“Fergus! Onnleigh!” he shouted, coughing and hacking.
His horse was growing more and more fearful of the close proximity to the flames. Connor gave a tug on the reins, pressed his knees against its stomach, willing the beast to settle. He still could not see Onnleigh. His heart continued to pound against his breast. Please God, nay!
He was just about to dismount when Fergus appeared like a giant, ancient god through the smoke. Onnleigh was draped in his arms, her head lolling lifelessly.
Connor pulled his horse closer, reaching his arms out. With a grunt, Fergus handed her up to him. “Give me yer sword!” Fergus shouted. “And get the lass out of here!”
Holding Onnleigh tightly to his chest, Connor turned his mount around and headed back over the broken gate. Until the keep was under control, he’d not risk so much as a hair on her head.
Ronald and Bridgett were halfway to Bruanna’s cottage when he brought his horse to an abrupt stop. Bridgett hadn’t stopped crying or shivering. Gently, he wrapped his cloak around her and pulled her to his chest.
“Why have we stopped?” she asked between sniffles. “Where are we?”
It took every bit of energy he had not to come undone in front of her. When he saw her on the pyre, his world stopped spinning.
Taking in a deep, fortifying breath, he finally had the wherewithal to look into her eyes. They were brown, with little flecks of gold. Her cheeks were red from crying, smudged here and there from the ravages of the pyre. Her chemise was nearly black, as were her fingers and arms. His heart splintered.
Tenderly, he lifted her chin with a crooked finger. The words he wanted to give to her wouldn’t come. They were lodged in his throat, right along with his heart. Without so much as a by-your-leave, he bent low and pressed his lips to hers.
They were just as soft as he had imagined they would be. Softer than the petals of the finest roses. For a long moment, she did not move. He imagined he had frightened her to such a point that she was frozen in place. But a few fluttering heartbeats later, she was returning his kiss with a fervency he didn’t think possible.
A warmth he’d never felt before exploded deep within his chest. As much as he would have enjoyed kissing her for the next day or two, he knew he had to get her to Bruanna’s home as swiftly as possible.
Reluctantly, he broke the kiss and took in another deep, fortifying breath. “When I learned ye had been taken prisoner, I made myself a promise.”
“Promise?” she asked, uncertainty filling her pretty brown eyes.
“Aye,” he replied, his voice catching. “I promised myself that if I got to ye in time, I would kiss ye. And I would nae stop kissin’ ye until the day I took me last breath on God’s earth.”
Those pretty eyes grew as wide as trenchers before they filled with more tears. “I knew ye would come for me,” she told him, her voice cracking. “I told Onnleigh ye would.”
His lips curved into a tender smile. “‘Twould have taken God’s own hands to keep me from ye.”
They sat staring at one another for a long moment. When she started to shiver again, he tapped the flanks of his horse. After a while, Bridgett asked the question that was lingering in the air. “What does yer promise mean, exactly?”
He chuckled and gave her a gentle hug. “It means that as soon as I can find a priest, ye and I will be married.”
Had the circumstances been anything other than what they were, Bridgett would have insisted on a proper proposal. She would have demanded he profess his love for her for now through the end of time.
But she had been in love with this man for as long as she could remember. While it had taken much to get Ronald to this point — her nearly being killed — she was glad he had finally come to his good senses.
Later, she would insist he give her the words.
Connor held Onnleigh as close to his chest as he could. With his plaid draped around her, he rubbed her arms, begging and pleading with her to open her eyes.
“Be she all right?” Aiden asked him as he stood near the fallen gate.
“I dunnae,” Connor replied with a shake of his head.
“Go,” Aiden told him. “We will take care of things here.”
“Find Fergus,” Connor told him as he surveyed the destruction that had befallen the courtyard. Men had already formed a bucket line from the well. They were pouring water on the pyres. He prayed none of the embers would spread to other buildings. “He will help ye,” he said, his gut filled with disgust and shame.
