Loathsome though the task was, hitting Brodie to make him lose awareness was preferable to having to kill someone else. At least Brodie could make his injury last as long as need be. Another reiver who was not in on the escape would go to Lord Armstrong as soon as they roused.
Niall led Leila down the hall, their steps hurried yet silent on the floor. They passed no one as they made their way through the castle, nor even as they wound their way down a second flight of stairs. He stopped before an exceptionally large tapestry and reached behind it, drawing free a gambeson and helm. He’d told her he would try to get them without being seen and it appeared he had succeeded.
She slipped the gambeson on as footsteps sounded in the hallway, coming directly toward them. Niall plunked the helm on her head as her fingers frantically worked at the ties of her gambeson. The footsteps came closer.
Niall swept a hand over Leila’s shoulder and the weight of her hair fell behind her. She finished the final tie as a servant rounded the corner and passed them by without even a glance. The tension in her shoulder eased somewhat but did not fully abate. It would not, not until they were away from Liddesdale and riding back toward home. Until she was completely free.
Niall led her through an iron-bound door to the chilly, open night. The frigid wind stung her cheeks and tingled over her skin. Still, she paused for a brief moment and reveled in the crisp air in her lungs. Though it was bitterly cold, and the night black as ink, it was her first breath of such freshness in over a fortnight.
Niall strode on ahead of her and left her scrambling to catch up. She kept her pace even in the hopes she did not appear to be rushing. Already, it had been foolish to pause. She couldn’t do anything to arouse suspicion.
Niall led her through the bailey toward the portcullis.
“Halt.” A guard approached and stared at them in the darkness.
“We must leave.” Niall said. “We heard news of English reivers nearby and must see to them.”
“Are ye the Lion?” the guard asked.
“Of course I am,” Niall replied. “Open the gate.”
The man hesitated and rubbed the back of his neck. “Aye, of course.” He waved to the battlements and the portcullis gave a long, low groan as it started to slowly lift open.
Tension hovered in the air and there was a subtle stiffening to Niall’s shoulders. This was not going as smoothly as he would have liked.
Leila held her breath, hoping the reiver wouldn’t ask after her.
He did not and within the passing of several agonizing minutes, they were free to exit through the castle entrance.
“Walk normal,” Niall said quietly. “But as soon as I say to do so, run.”
Leila’s pulse leapt and she had to force her feet to maintain the slow pace. The village was quiet; the streets empty save for the few dead who were laid out for collection. Within the cottages, neighbors kept to themselves and did not emerge.
Niall led her around the corner of a cottage and grasped her hand. “Run.”
Together, they raced, Niall threading through a maze of streets Leila did not know. Shouts rose up from behind them, coming from the castle, and Niall’s grip on her hand tightened.
He turned abruptly, pushed open a door to a cottage and shoved her inside.
Leila stumbled into the dark, empty single-room home. The air was musty with disuse and cold in a way suggesting a fire had not been lit within for many years.
A low tingling started at the back of her neck, the first signs of a vision coming as the room lit with a golden glow.
18
Leila had long since learned not to fight her visions. For whether she wanted them or not, by will or by force, they came.
“Leila,” Niall’s voice came from the distance of another world, but she did not respond. She could not.
The tallow candle flickering on the table was little more than a nub of fat set within a greasy puddle. Oily black smoke coiled up from the flame and clogged the air with its foul odor. A man sat in a single chair by the hearth where a meager fire struggled to come to life.
The door creaked open behind Leila and the man got to his feet. He was short, his hair dark and shaggy where it fell over his eyes. He bowed with reverence. “My lord.”
Lord Armstrong swept into the cottage and cast a disdainful look about. The silver streaks were gone from his red hair and the lines of time on his face had smoothed. He was a young man once more, his shoulders square with arrogant youth and limitless vitality. “Ye know why I’m here, Fingal.”
The other man, Fingal, nodded. “Renault the Honorable has gone too far with his righteousness, aye?”
Lord Armstrong gave a grunt of assent. “Lady Elliot may provide us with a way to free ourselves of his burden, the withered old slut.”
