by Rowan Keats
“Niall MacCurran brought it with him from Duthes.”
Isabail blinked. Duthes? “But the necklace was stolen from Lochurkie. How did it get to Duthes?”
He tugged. “None of that matters. We are wasting time. We must enter the caves quickly, before we are discovered.”
“Nay.” If they did not make it to the horses soon, all of this effort would be for naught. She tried to free her hand from his grasp and failed. “Cease this madness, Daniel. The necklace is not worth our lives.”
He snorted. “It’s worth far more than you know.” Yanking her sharply, he threw her off balance. As she stumbled, he caught her around the waist and pulled her toward the entrance to the caves. “I’m not leaving without it. Protesting will only cause further delay.”
Even ill, he was considerably stronger than Isabail. He dragged her along with surprising ease. Aware that she was slowing them down at a time when speed was of the essence, she reluctantly ceded the moment to him and ended her struggles.
He smiled down at her. “A wise decision.”
As they ducked into the ancient storeroom at the far end of the camp, they came face-to-face with young Jamie MacCurran. He slid the sack of dried beans he was carrying to the floor and eyed Daniel with a heavy frown. “Lady Isabail? Is all well?”
* * *
Pushing open the door, Aiden peered inside his chamber. There was no sign of Isabail. Even the brazier had gone cold. Where could she be?
He scanned the close, coming to an abrupt halt at the roundhouse with a guard standing outside. De Lourdes. He covered the distance between the two huts in a dozen long strides. But when he swept aside the fur drape, he found that room, too, was empty.
“Where is de Lourdes?” he asked the guard.
The man’s expression turned to surprise, and he peered inside with a perplexed frown. “I don’t know.”
“That’s a very poor answer,” Aiden said softly.
The guard gulped. “I’ll find him,” he promised. He jogged around the hut and returned to Aiden’s side. “There’s a hole cut in the back wall. It seems he’s escaped, laird.”
Escaped.
An icy calm filtered through Aiden’s veins. Spinning on his heel, he hailed the guards at the entrance to the hill fort. “Seal the entry! No one is to go in or out.” To the men milling about the close, he said grimly, “Find me Daniel de Lourdes.”
Every gillie immediately ceased what he was doing and searched for the missing man, checking every hut, lifting every tarp, opening every barrel. The hill fort did not boast many hiding spots, and it quickly became clear that their wounded visitor wasn’t the only one missing. Isabail had disappeared, too. Aiden’s chest grew painfully tight, every breath a chore. There was only one conclusion to reach—the vixen had never intended to give him the names. She had plotted an escape with de Lourdes.
“Fetch me my horse!” he roared.
One of the lads raced forward with his mount in tow. He swiftly saddled the horse and mounted. The hound, Gorm, remained at his side throughout, even when Aiden wheeled his mighty steed about and tore out of the hilltop enclosure.
* * *
Daniel immediately released Isabail and grabbed Jamie, clasping a broad hand over the boy’s mouth. “One more word and you’re dead, lad.”
“Let him go,” Isabail urged, suddenly beyond weary. This madcap attempt to escape was quickly becoming a farce. “He’s just a boy. He has no part in this, Daniel.”
“He stinks,” Daniel said with a laugh. “Do you perchance tend the horses, lad?” Easing his hand away from Jamie’s mouth, he allowed the boy to answer.
“Aye.”
“Marvelous. The Lord is surely guiding our efforts. We’ll need you when it comes time to depart.” Daniel tossed a lopsided smile at Isabail. “Let us continue.”
“Nay,” she said. “I will not involve this boy in our affairs.”
The smile fell away, and Daniel’s eyes narrowed. “You will do as I command.”
Isabail took a step back. Never in all the years she had known him had Daniel spoken to her in such a tone. Not a hint of the charming scholar remained. In his stead stood a cold, hard stranger. “I will not.”
“You speak too hastily, Isabail.” He held up his eating dirk. “Enter the tunnel, or the lad’s blood is on your hands.”
