by Laura Glenn
“We might run out of food.”
“Are there stores outside the walls?”
He nodded.
“Has there been any sign of who has done this?”
He shook his head.
She swallowed hard, angry and frightened. “If you think it is safe enough, take some men and bring in as much food as you can. I won’t turn anyone away.”
He inclined his head. “Yes, my lady.”
She thanked him and ran back inside. The morning passed in a blur. She assisted wherever she could, awestruck by the healing skills of Mòrag and many of the other people around her.
Mòrag chased her down to get her to eat something midday. Leah had tried to assure her she would eat as soon as she’d finished helping one last injured man, but Mòrag was having none of it. With all the authority of a five-star general, she ushered Leah into the kitchen and commanded her to eat the soup waiting for her at the table. She even stood over Leah’s shoulder until she took a bite.
“There is a good lass,” Mòrag praised, patting Leah’s arm. “It is hard, especially early on, to remember it is not just you you need to look after.”
Leah’s lifted tentative eyes up and nodded, at last acknowledging what she had thought was a secret until two days ago when Màiri alerted her it was common knowledge.
“Does he know?” Mòrag asked, brushing Leah’s hair over her shoulder.
Leah shook her head. “Not yet.”
Mòrag nodded with an understanding smile. Her gray eyes glistened with gathering tears and she took a deep breath, turning away from Leah. “Well, eat up, my lady. I want a fat little baby crawling around my feet by this time next year.”
Leah laughed, touched by the emotion on Mòrag’s face.
As she was finishing her soup, Mòrag carried another ladleful over to her and poured it into the bowl, making another comment about chubby babies. But then she stiffened, her eyes narrowing as she waved the empty ladle toward the doorway.
“You take yourself right back out of here. Your lady is taking nourishment now.”
Leah turned to find a young warrior standing in the doorway, casting fearful eyes between her and Mòrag.
“I-I beg your pardon, my lady, but this is important.” He shifted from one foot to the other in anxious agitation.
Leah’s stomach sank. Ugh. She didn’t need more bad news. Not now. “What is it?” she asked in a bare whisper.
“A battle. To the south. I was sent to warn you.”
Leah shot up from the bench. “With who?”
“Dunlops. Most of the men have gone. There will be just a few of us here with you and the clan until it is over.”
Dunlops? Wasn’t that the name of the old laird David had originally wanted her to marry? Rathe had recently been in talks with the old man, giving his clan permission to use her land to the south. Why would he attack them?
Leah nodded and sank back down to the bench in a heap. “Thank you for letting me know.”
“I will send men to the walls to keep watch, my lady.”
She nodded, her hand shaking as she grasped her spoon. “What is your name?”
“Paul.”
“Thank you, Paul.” She shifted back to her soup, her vision blurring with angry, frightened tears. Just what the hell were they going to do? Where was Rathe?
As the young man’s footfalls died out down the hall, Mòrag patted Leah’s shoulder again. This time the motion was more awkward, more hesitant.
“Eat up, my lady. There is naught you can do but wait.”
Leah lifted a bite to her mouth and paused. God, what she wouldn’t give to see Rathe standing before her. Have him pull her into his arms and assure her everything would be all right. That she and the children would be safe. That everyone in the clan would be okay and no one would get hurt.
Mòrag’s food was always delicious, but this time it sat like a lead weight in her stomach. Leah managed to finish it anyway before heading back into the great hall. But there was little else she could do. Instead, she sought out a corner in which to sit with Màiri and Daniel. Neither child wanted to venture far from her, their normally playful antics subdued by the tension hanging over them.
But then shouts carried in from the courtyard. A hush fell over the great hall and a chill of dread slithered down Leah’s spine. She hugged the children closer, reveling in their comforting warmth.
Paul emerged as he threw the door to the great hall wide open. “My lady!”
She froze as all eyes turned to her. Swallowing the rising lump in her throat, she kissed the children on the head before passing them off to Flora. Butterflies gnawed around inside her stomach. She placed a nervous hand over her abdomen and made her way toward Paul.
