Leila’s Legacy

by Madeline Martin

  You’ve come for me already.

  What had she meant by that? He remembered the first time he’d seen her. She had spoken to him cryptically then as well. It was as though she thought he intended her harm.

  “I would never hurt ye,” he said softly into the darkness.

  She offered no reply, save for the smooth, even breathing of her apparent slumber. Sleep claimed him not long after. But before it did, he could have sworn somewhere between wakefulness and slumber, he heard the quiet sound of a sob.

  13

  Leila woke to a stream of sunlight spilling into her chamber and a lonely bed. She did not know how long the Lion had lain at her side before he’d left, but the sheets no longer held his warmth or scent.

  The dream came rushing back at her once more, along with the sharp ache at her shoulder. She pushed down the sleeve of her kirtle where the five bone white spots stood out on her skin.

  The Lion had promised never to hurt her, but she knew better. A new heaviness settled on her heart, more than just that of her own impending death. It was that cloud over Werrick Castle. She pushed the heels of her hands against her eyes, as if she could blot the image out and obliterate its meaning.

  Who was the one who would fall ill?

  Would it be Isla who worked with the villagers and exposed herself to the illness every day? Mayhap Bernard from his time praying over those dying from the great mortality? Mayhap Father?

  Her chest squeezed painfully. Illness was coming to Werrick Castle.

  She craved the gentle comfort the Lion had offered so willingly the night before, enough that it dragged her from the warmth of her bed and to the door. “Are you there, Lion?”

  No reply came, which was answer enough.

  He was gone.

  He remained away for a majority of the day and did not return until later that afternoon. Her meals were carried in by the maid who offered little more than a wary glance with each visit. Other than that, Leila was left with the hauntings in her mind of all the terrible things to come.

  A knock sounded. “Lady Leila, ’tis Niall.” The door opened and the Lion entered.

  “Niall?” Leila stared at him. “Are you not called the Lion?”

  He lifted his lips in a boyish half smile that lightened his face. “More so by people who are not well-acquainted with me.” The morning light caressed his hair and hazel eyes and cast him in gold. “I’d like it if ye called me Niall.”

  There was a quiet note of intimacy to his voice that left a delicious awareness dancing over her skin. She offered a shy nod.

  “Alban has left. I saw to his departure myself this morning.” Niall offered a courtly bow. “My lady, you are safe.”

  “Thank you.” She twisted her fingers together even as her stomach knotted with worry. “Is there any word from Werrick Castle?”

  The skin around his eyes tensed. A look of suspicion? Apprehension iced over Leila’s veins. She would need to be careful with what she let Niall know. He appeared convinced of her innocence. But if he knew she could see into the future, that she sometimes glimpsed the past, would he be so understanding? Would he continue to be so kind?

  Or would he truly be the one to kill her?

  She knew the answer already, of course. A shiver rattled through her.

  “There isna word from Werrick.” He glanced down at where her arms were folded over her chest, where her raised flesh from the cold showed on her forearms. “I’ll have yer cloak brought to ye. I shouldna have forgotten it.”

  She nodded her thanks.

  “Are ye sure ye’re well?” he asked. “Ye seem melancholy.”

  She swallowed down the sorrow rising within her for her family. “I’m well, thank you.”

  It was the same answer she continued to give for the next four days, any time Niall asked how she fared. Each of those nights, he had brought food for them to share as they spoke about their lives and their families.

  It had been kind of him to share food with her when she would otherwise simply have had stale bread and cheese. It had been even more generous of him to crack his heart open and let her glimpse inside at the boy he had been. He had been absent a mother’s love and his father was seldom home. Niall’s poor behavior as a youth had awarded him attention and ultimately led to his rebelliousness.

  He did not guard her through the night again. There was no need with Alban on a scouting mission. Nor had Niall kissed her again. She was most chagrined about that, even as she appreciated his company.