“You would not hurt an innocent boy,” she protested, aghast.
“Are you willing to test my resolve?”
She shook her head, her mouth sour with dread. Turning, she led the way into the tunnel. But her feet dragged. Several of the torches that normally lit the way had burned out, and the walls felt unusually close and damp. Memories of being trapped in the darkness sucked the air from her chest.
Daniel gave Isabail a hard shove in the back that sent her to her knees. Rock bit into her knees and hands as she hit the floor. “Move,” he snarled. “Quickly, or the boy will suffer for your stubbornness.”
She scrambled to her feet, pressing her stinging palms to her skirt. “Let him go, Daniel. If you need a hostage, use me. You do not need Jamie.”
She turned to face him.
He held Jamie’s head in the crook of his elbow, one hand firmly clapped over the boy’s mouth and nose. Jamie’s eyes were wide, the whites clearly visible. Isabail’s heart clenched for him. This was all her fault. She had believed Daniel’s greatest wounds were physical when, in fact, they were of the soul. He had lied about his interest in the necklace—and he had made a fool of her.
A hot rush of anger surged through her veins.
“Let him go, Daniel,” she repeated. “Please.”
Daniel waved the dirk at her. “Cease your dallying. The hand I hold over his mouth and nose can either grant him air to breathe or deny him. Your actions decide his fate, Isabail.”
Isabail met Jamie’s terrified gaze, and she spun on her heel, continuing down the corridor. The shadows around her were deep and thick. Finding her way in semidarkness was a challenge she was ill prepared for. A few days ago, she would have found the task a simple one, but after her ordeal in the tomb, the creeping shadows gave rise to goose bumps on her arms and thoughts that made her heart pound.
When the tunnel opened into the wide storage area, she breathed easier. Again, she confronted Daniel. “We are here. Now let him go.”
“Nay,” snapped Daniel. “He’ll bring the MacCurrans down upon my head. He stays.” He looked around. “Where’s the tomb?”
Isabail swallowed. She had no intention of revealing the tomb’s whereabouts to Daniel. In his current state, he wouldn’t hesitate to disturb the final resting place of the unnamed Pictish king. And who knew what he would do with the crown and sword?
“The tomb holds only a dead body,” she said. “This room is where the necklace will be.”
“Do you think me a lackwit?” he sneered. “No ordinary tomb is protected by such an elaborate trap as the one you described. This one surely contains a treasure, making it the perfect place to hide the necklace. Show me where it is, or I will kill the lad.”
Daniel de Lourdes had lived with her brother for more than five years. She knew him well. He was a gentle scholar—an herbalist of some renown—not a warrior. His expertise lay with the quill, not the sword. He was not capable of killing Jamie. “You will not kill him. I know you, Daniel. Let the boy go, and I will help you search for the necklace.”
A humorless smile rose to Daniel’s lips. “You do not know me at all, Isabail. You’ve no idea what I’m capable of. I loved John—that much is true. Indeed, I loved him more than I have ever loved anyone in my life. But I’m also the one who killed him.”
Isabail’s heart skipped a beat. “What?”
Daniel’s face twisted. “It was an accident, of course. I did not mean for him to die. I brewed a potent poison, to which he was exposed. The moment I realized wha
t had happened, I wished with all my heart that I could take his place. But it was too late. By the time I found him, the poison was already making him delirious.”
“Nay,” denied Isabail, clutching her chest. In all her wildest imaginings, she would never have believed Daniel would kill her brother. “It’s not possible.”
“I’m afraid it is,” he said coldly. “So, you see, your belief in me is unfounded. Open the door to the tomb, or I will kill this boy as surely as I killed our dear, sweet John.”
Isabail swallowed the bitter lump in her throat. Daniel had killed her brother. Not Ana Bisset. Not Aiden MacCurran. Daniel. The man she believed had entered the MacCurran camp to rescue her was a charlatan, a liar, and a murderer.
“Open the tomb, Isabail.”