His face was as white as a sheet as she approached, his eyes rounded with fear. “It is the MacTavish,” he whispered. “He wishes to speak with you.”
Andrew? Apprehension washed over her and she glanced back toward the children who were watching her every move. What on earth could Andrew have to say to her?
She followed Paul into the courtyard. Dread uncoiled within her. The silent crowd parted to allow her through. When she reached the other side, Paul offered her his hand and motioned her up the stone staircase leading to the walkway along the defensive curtain wall. As she gained the last step, a mass of men on horseback spread out before her. Her limbs tingled in fear, threatening to give out on her.
Andrew sat upon his horse at the head of his men just outside the castle gate. A broad smile crossed his face as he caught sight of her. “You are a fair sight to behold, Lady Leah,” he called in English.
She bristled at the smug air of self-satisfaction on his face and answered him back in Gaelic. “What do you want, Laird MacTavish?”
His brows raised. “Impressive,” he remarked, switching to Gaelic. “Why I have come to rescue you, of course.”
Her lips parted in shock. Rescue? “I do not need rescuing.”
He pursed his lips together and nodded in an obvious attempt to pretend to consider her words. But then he shook his head. “No, I believe I shall continue with my plan to rescue you.” He snapped his fingers. “Come down, my lady. We have a long ride ahead of us.”
She shook her head in amazement. Was this guy serious? “No.” Her voice cracked with nervousness.
His eyes widened. “What was that?”
She took a deep breath, anger creeping in to replace some of the fear. “I said ‘no’.”
He shrugged. “Then we shall lay siege, my lady. The entire Sinclair clan sheltering inside with you will perish. Some by arrow, some by flame. Rest assured, I will reduce this sorry pile of rock into a mass of blackened rubble unless you come with me now.”
Her knees turned to rubber and almost gave out on her until a pair of hands steadied her around the waist. Paul had followed her up the stairs and now stood at her side.
Panicked, she threw back, “That’s not rescuing. That is blackmail and kidnapping.”
Andrew shrugged again. “Details, my dear. Now, what will it be? Will you die along with the Sinclairs or give yourself up to save them?”
She shifted her eyes back to Paul. “Do we have enough men fighting off the Dunlops now to defend us when they get back? Tell me honestly.”
Paul’s face fell and he dropped his eyes from hers. “I fear not, especially coming from another battle. The MacTavishes are fresh. It would be a slaughter.”
Her heavy heart sank, draining away her last bit of hope. She couldn’t send those men to almost certain death. Nor could she risk the lives of the children and the entire clan who had come to her for protection.
She glanced over her shoulder to find Flora standing with Màiri and Daniel in the doorway of the keep. Màiri’s eyes were wide and rounded as she stared back, clutching her rag doll to her chest. She had no choice. Rathe wasn’t coming to save them and something must be done to protect her family. If she stayed, they would all die.
And she couldn’t do
that to Rathe. He might have been a hardened warrior used to a harsh and brutal way of life, but he had a good heart and a fierce love for his family and clan. It would be one thing for him to lose her, but there was no telling what the loss of everything and everyone he loved would do to him. It might destroy him and she couldn’t allow that to happen.
Besides, if she went with Andrew, there was a chance at least she could survive whatever lay ahead of her, right?
“Well, my lady?” Andrew shouted. “You are testing my patience.”
Her mind whirled. Could she trust him to keep his word and not attack as soon as the castle gate dropped? “Move your men back!” she shouted in a rush. “And I will come out. But not before you are at a safe distance away.”
He chuckled. “You do not trust me?”
“I don’t trust anyone who would threaten the lives of innocent women and children!” she snapped.
He nodded and placed his hand over his heart. “Just to prove to you, my lady, that I am a man of honor, we will move back. I swear I shall not attack as long as you come out peacefully.”
She turned to Paul. “As soon as they move far enough back, drop the gate.”