“The one who threatened Renault when his lad held her husband for ransom?”
“No’ threatened.” Lord Armstrong’s mouth curled into a smile. “Cursed.”
Fingal’s dull eyes did not brighten with understanding even as Leila pieced together what would come next.
“Poison the bastard and lay the blame at Lady Elliot’s feet.” Lord Armstrong lifted a white handkerchief to the underside of his nose and narrowed his eyes at the offensive tallow candle. “Then we will be free of him, and the old woman can be drowned as a witch. We’ll be done with both of them.”
Fingal’s mouth opened as he bobbed his head. “A bonny idea, my lord. A bonny idea.” He pursed his lips. “The people like Renault, though.”
“They willna know we ordered his death,” Lord Armstrong said with barely tethered patience. “And his son is of age to take his father’s place. The lad’s no’ as good as his da, but there’s goodness in him yet, or so the people say.” He lifted his shoulders in a shrug that indicated he didn’t care one way or the other. “He’ll be malleable and no’ as obnoxiously righteous as his da.”
“I’ll see to the poison, my lord.” Fingal bowed.
Lord Armstrong lowered the handkerchief, grinning. “And I’ll see to Niall.”
Leila sucked in a sharp gasp. A hand went around her face, smothering her in the darkness. A man’s body was at her back, locking her against him. She shook her head aggressively and drew an arm back. The hand loosened.
“Be silent,” Niall whispered.
The strong torso at her back was familiar now, as was the scent of cedar and leather. Footsteps sounded outside, along with the call of orders, as Lord Armstrong’s guards searched for them.
Leila took off her helm and twisted to better look at Niall. He tensed his hold on her in warning.
“Niall,” she breathed. “I have to—”
The door rattled. Her heart jolted.
She clenched her teeth to keep from speaking. She had to tell Niall about what she’d seen of his father, of Lord Armstrong. But to speak now would give away their position.
Her mind reeled with what she had learned, or she would have protested as he eased her around behind him, putting himself in front of her. A splintering crack shattered the silence around them as the door flew inward and a cluster of guards ran in.
“Niall,” Leila said. “Your father—”
“There they are,” a man shouted over her. “Get the witch.”
Niall loomed up over the man and raised his sword.
Alban ran in front of his guard and blocked the blow. “I wouldna do that if I were ye, Lion.” He smirked. “Or mayhap I should let ye. If any men are killed, she will die this night.”
“Ye mean to kill her anyway.” Niall lunged at Alban and swung his blade.
Alban blocked the blow and called out to his men.
“Nay,” Leila cried. “Niall, please! Don’t do this. I saw your father.”
“His father is dead,” Alban growled and thrust his blade at Niall. Leila took that exact moment to flick a dagger free from her belt and send it hurtling through the air toward Alban. One of his guards threw up a targe, blocking her attack.
�
�It was from the past,” Leila said desperately. “A vision—”
Hands grasped her, so many hands. Too many to count. They pulled at her, tugging her away from Niall, dragging her from him. Fingers clasped firmly over her mouth, sealing her words within so she couldn’t speak.
She tossed her head, but the grip did not abate. She gnashed her teeth, but the man kept his hand cupped in such a way that she could not catch his skin. She writhed and thrashed and screamed as well as she was able, but the restraining hands did not release her.
“Leila,” Niall cried.
“Take her to the dungeon,” a low, familiar voice said.
Shivers rippled over her skin. Lord Armstrong had arrived.
Niall didn’t know what Lord Armstrong had done to his father. What he might end up doing to Niall. She screamed as loud as she could, but every word of her warning was muffled by the hand in front of her mouth.
Lord Armstrong did not so much as look in Leila’s direction. Instead, he kept his focus on Niall. “I would like to speak with ye in my solar.”
“No more out of ye,” a guard growled into Leila’s ear.
Something hard thwacked into her head. Pain sent stars winking around her, followed by a terrible dizziness. She closed her eyes against it. Darkness filled her vision. Darkness with a glowing white skeleton in the distance, grinning at her, as Death laughed and laughed and laughed.