With eyes blurred by a sudden onset of tears, she saw him draw Jamie against his chest, the arm about the boy’s neck tightening like a drawstring—squeezing, choking. Jamie’s face reddened, and he began to flail, kicking Daniel’s leg and clawing at his arm. But Daniel did not waver.
His eyes met Isabail’s as he slowly but surely strangled the boy before her eyes.
“Cease,” she cried. “I will show you.”
“Hurry, Isabail. The boy doesn’t have much time.”
She dashed to the twin barrels and squeezed between them. Then she scrambled up the flour sacks. “The door opens with a winch. It will take me time to wind it. Please let him breathe.”
As she reached the top of the sacks, she heard Jamie gasp for breath. Fearing that Daniel would permit him only one, she dropped to the winch below and began to turn the crank. Six turns of the crank and the winch locked into place, just as it had done before. And just as she had recalled, the clink of the lock was followed by a harsh grind of rock on rock.
Isabail climbed over the flour sacks. Jamie was breathing in short, raspy draws.
“Show me,” Daniel demanded.
She led the way to the flat wall at the end of the tunnel. Daniel stared at the symbols engraved on the slab for a few moments, then waved the dirk again. “Open it.”
Remembering the entirety of her ordeal in stark clarity, she placed both palms over the boar and pushed with all her might. The big granite slab pivoted, opening into the tomb chamber.
“There,” she said. “You can search the tomb yourself. Nothing but the withered bones of an old corpse inside.”
Daniel sheathed his dirk and snatched a torch from the wall sconce near the entrance to the tomb. “I haven’t forgotten your tale, Isabail. You lost your way inside and were trapped for hours.” He released Jamie, handed him the torch, and shoved him toward the opening. “Search diligently and bring back everything you find that looks valuable. Go.”
Jamie stumbled forward, one hand on the wall and the other on his throat. His legs were obviously weak.
“Stop!”
Isabail halted Jamie before he could step on the tile that would close the door and seal him inside. “I’ll go with him.”
“Only one of you goes,” Daniel said, grabbing Isabail’s arm. “Tell him what he needs to know to succeed. And if you’re wise, you’ll not give him incorrect instructions. The longer we wait for him to return, the shorter my temper will get.” He pinched her arm until she whimpered. “And believe me, you will not enjoy my company if it comes to that.”
Isabail shared a look with Jamie. “Leap over the tiles in the floor near the door. The tomb is around a bend in the tunnel ten paces ahead.”
Jamie nodded, then advanced into the tunnel.
“Pray he does not betray us,” Daniel said, pulling her toward him. “I would hate to have to kill you.”
Isabail had been this close to Daniel many times over the years, often while engaged in some sort of playful banter that included her brother. But this time a shiver of fear ran through her. The icy tone of his voice left her in no doubt: He would fulfill his promise to kill her if Jamie did not return.
It was difficult to imagine John’s death at Daniel’s hands. She’d only ever witnessed amusing or tender moments between the two. Had her brother known the identity of his murderer? She prayed not. It would have made his last moments unbearable. John had trusted Daniel like no other. He had forsaken a wife in favor of continuing to share his life with Daniel, even though it meant the earldom would pass to a different branch of the family upon his death—and that was no small commitment for John to make.
“How could you betray him that way?” she asked honestly.
Daniel’s grip on her arm tightened. “Do you not think I have berated myself time and time again for my mistake? Believe me, I have. I even contemplated throwing myself upon his sword simply to make amends.”
Torchlight flickered in the cavern of the tomb. Jamie was returning.
“But my death would not have brought John back,” he said grimly. “And so I dedicated myself to a greater purpose.”
“Accusing MacCurran of your crime?”
He snorted. “MacCurran deserves what has come to him. He and his kin are the cause of many a grievance.”
Jamie appeared at the mouth of the narrow tunnel, his arms clasping the sword and the crown to his chest. He struggled to hold the torch aloft as he walked, but he remembered to avoid the tiles on the tunnel floor as he exited.