  It was late morning on the fifth day after Alban’s departure that a key rattled in the lock. She had scarcely heard it as she’d been so lost in her thoughts. Each night brought dreams of the cloud over Werrick Castle, and of her own death.

  She’d refrained from asking after Werrick Castle, but it was never far from her mind. The door opened, drawing her from her thoughts. Her foolish heart lifted in anticipation of seeing Niall and the reprieve he offered from her constant worrying.

  Except it was not Niall who entered the chamber, but Alban.

  Leila jerked back reflexively. The stake she’d pried free from the bed lay beneath the mattress on the other side of the chamber, too far away to be of use.

  “Ye’re still alive, it appears.” Alban scoffed. “The old priest who will send ye back to hell is taking his time traveling from Edinburgh.” His gaze slicked down her body. “Meaning ye’re still here and I’ve returned.”

  The door was left open at his side. If she could dart past him, she might be able to slip out before he could stop her, mayhap make her way down the stairs. Then what? Be caught by the guards and returned to her chamber?

  She ground her teeth in frustration. He was too quick to attempt an escape.

  He smirked. “We were near the English border yesterday. Did ye know that?”

  Leila regarded him warily, dreading whatever it was he wished to share.

  “The village outside of yer castle isna doing well.” Alban inspected his hands casually as he spoke. So casually, in fact, it made her realize the door had been left open intentionally. He wanted her to try to escape, to use it as an excuse to kill her himself.

  “Most of the villagers are dead.” He shrugged. “Even more than here. Guess yer protection isna aiding them with ye gone.”

  “I’m no witch. I can’t cast protection spells or create curses,” Leila protested.

  Alban smiled, a cold, cruel curling of his lips. “Ye’re no’ there to protect Werrick Castle anymore, either.”

  Leila’s knees went soft. She knew what he meant, but she did not press him to continue. Not when she didn’t want him to say more, as though not hearing might make whatever bad tidings he brought not be so.

  “Lord Werrick is said to be brought down with the pestilence.” Alban’s eyes narrowed as he wielded his words as a cruel weapon. “His neck swells with the putrefaction of his body and he grows weaker by the day. Once he is dead, Werrick Castle will fall, and no one will give a damn if what is between yer legs stays intact or no’.”

  Father.

  Leila practically fell backward onto the stone wall, bracing herself upright against its strength. To imagine her father, his slender frame withered with the effects of the pestilence, his body searing with the same pain as hers had. Her eyes filled with tears and the room blurred.

  She knew well the dangers of the pestilence for people who were her father’s age, who were of the same sparse frame. He had done everything for her, giving her a life she never deserved, always showing her love and acceptance, and she could not even be there to tend to him through his illness.

  When she had thought seeing him in the prison would be her last opportunity to say goodbye, she had assumed it had been her life that would end. Not his.

  Alban walked toward her, his steps slow and menacing. “As soon as yer da dies, I’m coming for ye, ye little—”

  “What is the meaning of this?” Niall’s voice boomed in the room.

  Alban spun around. “I wasna
touching her.” He slid a glance to Leila. “No’ yet,” he muttered.

  “Lord Armstrong asked for ye,” Niall said, the authority of his tone undeniable. “Ye’re no’ to see the prisoner. Get ye gone. Now.”

  Alban skulked out of the room with a hateful glare.

  Niall closed the door and locked it before rushing to her side. “Leila, what is it?”

  She had been staring at the distant wall, not seeing it, but instead imagining her father as Alban had described him. “My father.” She could no longer feel her legs.

  “What’s happened?” Niall caught her before she slid to the ground.

  She sucked in a ragged breath through the pain lancing her heart. “He’s ill with the great pestilence.”

  What she did not say was that his chance of survival was lower than most, that while she was locked in a tower at Liddesdale Castle, he might die.

  Niall held Leila in his arms as she sobbed for the fate of her father. Yet, even in the length of time that he quietly comforted her, he could not stop the thought that kept nipping at the back of his mind.

  She knew.

