by Emma Prince
A hush fell over the hall, and for a long moment, all Niall could hear was the sudden hammering of his own heart.
“What are you suggesting?” Lancaster asked.
“That we retreat farther north,” Hereford replied. “As close to the Borderlands as we can safely get. And we send word to the Bruce, making it clear that if he wants to see Edward’s head on a pike for all he’s done to Scotland, and you on the throne in his place, ready to establish peace between our countries, he will send the full might of his army to protect you.”
As Lancaster considered that for a long moment, Niall swallowed hard. That was what he wanted too, wasn’t it? Peace at last for Scotland, safety for its people, and the Bruce’s cause for independence fully realized.
That was what this mission came down to. For all the atrocities Lancaster had committed, for all his arrogance and greed, ultimately they kept Lancaster alive so that he could make good on his promise to the Bruce to put an end to these interminable wars once he was in power.
Niall felt Mairin stiffen beside him. From the battle raging across her delicate features, he knew she struggled with the same understanding. Aye, it had been hell to stand by Lancaster’s side these past few sennights, but they had to remember that they served the Bruce’s larger aims in doing so.
Lancaster smoothed a hand over his hair, which had become disheveled in his earlier fury. He straightened his ermine trimmed cloak over his shoulders. “There is Dunstanburgh Castle,” he said, his voice regaining some of its normal cool composure. “It sits on the coast in Northumbria, not far from the border. I had it built with all the latest defensive capabilities for an occasion such as this.”
Badlesmere and Hereford exchanged another look.
“It will take us a full sennight at minimum to reach it,” Hereford said.
“Aye, but that is one of our only advantages over Edward now,” Badlesmere replied. “With such a smaller force, we will be able to move faster. It is our only chance.”
“We will send word ahead to the Bruce,” Hereford continued. “With any luck, his men will arrive within days of ours—mayhap even before Edward’s army does. But we must leave within the hour if we hope to use a head start to our advantage.”
Belatedly, Hereford and Badlesmere seemed to remember that Lancaster was still their supposed leader, at least in appearance if naught else. They turned to him.
“What say you, Earl?” Badlesmere asked, lowering his chin in an attempt at deference.
Hereford, too, feigned obsequiousness by tipping his bald head and waiting for Lancaster’s answer in silence.
Lancaster stroked his goatee, his pale gaze hard and distant as he considered.
At last, he let a long breath go. “Aye,” he muttered. “We will retreat to Dunstanburgh and send word to the Bruce that we are in need of reinforcements. We will depart within the hour.”
The nobles rose swiftly then, shouting to the castle’s servants to prepare what was left of their supplies and finery for the trek north. The scout bowed stiffly and began to back toward the hall’s doors, but Lancaster halted him.
“Where is my man Bruin?” he demanded of the scout.
“I believe he is at the Bee and Flower with the others who can afford it, sire,” the scout replied.
“Tell him we depart shortly,” Lancaster said, rising from his chair. “There isn’t enough time to slight the castle to make it worthless to Edward, but Bruin will know what to do to the village.”
A curse hissed between Niall’s teeth. Beside him, Mairin sucked in a hard breath.
He meant to do it again. Lancaster meant to burn another village filled with innocents—and this time it truly was his own village, his own people.
The servants who toiled inside Pontefract’s walls lived there. The marketplace where the castle got its supplies was filled with the farmers, shopkeepers, and merchants who sold their goods there. Even the bawdy house where Lancaster so enjoyed taking his entertainment—he meant to burn it all without a thought or care for those he would destroy.
Without ever glancing at them, Lancaster strode from the dais and up one of the keep’s winding staircases toward his private chambers. The scout bowed once more to Lancaster’s back, then hurried toward the keep’s doors. He brushed by Niall and Mairin, who both stood rooted beside the door.
“Nay,” Mairin whispered, watching the scout pass them. “He wouldnae. He couldnae. No’ again. No’ to his own people.”
Niall swallowed against a wave of hot bile rising in his throat. The mission. They had to remember their mission. It was the only thought he could cling to that would prevent him from following Lancaster up the stairs and driving his fist into the man’s sneering, callous face.
“Nay,” she said again, but her voice had hardened with conviction. “I willnae stand aside this time.”
And before Niall could reach for her, she’d slipped through the keep’s doors after the scout.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Mairin, wait,” Niall called after her.
But Mairin didn’t hesitate as she crossed the inner yard. The sky had darkened with the approaching storm. The air had a sudden sharp edge of cold to it that hadn’t been there when she’d ridden to the cave earlier, but it did nothing to cool the rage boiling inside her.
Niall caught up to her, easily matching her shorter strides. “We cannot let Lancaster leave without us.”
“I dinnae mean to,” she replied, still not slowing.
“Then what do you mean to do?”
“Whatever is necessary to stop Lancaster’s man from firing the village—starting with finding that blasted scout.”
She continued on into the smaller of the two baileys. The soldiers there were already rousing reluctantly in preparation to depart. The scout must have shared the news that they were to ride north within the hour when he’d passed a moment before.
Mairin’s gaze searched the archway that led to the larger bailey, but the scout was nowhere to be seen. He must have already moved through.