He shook his head. “The laird—”
Tears stung her eyes as panic arose in her throat. “You have to do this. I won’t let anyone die because of me.”
“My lady—”
“Please,” she pleaded. “As the laird’s wife, you have to obey me, right?”
He shook his head again, casting his gaze to the sky. Resignation dulled his brown eyes as he turned them back toward her. “I am truly sorry, my lady.”
She nodded, pressing her lips together in an effort to prevent the tears from falling. “How long would it take for Rathe to get to the MacTavish keep from here?”
“About a day. Maybe a bit more with a large contingent of warriors.”
Rathe could die if he came after her. Tempting as it was to tell Paul to not let Rathe go into battle for her, it would do no good. Rathe would fight for her, come hell or high water. And he would avenge her if the worst happened and she did not emerge from this alive.
She grasped Paul’s forearm, giving it a squeeze. “Thank you. Keep them all comfortable and send word to Rathe as soon as it is safe to do so.”
She turned and ran down the stairs. Màiri broke free from Flora and dashed toward her. She threw herself at Leah as they met in the center of the courtyard.
“Mommy, what is happening? I am scared,” the little girl asked in a mumble, pressing her face into the crook of her neck as Leah sank to her knees.
A deep, cavernous ache expanded in Leah’s chest, threatening to break the last thread of her control. She clasped Màiri to her, fighting back a sob. She couldn’t break down. Not now. Oh God, please, not now.
The heavy wooden gate creaked behind her. She was running out of time. Mòrag and Flora rushed toward them with Daniel clinging to Flora’s chest.
She pulled back from Màiri and brushed away the little girl’s tears with her thumbs as she held her face in her hands. “Don’t be frightened, all right? But I have to go away for a little while.” Her voice cracked in a mixture of fear and regret.
Màiri shook her head. “Mommy, no, please!”
The tears won out and spilled from Leah’s eyes, running in rivulets down her cheeks. “I have to, little one. I have to. Just remember I love you, okay?”
Màiri nodded, her lips quivering into a pout.
Then it hit Leah—she might never see Rathe again. Her stomach dropped. He didn’t know how she felt about him, how much he meant to her. He’d already given her so much she thought she’d never have. Freedom to be herself. Confidence. Love. Real, all-consuming love. She owed him so much.
She held Màiri by the shoulders and stared into those green eyes that looked so much like Rathe’s. “When you see Daddy, I need you to tell him something very important. Tell him I love him, okay?”
Màiri nodded. “Will you come back?”
Leah wanted to say “yes,” to reassure her she would indeed come back and have it be true. She tore her eyes away from Màiri’s and kissed her cheek, their tears mingling. “I will try, my love,” she whispered into the little girl’s ear.
A shout from outside the castle walls carried into the courtyard. “I am still waiting, Lady Sinclair!”
She closed her eyes, praying for any kind of assistance, and stood. Màiri clasped her hand and Leah caught Mòrag’s gaze. The older woman’s eyes were filled with tears as she wrung her apron between her fingers.
“Don’t let her watch this,” Leah pleaded. If nothing else, she didn’t want Màiri’s last memory of her to be one of her being led away by her father’s mortal enemy. “Please.”
Mòrag nodded, opening her mouth as though to speak but then clamping it shut.
There was just one more thing to say, one more request before she turned away from these people she’d grown to adore over the past two and a half months. “If something happens to me—”
Mòrag did speak then. “My lady—my dear, sweet, lassie—no.”
Leah shook her head, determined this one last wish be carried out. “Don’t tell him. If I don’t…just don’t tell him, please.”
A flicker of understanding flashed in Mòrag’s eyes and she nodded. The older woman was always true to her word. Leah had no doubt, if worse came to worst, the secret of her pregnancy would never come to light. She’d make sure no one in the clan would ever utter a word. Rathe would never know she’d been carrying his child. There was no need for him to know. It would only tear him up.
