his mind.
"If they kent that ye'd be willing tae secure an alliance with marriage, I believe they'll join us," Gormal continued. He trained a look on Latharn. For the first time it wasn’t an imperious one, but a look of genuine pleading. "I believe ye can be a great leader, my laird. But great leaders must make sacrifices for their people, putting them above all others. Even the ones they care for."
Chapter 14
Evelyn hacked at the pile of carrots with her knife, torn between remnant anger and desire. Her mouth still burned from Latharn’s kiss, yet frustration and fury over his dismissal seared her insides. Did Latharn not trust her enough to even consider her suggestion about Neacal?
She had to remind herself that she was a mere servant in this time, no matter who her father was. And Latharn did consult with her far more than other lairds would with commoners. She could even understand his hesitation over considering Neacal as a potential ally. But his complete dismissal still hurt.
You can still find out Neacal’s true allegiance on your own, she told herself.
"Eibhlin, can ye help me in the master chamber?" Aimil asked, poking her head into the kitchens and forcing Evelyn from her tumultuous thoughts.
Evelyn blinked at her in surprise, though she shouldn't have been. Aimil had done a complete one eighty from her previous caginess and now talked her ear off whenever they were alone, as long as Eibhlin didn’t bring up Padraig. Evelyn wondered if she could subtly find out more about Neacal from Aimil. If she did, she'd have to be very careful. She now knew that Aimil could shut herself off at the drop of a hat.
"Aye," she said, handing the platter of chopped carrots to one of the undercooks and accompanying Aimil out of the kitchens to one of the bedchambers.
For several long moments they worked in silence, working together to change the bedclothes until Aimil paused, giving her a long look.
"Aye?" Evelyn asked.
"Ye have tae tell me what had ye so angered that ye were slaughtering those poor carrots," Aimil said, her eyes twinkling with amusement.
Evelyn returned her focus to the bedclothes, biting her lip. You need her on your side, she reminded herself. You have to give her something.
"I'm upset with the man I care for," she said finally.
"Aye?" Aimil asked, her eyebrows raising the way it did whenever she shared—or learned of—a bit of juicy gossip.
"Aye. I feel he doesnae respect me," Evelyn continued. "I gave him my advice on—on something concerning his family, yet he didnae want tae take it."
"Men are stubborn," Aimil said, studying her closely. “What advice was it?”
Dread coiled around Evelyn’s body, and she stiffened. Was she imagining things, or was Aimil prying a little too much?
"Just a private family matter," she said, with a dismissive wave of her hand.
Aimil dropped the bedclothes and rounded the bed, taking both of her hands.
"Ye can tell me anything," she said. "I may enjoy gossip, but I ken when tae keep a secret."
Aimil held her gaze for a long moment, and Evelyn’s unease flared. Could Aimil suspect she was hiding more than just a secret lover?
But Evelyn pushed aside her unease; Aimil was just prying for more gossip.
"I ken,” Evelyn said, with a polite smile.
"And donnae let that stubborn lover of yers cause ye grief,” Aimil continued, with a rueful smile. "I ken how stubborn men can be.”
"Is there a stubborn man ye care for?” Evelyn asked, returning her smile.
Aimil didn’t respond for such a long moment that Evelyn feared she'd again crossed some unknown line. To her surprise, Aimil’s eyes began to glisten with tears.
“There is someone," Aimil whispered. "Someone I care for deeply. Someone I'd do anything for."
A deep pain shadowed Aimil’s eyes, and a stab of guilt pierced Evelyn. She'd dismissed Aimil as a flighty gossip, but she could now see that Aimil was carrying a great deal of anguish.
"Ye can tell me as much or as little as ye want about him," Evelyn said gently.
Aimil’s expression tightened, and regret flickered across her face.
“Eibhlin,” Aimil began. “I—"
She looked at Evelyn, a cacophony of emotions playing across her face, before her expression shuttered and she looked away.
"Make certain tae take these bedclothes down tae the laundress. I'm going tae start on the other chamber," Aimil muttered, still not looking at her as she scurried out of the chamber.
Evelyn watched her go, frowning. Aimil had been on the verge of telling her something. But what? She bit her lip, considering going after her, but decided against it. Demanding to know what Aimil was hiding would only make her shut down more.
She was careful to give Aimil her space during the next few days, only helping her in the chambers when she asked and responding to her questions without asking any of her own. Aimil went back to her gossip, never showing a hint of the pain she'd revealed to her, and Evelyn felt she was right back where she'd started with Aimil. Nowhere.
As for spying on Neacal, she wasn't making any progress on learning anything more about him; no one mentioned him and he no longer visited the castle, not even for feasts.