The white dots on her shoulder burned with an intensity that brought her to awareness once more.
Niall.
Her heart stung at the thought of him. Would Lord Armstrong kill him?
Her brave Lion, who would have fought them all to the death if he could. He had risked everything to save her: his position, his reputation. Possibly his life.
The guards jostled her as they carried her through the streets with her feet dragging behind her through the mud. They made a considerable amount of noise, but no one emerged from the shuttered cottages. Mayhap they remained inside out of fear of what the night air might do to their health in such stricken times. Mayhap it was the bitter cold that kept them nestled in the warmth of their beds. Regardless, Leila was grateful they did not come out to bear witness to her being humiliated once more before them, for this time they might see her tears.
She said nothing as she was drawn toward the castle, as the mud at her feet became cold, unyielding cobbles. The weight of her belt was gone, and she knew without looking down that it had been stripped away when she’d been taken.
They brought her to the dank, chilly dungeon below the castle and threw her unceremoniously into a cell. What had been hope only an hour ago now faded like a curl of cold ash in her chest. What would they do with Niall? Would they kill him as they’d killed his father and then place the blame upon her?
The blood iced in her veins.
She’d had no visions of Niall drowning her since they had confessed their love. If this was how the future had changed, she did not want it. Better she die than they both did. Better he kill her than his death be laid at her feet.
She closed her eyes and begged for a vision to come to her. Of her father, who she had hoped to see once more, to confirm his survival of the pestilence. Of Niall and another moment of shared passion and love. Of any of her sisters, who she had dared hope to see again one day. But no visions clouded her vision. There was only the darkness of the dungeon cell pressing in on her. Emotion clogged the back of her throat for everything she had lost.
She no longer felt like a warrior. Nay, she was once again a prisoner, and she was defeated.
Niall had to be hauled to the solar, for he certainly did not go of his own volition. The lock clicked in the door behind him, but he still had half a mind to ram into it to see if he could break through. Despite the shackles that bound his wrists together, he would find a way to escape, to get to Leila.
What would they do to her?
“Ye’re bewitched.” Lord Armstrong scowled at him from the chair beside the fire. The large hearth had been carved with ornate monsters threading through one another as they reached out with clawed hands. It gave the impression of making the earl appear to be the very devil himself. And mayhap he was.
“I’m no’ bewitched,” Niall protested. “What ye’re doing is wrong. If ye condemn her to die, ye’re killing an innocent woman.”
“Cease this nonsense.” Lord Armstrong spoke with such vehemence that spittle erupted from his mouth and glowed in the firelight. “I’ve no’ ever known ye to go against me. This isna ye. This isna how ye behave.”
“Ye’ve never gone so far against morality before. Ye’re wrong in this. She isna responsible for the pestilence and has only ever sought to heal those around her who are ill. She is a good woman and I willna stand by as ye defame her and kill her.”
“The people need a witch.” Lord Armstrong’s lips curled as he pushed himself up from the large chair. “They’ve found one. Her hold on ye is proof enough.” He considered Niall and studiously tilted his head. “I know of a way to be rid of the enchantment.”
Something gleamed in his eyes and slithered like ice down Niall’s spine. He shivered despite the heat from the wicked-looking hearth.
The earl approached and clapped Niall on the shoulder, the way he used to do with camaraderie. Now, however, the gesture pinned Niall in place, leaving him fixed beneath the malicious glint of the older man’s stare.
“Ye’ll be the one to kill her.” Lord Armstrong nodded to himself. “Aye, ye’ll be the one to drown the witch.”
“Nay.” Even as Niall said it, chills ran over his skin. It was as Leila had envisioned. His pulse quickened.
“Oh, aye.” The skin around Lord Armstrong’s eyes tightened, so the murky blue within faded to narrowed slits in the candlelight. “Ye will.”
“Ye canna force me to kill her.” Niall’s head swirled. “I’ll no’ do it.”