“And you mean to—what? Kill the scout?” Niall asked, falling into step with her when she set off once more for the outer bailey.
“Aye, if I have to.”
“And if he has already delivered his directive to Bruin?”
“Then I’ll kill him, too.”
“Mairin—”
She rounded on him then, meeting his troubled gaze.
“What would ye have me do, Niall? Sit on my hands while Lancaster kills more innocents? Twiddle my thumbs while he packs his silks and jewels in his chambers, kenning that a whole village is being torched just beyond the castle walls?”
Niall’s lips compressed and his eyes tightened with frustration. “Nay, but—”
Mairin’s temper snapped then. “Why are ye trying to convince me no’ to help those innocents? Whose side are ye on, anyway?”
Instantly, she wished she could take the words back. She swallowed hard, but they were already out.
The clear blue of Niall’s eyes flared with outrage, then turned cold as a deep Highland loch. In questioning his loyalty, she’d hurt him, she knew. It was one of the worst things she could have thrown at him.
“Whose side am I on?” he ground out. “The Bruce’s. And yours. Always yours. Which is why I’m trying to stop you from doing something rash.”
“Ye think the Bruce would stand by and let women and children be harmed?”
“God, nay,” he replied. “But we cannot abandon our mission. Scotland’s freedom depends on Lancaster remaining alive.”
“I willnae let Lancaster leave without me. But I cannae stand aside again.” She lowered her voice, even though the soldiers in the bailey were paying them no heed. They were too busy scrambling to prepare for a short-notice departure. “Come to the village with me,” she pleaded softly. “There may still be time to intercept the scout. And if no’…”
A battle waged across Niall’s hard features. He was clearly torn between his sense of h
onor to protect the vulnerable villagers and his duty to their mission. But after a long heartbeat, Niall’s jaw firmed. “If not, we will find a way to stop Bruin before he can hurt anyone.”
“Aye,” she said, her pulse leaping and a wave of relief flooding her. “But we must hurry if we mean to ride out with Lancaster.”
She turned to head toward the castle gates, but Niall caught her arm.
“And if Lancaster realizes what we’ve done?” he asked quietly. “If he learns that we interfered, worked at cross-purposes with him…”
He didn’t finish, but she knew what it would mean. Their mission would be destroyed, and they would both be in grave danger of being discovered as spies. Their deaths would not be swift and merciful.
“He willnae,” she murmured, holding his gaze.
“But if he does,” Niall persisted, his gaze taut with worry. “Promise me you’ll let me do whatever it takes to see you to safety. I cannot lose you, Mairin.”
Her throat squeezed painfully and emotion burned behind her eyes. “Nor I ye,” she replied hoarsely. “I promise.”
There wasn’t time for any more words then. They set off together across the bailey, weaving through frantic soldiers darting this way and that. The wider gates that led to the village were being cranked open in anticipation of the army’s impending departure. No one seemed to notice or care when Niall and Mairin slipped through and strode toward the village.
The panic that infected the castle seemed to have leeched into the village as well, for when they reached the first few thatched buildings, people were already scurrying inside and shutting their doors and windows tight.
Little did they know that if she and Niall didn’t manage to stop Bruin, they were effectively sealing themselves into what would become their blazing coffins. That thought had Mairin breaking into a trot. Niall kept pace with her, and they shot down the village’s main road toward the edge of the buildings, where the Bee and Flower stood apart.
There was still no sign of the scout. She feared that meant the man was already inside the bawdy house, looking for Bruin. Or worse, mayhap the scout had delivered Lancaster’s orders to fire the village to Bruin, who was elsewhere starting in on his task.
Mairin hadn’t smelled smoke or heard any alarmed cries of fire as they’d passed through the village, though, so she trotted past the main door of the bawdy house, heading for the stables.
A small lad leaned against the front of the stable, waiting for customers of the bawdy house to call for their horses. He straightened at Mairin and Niall’s swift approach.
“Have ye seen a short, squat man with graying brown hair enter no’ long ago?” Mairin panted without preamble.
The lad’s brows shot up, but then his eyes darted to the door behind Mairin.
“You mean him, mistress?”
Mairin spun on her heels. Sure enough, the scout was exiting through the door. He was saying something over his shoulder to a man following him out.
“…as soon as possible, for Lancaster means to leave shortly.”
The man trailing behind the scout had his head ducked as he shoved his tunic into his breeches and fumbled with the fastenings. He’d clearly been interrupted in the middle of an interlude with one of Flora’s girls.
“All of it?” the man asked distractedly.
That voice.
It was as if a snake coiled in the pit of Mairin’s stomach. The voice seemed to echo through her mind like a barely remembered nightmare. Where did she know it from?
“Aye,” the scout replied. “He wants naught left for Edward to use when he arrives.”
The man, who could be no other than Bruin, chuckled darkly. “Aye, I’ll see it done.”
Awareness rippled over her skin like an icy breath. And memory. She’d heard that voice, low and gravelly and edged with cruelty, before.