  How many times had she asked him for news of Werrick Castle? Her questioning had started after the night of her dream when he’d gone in to ensure she was safe. It was only after the dream that she had fallen into a morose state. She’d tried to hide it from him, but he could make out the flatness of her gaze from behind her smiles and forced laughs.

  ’Tis you.

  She’d known Niall before she met him, of that he was certain. But how? And in what sense?

  Of one thing he was certain: there was more to Leila than he allowed himself to see and he needed to stop being blind. A knock came from the door.

  “Lord Armstrong requests to see ye, Niall,” Brodie said from the other side.

  Niall released his hold on Leila. “Forgive me.”

  She said nothing, and instead turned to the bed, which she lay upon with her back set to the door. Niall exited the room quietly, giving her the solitude that she needed as she nursed her hurt.

  He strode into the great hall where Lord Armstrong waited for him. Niall’s steps were nearly silent on the thick layer of rushes beneath his feet.

  Lord Armstrong seldom looked pleased as of late. This time, however, the frown on his face was not one of anger, but of sorrow. “My daughter is ill,” he said by way of greeting.

  Lady Davina was a young woman of eighteen, a frail thing whose countenance had never been strong. It did not surprise Niall that she would fall ill. If anything, he was surprised it had taken so long to strike the poor girl.

  She was a kind and gentle soul; everything her father and brother were not, as if all the evil had been spent on them and there was nothing but goodness to give Davina.

  “I’m verra sorry to hear such news,” he replied with heartfelt sincerity.

  “There are no’ any physicians or healers here to see to her,” Lord Armstrong said. “All have died or fled. There isna anyone to tend to her, save the few servants who will go near her and they dinna have the learning needed to heal her.”

  “Mayhap it isna the great mortality, my lord. One of my men—”

  “She bears the mark of the pestilence.” Lord Armstrong looked down into his lap briefly and did not speak so long, Niall was left to wonder if he was gathering his strength to continue on.

  Lady Davina had a way of warming even the hardest of hearts, including that of her own father. It was no secret Lord Armstrong cared for his daughter greatly. It was rumored he continued to put off her marriage to her betrothed for fear of never seeing her again.

  It was a valid concern since Lady Davina was displeased with her life in Liddesdale.

  “The prisoner is a healer, aye?” Lord Armstrong asked. “The witch.”

  Niall raised his brows. “Ye would have her tend to Lady Davina, even as ye suspect her of having caused her to fall ill?”

  The Keeper of Liddesdale put his fingers to his lips as though in consideration of Niall’s logic. “Lady Davina is a pure soul. I hope the witch can see that and help her live.” He heaved a soul-deep sigh. “There isna anyone else to aid her and I canna lose my daughter.”

  “And ye wish me to speak to Lady Leila on yer behalf,” Niall surmised.

  “She’s yer responsibility. And that includes convincing her to aid Davina.”

  Niall would have to ask Leila to help Alban’s sister, even as Leila’s own father lay in England with the same ailment and she was unable to care for him. The twisted fate was cruel.

  Still, Niall nodded. “I’ll speak with her.”

  Lord Armstrong waved him away with a limp hand and lowered his face into his palm as Niall departed.

  Leila was still on her bed when Niall entered her room. “Thank you for coming back,” she said without turning to look at him.

  “How did ye know it was me?” he asked.

  “You are always quiet when you open the door, as if you don’t wish to disturb me.” She sat up and regarded him with red-rimmed eyes.

  “I…” He rubbed at the tension along the back of his neck. How in God’s teeth was he going to ask this of her?

  She got to her feet. “What is it?”

  “Lord Armstrong’s daughter is ill.” Niall slid his gaze away and noted the tray with her food set atop of the trunk, the food untouched. “There’s no’ anyone left to properly treat the lass.”

  “I will,” Leila offered. “If he’ll allow it.”

  Niall returned his attention to Leila. “Ye canna even attend yer own da, yet ye would willingly see to Lady Davina without knowing anything about her, or her condition?”