“What have you got there, lad?” Daniel asked, releasing Isabail. He stepped forward to grab the silver crown. He grinned as he spied the large sapphire set in the band. “Nothing but a few moldering bones, eh, Isabail? And here I thought lying was beneath you.”
Then he spied a velvet bag in Jamie’s hands, and he snatched it from the boy’s fingers. Tugging on the drawstring, he peered inside. “A gold necklace set with a magnificent heart-shaped ruby. Do you know the value of this find, lad?”
Jamie shook his head.
“Such a necklace can change the course of history. It has the power to right a great wrong, and I intend to see that power enacted. With a little help from a friend in Edinburgh.” Daniel stuffed the velvet bag in the front of his lèine. “Time to make our escape, I believe.”
“MacCurran will come after us,” Isabail warned, hoping that her words were true.
Daniel studied her in the torchlight. “He does seem to have developed a genuine affection for you, Isabail. But perhaps I can use that to my advantage. Slow his pursuit, just a little.”
“Coward.” She glared at him.
He took the sword from Jamie’s hands, held it up to the torchlight, and then drew the blade from its beautiful silver sheath. “And murderer. While you’re tossing insults, my dear, don’t forget that one.”
Then, without further warning or any hint of regret, Daniel ran her through.
All Isabail knew was blinding pain in her gut and a buzzing in her ears, and then everything went black.
* * *
Cormac was an excellent tracker. When they had searched a wide strip of land around the hilltop fort and the bowman found no evidence of a trail, Aiden called a halt.
“You’re saying that they’re still inside the fort?”
“There’s no sign that they headed into the woods, laird.”
Aiden nodded. It made him happier to know that Isabail had not left the confines of the camp. He urged his stallion into a canter and rode up the winding path to the outer wall. Any pleasure he felt vanished as soon as he saw Niall at the entrance. His brother’s face was gray with worry, and there was a dark stain of blood on the front of his lèine.
“What is it?” he demanded, leaping off his mount.
“Isabail,” Niall said quietly. “We found her in the tunnels.”
Aiden’s heart stopped cold, and for the briefest of moments, he couldn’t catch his breath. It was a worrisomely large stain. “Where is she?”
“With Ana.”
He headed for Niall’s hut.
“Aiden,”
Niall said, his voice grim. “The sword and crown are gone.”
His lips tightened. “Have you found de Lourdes?”
“No. We found one of the lads unconscious with a bump on his head. He was watching the horses.”
A dull pain flashed behind Aiden’s eyes. “Cormac said there was no evidence of a trail in the woods. Where in bloody hell did the bastard go?”
“Mayhap Isabail knows.”
“He hurt her,” Aiden said. “Why would she know anything?”
“She let him into the tomb, Aiden. There’s no other way for him to have made off with the crown.” Niall’s lips twisted. “He took the necklace, too, of course.”
The dull pain sharpened. Niall was right. The likelihood that Isabail had shared her knowledge of the treasure with Daniel was high. The man had been injured only a few days before. It was not likely he’d spent the hours combing the tunnels that Isabail had. And the two were exceptionally friendly. Maybe even lovers.
Aiden stiffened. Lord, that made a painful amount of sense. She’d helped Daniel steal the treasure only to be betrayed herself by a false lover.
He strode to Niall’s hut and entered.
Ana met him just inside the door.
“How does she fare?” Aiden asked, the muscles in his throat so tight the words came out hoarse.
“I have healed the wound,” Ana said. “But the blood loss was great. Despite all my efforts, her body is weakening.”
He peered over her shoulder. Isabail lay on a straw pallet, her face deathly pale. Her blue gown was rent midway down her torso, and the soft wool was soaked with blood. Will she die? The question was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak it. He feared the answer wouldn’t be to his liking.
“She’s awake,” Ana said, stepping aside to let him pass. “I’ve asked her to rest, but she wishes to speak with you.”
As Aiden approached the bed, Isabail opened her bright blue eyes. They were the only color in her face. Even her lips were white as snow.