At Latharn’s insistence, she continued to visit Horas’s home every couple of days to check in. But she had nothing new to report; she suspected he just wanted to make certain she stayed away from Neacal.
During her visits, Latharn was noticeably distant and never asked her to stay for meals. It was as if the kisses they’d shared, and his confession of caring about her had never happened. His distance mirrored how she'd tried to avoid him after their kiss days before.
This is for the best, she told herself, after
one such meeting during which he'd barely looked at her. She'd spent most of her time talking to the sour-faced Gormal instead. Nothing can ever happen between the two of you.
But still, she missed him. Missed the way his face lit up with a smile, how nostalgia entered his eyes when he spoke of his parents, even the angry determination in his expression when he spoke of Padraig. And if she were truly being honest with herself, she missed the feel of his lips on hers.
After a week of his distance, she volunteered to stay for a meal, hoping he didn’t turn her away.
"Ye should head back," Latharn said dismissively. "If ye're hungry, I'll have Aoife prepare ye something."
She left with bread from a sympathetic-looking Aoife, who seemed to sense the tension between her and Latharn.
She blinked back tears as she mounted her horse: Latharn’s rejection stinging her heart. What was she still doing here? She wasn't making any progress, and she'd promised Latharn she would leave the castle in another week. She had no doubt that he would carry out his threat to have her removed. If she wasn't making any progress, there was no reason to stay in this time. She'd have to return to the present, having failed to fulfill her goal, filled with longing for a man who lived in the past.
She decided to take a bold step if she was going to make any progress. Neacal was never in the castle, and she feared scaring Aimil off by inquiring after him. She had nothing to lose—it was time to take a risk.
When there was a break in her chores, she made her way up to the top floors of the castle toward a chamber she assumed was Padraig’s study, she’d seen many nobles come in and out of it. She’d avoided it, not wanting to fall into Padraig’s line of sight. But now she slipped into the adjacent chamber, pretending to dust, while listening closely to what was happening in the next room.
For a while there was only silence, and she feared that too much time would pass, and she’d have to return to the kitchens. But she soon heard footsteps approach the chamber and two voices—one of which she recognized as Padraig’s.
“Tulach and two other men are being held in the prisons,” she heard Padraig say. “There may be others—we’re still looking. My brother is away; now is the time tae locate any who may lurk.”
Evelyn froze, fear and panic tearing through her.
“So ’tis true? Latharn MacUisdean is alive and intends tae take the castle?” the other man asked.
She couldn’t hear Padraig’s response as they closed the door behind them. Evelyn’s hands began to shake, and she dropped her rag, reeling from what she'd just learned. Tulach and two other men imprisoned. And it sounded like Latharn’s presence was no longer rumor—they knew he was alive.
Panic propelled her out of the chamber. She needed to get to Latharn, to warn him before it was too late, to tell him about Tulach and the others.
As she hurried down the corridor toward the stairs, she nearly collided with Aimil, who emerged from the stairwell.
“I am sorry about this, Eibhlin,” Aimil said, her eyes full of genuine regret. “Truly I am.”
“What are ye—” Evelyn began, but Aimil reached out to grip her arm, focusing on something behind her.
"I have the spy, my laird," Aimil said.
Icy fear coursed through her veins. Aimil’s grip remained firm on her arm as she turned to face Padraig, who approached from the opposite end of the corridor, his lips curled back in an enraged sneer.
When he reached her, he grabbed her by the hair, yanking her head back with such force that she felt several hairs tear from her scalp. She bit her lip to stifle a cry of pain as Padraig leaned in close, until he was only a hairbreadth away from her face.
“Eibhlin Aingealag O’Brolchan. Daughter of the traitor Tormod Ualan O’Brolchan and his Sassenach bitch. Ye will regret the moment ye stepped inside my castle, ye treacherous whore.”
Chapter 15
“My laird!”
Latharn whirled as Horas entered, his eyes wild.
He was standing with Crisdean before the hearth, a cup of ale in his hand. He nearly dropped his cup at the look of panic on Horas’ face. He'd never seen his stoic guard look so alarmed.
“Padraig has discovered ye’re here. He has Tulach, Eibhlin and yer other spies imprisoned. We need tae get ye off these lands.”
Latharn moved to the door, his brother on his heels. He’d only heard one word from Horas’s lips. Eibhlin. Terror and frustration collided in his chest; why had he allowed her to return to the castle? He should have insisted that she not go back, her protests be damned.
“I’m going after her and my men,” he said.
"I'm coming with ye, brother," Crisdean said, clamping his hand on his shoulder, and Latharn gave his brother a look of gratitude.
“Aye,” Horas said, but he hurried to stand before Latharn and Crisdean, blocking their exit. “But not now. First, we have tae get ye off these lands before Padraig sends his men here tae kill ye. I’m a good fighter, but not good enough to fight off a group of men on my own.”