She leaned forward, kissed Daniel and then down to do the same to Màiri before prying the little girl’s fingers away from her hand. Leah spun around just as the tears overtook Màiri.
Leah’s chest convulsed with sobs she scrambled to hold inside. The crowd before her parted. Tears streaked the faces of many and some offered her words of gratitude and safety as she passed. The handful of men left behind to defend them were positioned along the curtain wall with bows and arrows trained on Andrew. Two young boys and two elderly men manned the gate, ready to pull it up as soon as she was clear of it or if Andrew broke his word and tried to send his men inside.
Her footfalls echoed in her ears as she passed through the gate, leaving the safety of the castle walls for the first time in weeks. The wooden gate groaned behind her and her heart dropped into her stomach. A swirl of wintry winds whipped her skirts around her legs.
She forced her gaze upward, but then almost faltered in her footsteps. A sea of grim-faced warriors stared back at her. A strange, hollow loneliness set in. Had she made the right decision? Could she be walking to her death for no good reason? Maybe Andrew wouldn’t be true to his word and would attempt an attack anyway. Maybe they could have held out somehow. Rathe could be on his way home right then.
Andrew hopped down off his horse and extended his hand toward her. As she studied the eagerness on his face, some of her self-doubt faded. He wanted something. Whether from her or Rathe, she couldn’t tell.
As her gaze was drawn back to his eyes, she almost stopped in her tracks. His features were suddenly familiar. It wasn’t until she drew back her stare and took in his whole form it struck her. Sandy hair, nutmeg-brown eyes, cleft chin.
Daniel.
She bit back a gasp threatening to escape from her throat. Was Daniel’s father not some random Frenchman at the Scottish court? Was that the real reason Rathe’s last wife killed herself—because she’d given birth to her husband’s enemy’s son?
She stopped in front of Andrew, ignoring his outstretched hand, and cast her eyes off to the side.
It couldn’t end like this. There was no way she could have been transported eight hundred years into the past to find the love of her life and the family she’d always wanted just to have it end like this.
Fight like hell.
Rathe’s words to her when he’d sent her alone into the woods over two months ago rang in her ears.
Determination grew within her. There was a way out of this. She just had to find it.
Andrew stepped forward and leaned toward her with the obvious intention of kissing her cheek. She turned her head to the side, avoiding it.
Pain shot through her skull as the back of his hand smacked into her cheek. She stumbled back but regained her footing, anger coiling within her belly. As she glanced up, several of his men’s faces twisted in disgust. Uncertain if it was directed at her or what Andrew had just done, she forced her face to remain cool and expressionless, refusing the urge to touch her stinging cheek. She refused to give any of them the satisfaction of seeing her fear.
Andrew drew close, his demeanor altering from ease to menace. “You would do well to submit. I can make your life very pleasant or turn it into a living hell, Lady Sinclair. It is your choice.”
He stepped back and snapped his fingers. A man dismounted from his horse and moved toward her with a rope in his hands as Andrew regained the back of his steed.
The man stopped in front of her. “Your hands please, Lady Sinclair.”
As she held out her hands, she caught the remorse passing through his blue eyes.
“I am truly sorry, my lady,” he whispered as he bound her wrists together.
She nodded, biting her lower lip. His had been the first disgusted scowl she’d caught after Andrew struck her. Could it be not all of Andrew’s men gave him unfailing trust and loyalty as Rathe’s men did him?
The sea of men parted, allowing a lone man guiding a riderless horse to pass through. The blue-eyed man assisted her onto the animal’s back while the other man tied a long lead rope to the back of Andrew’s saddle.
Andrew grinned as he looked back at her. He grabbed the lead rope and drew her horse toward him until her knee bumped his. This time when he leaned over, she remained still, every muscle rigid as she fought her instinct to curl away.
He kissed the cheek he’d slapped before and patted her knee. “I know you did not send for me, Leah, but I could not let such a delicate flower wither under the Sinclair’s neglectful thumb.”