Aiden gave him a nod of understanding. A moment later, Connor took off like a bolt of lightning. ’Twas odd, asking a man who until two days ago had been a complete stranger to him. He prayed he’d not regret his decision to accept the man’s help.
Once they were a goodly distance from the keep, Connor slowed his pace so that he might direct his full attention to the woman lying so still in his arms. Covered in soot and ashes, her cheeks smudged, her chemise torn and nearly black, she looked so pitiful. Seeing her like this, unmoving, barely breathing, reminded him of when Maire died. It felt as though he’d just been kicked in the gut by an angry horse.
Flashbacks to that awful day, when Maire lay dying in his arms, nearly caused his undoing. Always a beacon of hope, brightness and all things good she had been, before God called her home. Their babe had come early, far too early and Maire’s body simply couldn’t handle it.
And like that, she was gone.
His eyes filled with tears of regret and sorrow. Looking down at Onnleigh, so helpless, so light in his arms, he begged and pleaded with her again. “Please, Onnleigh, wake up! Open yer eyes, love. Please, open yer eyes.”
When she did not respond, he tore across the land, heading for his grandminny’s home. His worry grew with each pounding hoofbeat, with each step farther away from his keep.
He prayed that God would not take Onnleigh away from him. Nae like this, Lord. Please, nae like this. She deserves so much more.
His gut was a blend of fury, betrayal, and sheer guilt. Fury towards those who would try to bring harm to innocents like Onnleigh, Bridgett, and Nola. ’Twas the highest form of betrayal he could imagine.
Though ’twas so cold he could see his own breath, his tunic was soaked in sweat. His heart pounded as if he’d just run all the way across Scotia.
His only concern at the moment was for Onnleigh’s safety.
They had just crested a small hill when she began to shiver violently. “C-cold,” she muttered before she was overcome with coughing.
Connor blew out a sigh of relief. If she could speak and cough, then she would be well. He stopped quickly, pulled his arms out of his cloak and wrapped Onnleigh in it. Up ahead, not far, was his grandminny’s home. He could just make out the chimney, smoke rising up against the gloomy gray sky.
Onnleigh’s eyes fluttered open. For a moment, she looked at him in disbelief, as if he weren’t really there. So glad he was to see her, he could not help but smile at her. “Och! Thank God!” he exclaimed joyfully as he held her close.
She began to sob, uncontrollably, holding his tunic in her fists. Connor rubbed her back doing his best to soothe her.
“They killed her!” she screamed against his chest. “They killed Nola!”
“Nay, lass, Nola be fine!”
Onnleigh shook her head as she continued to weep. “Nay, Connor! Margaret took her and put her in the fairy tree. Please, take me there now!”
“Wheest, lass,” he whispered. “Our babe be at me grandminny’s right now. Margaret did nae take her to the fairy tree. She found help and brought her to me at the Randall’s keep.”
Stunned, she lifted her head to look at him. “What?”
He smiled at her warmly. “That be right, lass. Nola be well, I swear to ye. I left her with grandminny an hour ago.”
A moment passed before she broke down again. This time, she cried tears of joy and relief.
“Please, Connor, hurry!” she told him as she struggled to sit up.
&nbs
p; “As ye wish, lass. As ye wish.”
Fergus saw him first.
Darwud was heading toward the gate, attempting to escape. Fergus was not going to allow that to happen.
Though his hands and arms ached and burned from the fire, he refused to let Darwud gain his freedom. Thick, acrid smoke billowed, filling the air, stinging his eyes and lungs.
“Darwud” ’Twas Red John’s deep voice booming through the air.
Upon hearing his name, Darwud stopped. He took one look at the towering, red bearded man, and he turned seven shades of green from fear.
Out of the corner of his eyes, Fergus caught a glimpse of Clarence coming up from his left. Clarence’s tunic gaped open, and blood oozed from the earlier cut to his stomach. Though he looked as though he were at death’s door, he also looked quite determined to give Darwud his due.
Even through the heavy smoke, Fergus could see the fear in Darwud MacCallen’s eyes. He watched as the young man unsheathed his sword. ’Twas a foolish move.