  Leila swallowed and lifted her chin with that iron spirit he so admired. “My father’s illness has naught to do with her. She is someone in need of help and I am in a position to give it.”

  “If she dies, ye will be held accountable.”

  “And if she lives, I have saved a life.”

  Frustration ground into Niall at her stalwart determination to help this person of whom she knew nothing. “You will die if she does. She is ill with the pestilence.”

  Leila gave a mirthless smile. “My life is already in forfeit.”

  He opened his mouth to protest her claim, but she put up a hand, silencing him. “I understand you believe a priest is being brought in to declare whether I am guilty or not. I tell you they have already made up their minds and are only doing this to appease the masses. I was not brought to Liddesdale to be tried; I was brought here to be killed.”

  “That isna—”

  “I will do it.” Leila folded her arms over her chest, unwilling to listen to his arguments.

  And he did have arguments to rival her claim. No man of God would judge her as a witch if she was not.

  “Have ye any demands if ye do this?” Niall asked in an encouraging tone.

  She glanced down at herself. “A bath and a clean kirtle. It will only benefit her health if I can be clean when I attend to her.” Her cheeks colored to a lovely shade that was made all the prettier by the crimson gown. “I’m sure I must look dreadful.”

  “Ye’re the bonniest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.” Niall’s feet carried him to her. He had told himself before that he would not kiss her again, touch her again.

  He had not promised he wouldn’t crave her again, for such a thing was impossible.

  His longing for her had redoubled in the span of days since they had kissed, since he’d stroked her to pleasure. Her cries echoed in his ears and the image of her heavy-lidded eyes bright with desire filled his thoughts and dreams.

  It was because of all those things and more he had kept his distance from Lady Leila. And it was for all those things and more, he could not stay away. Despite her incredible outward beauty, she was far lovelier within. Her strength, her spirit, her kindness.

  His hand rose of its own accord and delicately stroked her soft cheek. She pulled in a quiet breath. “I’d meant to stay away from ye,” Niall confessed. “
But I canna.”

  She searched his eyes. “I do not want you to.”

  Niall groaned and captured her lips with his own. It was a tender kiss, a hope for what was to come later. For now, he had her reply to deliver to Lord Armstrong and she had a life to save.

  14

  Leila’s skin practically glowed with the refreshment of her bath. Granted, the water had been cold, and the soap was lacking the scents and benefits of the herbal mix Isla added for her at Werrick Castle, but at least she was clean. The kirtle she had been given was as fine as the other two, this one of a soft blue wool.

  Once she was clean and ready to go to Lady Davina, Leila was led through the castle by a servant who had been waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. The woman’s dark hair was tinged with gray beneath her mobcap and she held Leila’s basket at the crook of her arm.

  She bobbed a quick curtsey. “I’m Ana. I’ve been tending to Lady Davina since she fell ill three days past.”

  She led Leila, with Brodie in tow, to Lady Davina’s chamber. The servant’s manner was perfunctory, but her demeanor was kind. She had been a member of the kitchen staff before her assistance was needed with Lady Davina. And while Ana had no knowledge of healing, she had willingly risked herself for the earl’s daughter and sought to aid Lady Davina in any way possible.

  “’Tis kind of ye to assist us, Lady Leila.” Ana’s heavy brows knitted together. “I heard ye dinna have a welcome reception to Liddesdale and that ye’re being held on suspicion of witchcraft. I dinna know anything about any of it, but I know we all care greatly for Lady Davina and our hearts are all grateful to ye for yer aid.”

  “I have aided many villagers near my home in Brampton.” Leila chose her words carefully. “You must understand I cannot cure the pestilence. I can only help ease her discomfort. The strength to survive will need to come from her. Knowing that you have seen to her needs, ensuring she had enough food and water, is the best thing you could have done for her, Ana. If she is able to survive this, it will have been from your efforts.”