Just then, Bruin lifted his head. He had nondescript brown hair and brown eyes, and a soldier’s muscular frame. He could have been any one of Lancaster’s other men, except for the scar cutting from one side of his mouth to nearly his ear, tugging the skin around his lips and giving him a permanent sneer.
Mairin’s back hit the stable wall. Distantly, she registered that she’d stumbled backward on trembling legs. A low roar filled her ears. The edges of her vision went dark until all she could see was Bruin’s snarling face.
She knew that face.
She knew that scar.
It lived in her mind when she slept, torturing her. She could never forget.
He was one of the men who’d held her captive all those years ago. Her tormentor. One of the monsters that lurked in the darkness of her mind even still.
A scream rose in her throat, but no sound came out.
She couldn’t run. Couldn’t move. She was trapped once again. Imprisoned inside her own body, her own fear.
All she could do was sink to the ground, staring mutely at the man who had so completely broken her.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The scout gave Bruin a curt nod, then headed back toward the castle on swift legs.
Niall didn’t move to follow him, instead focusing his attention on Bruin. The man began sauntering toward the other end of the village, his scarred mouth pulling in a strange, grimacing smile.
They had to stop him before he could light a fire. Niall took a step after him. Abruptly, he realized Mairin wasn’t at his side.
He turned to find her staring after Bruin, her eyes as round as two moons and her mouth trembling. She stood with her back pressed against the stable, one hand clutching her throat and the other balled into a white knot in her skirts.
“Mairin, what—”
Her legs gave out and she slid down the stable’s side, crumpling on the ground.
Niall was beside her in a heartbeat. Fear spiked hard in his gut. He had never seen Mairin so incapacitated before, not even when she’d woken from her nightmare in the darkness of the inn on their way to Pontefract. She was pale as snow and shaking like a leaf, her lips moving soundlessly and her terror-filled gaze fixed on Bruin’s back as he made his way deeper into the village.
“Mairin,” he repeated, tentatively cupping her face. She flinched back, yet her eyes didn’t see him. They remained locked on Bruin.
Niall glanced over his shoulder. Bruin had ducked behind one of the buildings that was not only roofed in thatch, but wooden-sided as well. It would go up like dry kindling if he were to put a torch to it.
Damn it all. Bruin was getting away. He was no doubt moments from starting a fire. But Niall couldn’t abandon Mairin in this state.
He fixed the confused stable lad with a hard look. “Go,” he ordered. “Run away from the village. And tell everyone you can to flee as well. Now.”
The boy stared wide-eyed at Niall for a heartbeat before darting away. The lad ducked his head into the bawdy house and shouted something before scrambling toward the next building down.
Judging from the ruckus rising from within the bawdy house, the lad had done as Niall commanded and told them to make a hasty escape, but there was no way he would be able to warn everyone in the village by himself.
Niall turned back to Mairin. She still shook beneath his touch, but now that Bruin was out of her line of vision, she had begun to breathe again, albeit in great shuddering gulps.
“Mairin,” he said, forcing his voice to be soft and low. “What is it, love? What is wrong?”
“That man,” she rasped.
“Bruin?”
“I never kenned his name before.”
Foreboding swept through him, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. “You didn’t know his name, but you did know him?”
“He…” She squeezed her eyes shut, dragging in a ragged breath. “He was one of them. One of the men who kept me in that root cellar.”
The world went deathly quiet around him. The air froze in his lungs, and something lurched deep in the pit of his stomach.
Shock. Loathing. Rage.
Mairin’s eyes fluttered open, and suddenly Niall was drowning in their stormy depths. “A-aye.”
He saw the truth in her eyes, saw into the very heart of her fear and suffering then.
But how? How could that be? His mind reeled as he tried to comprehend how Bruin, apparently Lancaster’s favorite man when it came to carrying out despicable deeds, could have been one of Mairin’s captors all those years ago.
“The Order of the Shadow,” he murmured, realization dawning. “Roland Gervais hired all manner of brute to work for the Order, including the men who kept you locked in that cellar. And Lancaster hired bounty hunters through Gervais when he sought to have Isolda and John killed.”
Mairin shook her head weakly as if to clear the fog of terror clogging her mind. “When Gervais was killed, the Order died with him. The men who held me captive scattered when the coin stopped coming.”
“Aye, but all of his thugs and mercenaries didn’t simply disappear,” Niall replied. “They likely dispersed when the Order fell apart, but Lancaster, having already worked with the Order once before, must have hired on a few of them. Including Bruin.”
It made sense. Bruin clearly wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty, whether it be imprisoning girls to be used as leverage, or firing villages and killing innocents. Now that the Order of the Shadow no longer existed, he was the perfect weapon of destruction and cruelty for Lancaster to wield.
Just then, a scream rose from somewhere deeper in the village. Niall’s gaze darted over his shoulder. His stomach plummeted at what he saw.
Orange flames licked across one building’s thatch roof, leaping over a narrow gap to ignite on a second roof.
The stable lad’s warning hadn’t been for naught. The village’s main road had turned into a maelstrom of fleeing villagers, carts, and livestock. But the fire was spreading quickly. More screams rose. A woman fell in the path and was nearly trampled. Children ran in every direction, wailing for their parents.