“I’ll not leave Eibhlin and the others—”
“I ken,” Horas said, “but they’ll all be lost if ye’re dead. We first need tae get ye off these lands, and then we'll rescue Eibhlin and the others with the men who’ve pledged themselves tae ye. The longer we delay now, the longer it will take tae rescue them.”
Latharn swallowed hard, his frustration swelling as he gripped the hilt of his sword. He hated it, but he knew Horas spoke the truth.
Latharn and Crisdean trailed Horas off MacUisdean lands on horseback; he had to force himself to not turn his horse around and race back to the castle. He tried not to think of what Padraig could be doing to Eibhlin right now. Red-hot fury rippled through him at the thought of Padraig laying a hand on her.
Ye will rescue Eibhlin and yer men, he swore to himself. Ye will get her back. And ye will murder Padraig with yer bare hands.
They rode until they reached a manor house in lands just beyond MacUisdean lands, the lands of Clan Creagach. Though Clan Creagach were allies of Clan MacUisdean, Horas assured him he was safe here for now. The manor belonged to a trusted friend and ally of Baigh’s who was currently away in England.
When he entered, he was both surprised and relieved to see over a dozen of his men gathered, along with Gormal.
"I sent word tae them as soon as I learned what happened at the castle," Horas said, answering his silent question.
“I thank ye for coming,” Latharn said, giving the men a grateful nod. “Ye ken that Padraig has my men—and a lass—who have been spying on my behalf. They’re servants and common folk who work the land, just like ye. I’ll not leave them tae suffer at Padraig's hands. I pledged as yer future laird tae not let any harm come tae any men who swear themselves tae me."
“I grieve for those who’ve been captured, my laird,” Gormal said, stepping forward. “But they are beyond our help now. They all kent the risk of spying for ye. Now that we’re in the lands of Clan Creagach, ye need tae forge a direct alliance with them. They can supply men tae help ye defeat Padraig.”
Latharn looked at Gormal in disbelief.
“Ye want me tae leave my men—and Eibhlin—in Padraig’s hands?”
“Ye will have tae make many difficult decisions as laird,” Gormal replied, his expression as cold and implacable as a slab of stone. “This is one of them.”
Fury swelled within him. In a practical sense, Gormal was right. Padraig’s men still vastly outnumbered his, and he needed to focus on the larger battle to come.
But Latharn couldn’t leave Eibhlin and the others to die by Padraig's hand. He wouldn't.
“As laird and chieftain, I will be the one tae make such decisions. I'll not leave those who fight for me tae die—the same way I wouldnae let any of ye die,” he said, turning to face his men. “’Tis a great risk, aye. If any of ye donnae wish tae help, ye donnae have tae.”
He waited for any man to leave, but to his relief, his men stood their ground, keeping their determined gaze
s trained on him. He turned to Gormal, whose eyes flashed with anger. But he said no more words of protest.
He turned his focus back to his men. “Let’s rescue our allies.”
I’m coming for ye, Eibhlin.
* * *
Latharn rode with his men toward MacUisdean Castle under the cover of night. He only prayed that his and Horas’s hastily put-together plan worked. If it didn’t, he would try again, and again—as many times as necessary until he rescued Eibhlin and the others.
He adjusted his cloak; he wore a hooded one that disguised his features. Another one of his men, of similar height and build, rode at the head of the group. He was acting as a decoy; if they were captured, he would pretend to be Latharn. Latharn didn't like this plan, not wanting anyone to die on his behalf, but Horas, Gormal, and even his brother had insisted.
He glanced over at his brother, who rode alongside him, his gaze trained fixedly ahead. Pride arose in his chest; his adopted parents would have been proud of the brave, loyal man their son had become. As if sensing his thoughts, Crisdean slid a glance toward him and gave him a nod.
Latharn turned his gaze to the lands ahead as he saw the stone turreted towers of a castle looming ahead, and something twisted inside him. Longing? Grief? He’d only seen MacUisdean Castle from a distance; it was odd that this magnificent fortress was the place of his birth and his by right. And at this very moment, the woman he cared for was being held prisoner there. Determination swept over him; he kicked the sides of his horse to make him gallop faster.
As they drew closer to MacUisdean Castle, he gave a nod to several of his men, who rode their horses toward the stables as he and the other men rode around to the back of the castle where the dungeons were.
Since they were severely outnumbered, they planned to use a distraction. And the best distraction was fire. While a group of his men set fire to a portion of the stables, he and his other men would get into the dungeons with the help of the guards who'd pledged to help Latharn.
Latharn's Destiny: Highlander Fate Book Six Page 9