“Put yer weapon away, Darwud,” Fergus called to him as he slowly began to approach the terrified fool. “And ye might just live to see another day.” ’Twas a half truth. Fergus knew that as soon as he found out ’twas Darwud who had beaten Onnleigh, the man would not live long after.
“And let ye slice me throat?” Darwud asked, his voice catching on his fear.
Fergus shook his head. “If ye surrender, I swear to ye that I will nae slice yer throat, nor harm ye in any other way.” Nay, he’d leave that pleasure to Connor.
Darwud had proven his ignorance and foolishness more than once over the past two days. But his next moved proved to be his last.
With sword drawn, he lunged at Clarence, under the misguided notion that the man was too weak to defend himself. He was quite wrong in that assumption. He also neglected to take into consideration the fierce determination set in Red John and Fergus.
Before Darwud could get to Clarence, Red John and Fergus were plunging their swords into his flesh. Red John’s sword landed successfully into his gut, while Fergus’s cut across his throat.
Darwud’s eyes grew wide as he slowly sunk to his knees, grabbing his neck with one hand. His sword fell from his hand as blood gushed from his gaping wound.
“That be fer what ye did to Onnleigh,” Red John said as he removed his sword. “This be fer what ye did to Garret the Fisherman and Thomas Blue eyes”, he said before plunging the sword into Darwud’s heart.
Chapter 15
Bruanna’s cottage was filled near to bursting. It had been a good number of years since she’d had this many people inside. Decades at that. It did her old heart much good to have these people here. Well, most of them anyway. She still had many doubts about Margaret who had ensconced herself in a dark corner. The young woman was doing her best not to be seen.
Onnleigh sat in a chair, wrapped up in Connor’s plaid and a warm blanket Bruanna had given her. With a smile that could light the darkest of nights, Onnleigh beamed as she held her daughter close. To say she was relieved at having Nola in her arms once again, would have been a horrible understatement.
Connor shined almost as brightly as Onnleigh. He sat next to her with a protective arm draped around her. He could not stop placing kisses on Onnleigh’s cheek or his daughter’s forehead.
Ronald and Bridgett were huddled together on Bruanna’s bed. They too were smiling, having just announced to all in attendance that they would soon be married.
Sitting at the table next to Bruanna was her dear friend, Frazier. Occasionally, she would catch him staring at her, a warm and tender smile on his lips.
“Margaret,” Connor called to her.
Startled, she jumped slightly, but kept her head down.
“Margaret,” Connor called to her again. “Please, come here.”
Like a child who’d been caught stealing sweet cakes, she slowly made her way to the center of the room. With her hands clasped in front of her, she kept her gaze on the floor.
Onnleigh finally tore her gaze from her daughter. “I want to thank ye, Margaret.”
Margaret’s head shot up so fast, Bruanna was surprised it didn’t hurt.
“Had ye nae defied yer mum, well, none of us would be standin’ here right now.”
Margaret remained quiet, her expression unreadable.
“I ken it could nae have been easy, goin’ against her,” Onnleigh said. “But I will be fere’er beholden to ye fer doin’ so.”
“I could nae hurt her,” Margaret said. Her voice was naught but a whisper.
Connor was not so inclined to dismiss her previous actions so easily, but he was too happy at the moment. He would decide later what was to become of her.
The door to Bruanna’s cottage flew open. Set against the backdrop of the dark gray sky, for a moment, it looked as though a bear was stepping inside. ’Twas Braigh, covered from head to toe in dark fur.
Snow swirled around his feet, the cold air chilling the space almost instantly. “Shut the door, ye daft man,” Bruanna scolded him. “And come warm yerself by the fire.”
Braigh did not look pleased. “Connor, Ronald,” he said, keeping the door behind him open. “I need to speak with ye.”
From the hard set of his jaw, the piercing glower he sent Margaret’s way, Connor suspected this had something to do with Helen.
Ronald placed a tender kiss on Bridgett’s lips, inducing a most contented sigh from the young girl. He whispered something in her ear. A warm blush crept up her neck, turning her cheeks a deep crimson.