Lord Armstrong finally released his grip on Niall’s shoulder. “Which is exactly what a bewitched man would say. The people will see it in how much ye care for her. ’Tis why I must compel ye to do the right thing.”
Niall tensed. After all, what could possibly be worse than killing Leila?
“Ye convinced yer man Brodie to help ye.” The earl wagged a finger at him. “The young man thought he was helping ye, but I saw through his deception.” He strode casually to the locked door and spoke loudly against it. “Did ye get her?”
“Brodie wasna part of it.” Niall clenched his hand into a fist.
“Aye,” a man replied from the other side.
The lock clattered and the door swung open.
“I know ye’re lying,” Lord Armstrong replied coolly. “I know it isna yer fault, that ye were bewitched and that Brodie is loyal.”
A man shoved a girl with long black hair into the solar. She staggered and nearly tripped. She scuttled into the room and pushed her back against the wall, large blue eyes darting about wildly. She was a small thing with stick-thin wrists and ankles jutting from her chemise, a girl of no more than seven summers.
Disgust roiled through Niall.
“Do ye know who this is?” Lord Armstrong asked.
“What am I doing here?” The girl glanced between Niall and Lord Armstrong.
Niall knew exactly who the child was. He’d recognize little Bonnie anywhere, especially when Brodie doted so much on his little sister.
“What are ye doing with her?” Niall demanded. “She’s a child.”
“She’s incentive.” Lord Armstrong turned a hard gaze on Niall. “If ye dinna drown the witch, we’ll drown this girl, then we’ll drown yer witch. Either way, she’ll be dead and ye’ll be free of her spell. Once ’tis done, ye’ll thank me.”
“This is madness.” Niall edged closer to Bonnie. Even with his wrists bound in the iron bands, he would do what he could to protect her. “Dinna hurt her.”
Lord Armstrong called for his guards. “Ye’ll be the one to decide if the lass gets hurt,” he said as the clansmen took the wee gir
l away.
Though tears filled her eyes and her lower lip trembled, the brave child kept her head lifted and her back straight. It was enough to make Niall’s throat go tight.
“Ye’ll be locked in a chamber tonight and will make yer decision tomorrow.” Lord Armstrong waved several of his men over. They took Niall by the chained arms and jerked him toward the door.
“Tomorrow?” Niall asked, incredulous.
Lord Armstrong grinned. “When the witch dies.”
The guards dragged Niall through the castle to one of the smaller rooms set aside for minor guests where he was shoved inside with the door securely locked behind him.
There, in the absence of sound, totally alone, the severity of his situation crushed in on him. If he did not kill Leila, then Bonnie and Leila would both die.
His chest constricted with a pain so visceral, he had not felt its kind since the death of his father.
Leila had seen him killing her; she had known all along. And he’d been too damned foolish to listen.
He inhaled deeply and the air dragged like fire through his lungs. How could he kill her? His beautiful Leila, so strong and full of life. His love.
A rattle of keys sounded in his door, the movements slow and quiet. The lock clicked and the door creaked open. Except it was no clansman who entered, or even a servant come to bring him fare. Nay, the woman who stood before him in a fine kirtle and a fire lit in her eyes was none other than Lady Davina.
19
Niall stared at Lady Davina with confusion. Before he could speak, she rushed over to him with a candle in her hand.
“Forgive me,” she said softly. “I tried to see Lady Leila, but the guards wouldna allow me.”
Even in the flickering candlelight he could see the healthy pink to her cheeks and the glossiness restored to her red hair. She had recovered fully from the pestilence. Because of Leila.
“How can they do this to her after what she did to save ye?” Niall asked, his rage tearing through any flimsy attempts at control.
Lady Davina’s eyes filled with tears. “They are going to kill her, Niall. I tried to ask my father for mercy, but he wouldna hear it. I awoke to the sounds of Lady Leila being returned to the castle and I understood then what had happened. Especially when I heard of yer arrest as well.” She scoffed in a manner very much unlike her. “They never pay any mind to the woman around them when they speak.”
Leila’s Legacy Page 16