“I will nae be gone long, Onnleigh,” Connor said as he threw his cloak around his shoulders. He kissed her sweetly, before caressing Nola’s cheek with the back of his hand. “She be a right beautiful babe, aye?”
Onnleigh nodded but cast a concerned look toward Braigh. “Braigh, how be Lorna? And her sister?”
“They both be fine,” he replied gruffly, his piercing gaze still trained on Margaret.
The three men said not another word as they left the cottage.
Braigh was furious, to say the least. His nostrils flared, his brow drawn into a hard line as he took to his horse. “We found Helen,” he told his brothers. “It took everythin’ I had in me nae to gut her.”
Connor and Ronald pulled themselves up onto their own mounts and rode beside Connor back to the keep. “Ye had me permission to kill her,” Connor told him.
Braigh grunted. “I would have had she nae been holdin’ a wean.”
With a raised brow, Connor asked him to explain.
“I was chasin’ after her and fell over the bloody gate,” Braigh told him. “By the time I got to her, she had taken Mavis MacDonald’s wean right from her arms. Helen was holdin’ the poor boy as a shield, refusin’ to put him down unless I promised she could meet with ye.”
Ronald grunted his disproval. “She has no compunction on takin’ someone else’s life, but would use a wean to protect her own. Coward.”
Aye, ’twas a most cowardly act, indeed. “Where be she now?” Connor asked.
“I threw her bloody arse in the dungeon.”
“I would have gutted her along the way,” Ronald stated quite firmly.
Connor believed he might have done the same. Mayhap it was best that Braigh had found her instead of himself or Ronald. In the end, he supposed it didn’t matter. One way or another, Helen would pay for her crimes.
“I still find it hard to believe she was able to take over our keep with no more than fifty people aidin’ her,” Braigh said, still fuming.
“Had our men nae believed Ronald and I had been attacked and come after us to help, she would nae have been so successful,” Connor told him.
Braigh grunted once again. “Lorna’s sister was another ruse. She be fine. She had nae given birth and she was clearly nae on her deathbed. When I realized somethin’ was afoot, I left Lorna with her sister and returned as soon as I could.”
Connor resisted the urge to chuckle, but knew his brother was suffering. Not because h
e’d been lied to, but because he’d been separated from his wife.
“Ye will also be glad to ken there be nothin’ left of Darwud,” Braigh told him.
Connor and Ronald exchanged confused glances with one another.
“Those bruises on Onnleigh’s face?” Braigh asked with a raised brow.
Aye, Connor had seen them, but he had yet to question her as to how she came by them. He’d been too overjoyed with relief to have her alive.
“She owes those to Darwud,” Braigh told him. “The men who he’d thrown in our dungeon were witness to it.”
Connor had never really liked nor trusted Darwud, for he knew him to be a coward as much as he was a cheat. He knew the man’s proclivity for being unfaithful to his wife. But …
Clarity suddenly dawned bright in his mind. Could Darwud be the man who sired Nola?
“Fergus extends his apologies for nae allowin’ ye the honor of guttin’ the bloody bastard,” Braigh said. “But Darwud made the mistake of takin’ up his sword against Fergus.”
Connor could not rightly blame Fergus for his actions. Later, when he was alone with Onnleigh, he would get the truth from her, once and for all, as to who had sired Nola. “As long as he be dead, that is all that matters,” Connor told him. “I will remember to thank Fergus later.”
With Ronald’s help, they explained to Braigh everything they had gleaned from Margaret. By the time they reached the walls of the keep, they had finished with the telling.
“How can anyone be so evil?” Braigh asked.
A group of men had attached ropes to the iron gate and were in the process of pulling it away with a team of horses. Tiny wisps of smoke and steam billowed up from the pyres, reigniting Connor’s anger. Less than two hours ago, his betrothed and her dearest friend had been tied to those pyres. Had he been delayed by even the briefest of moments, had Fergus and the men not been able to help? He had to push those thoughts aside for now, elst he might loose his mind.
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