by Beth Mikell
“The Scotsman speaks,” he sneered, his eyes narrowing. “Was the conversation slow enough for you to understand, perhaps? In my experience, the Scots are unrefined and loutish.”
Angus grunted several curse words, yet he was still bound and unable to retaliate.
Rowan’s chest heaved with unsuppressed anger, aching to tear Sir Robert limb from limb. He knew the insulting boor would die, but he had Adara, and he could not risk her safety. “Let her go!” he commanded.
Sir Robert barked a laugh. “You forget that I do not take orders from you.”
Adara’s eyes connected with his, cutting downward. Most likely, she wanted to knee the bastard in the groin as she had done to James. He gave a curt nod. “Innis now!” The young knight moved quickly, cutting all the bindings of the Elite knights. she twisted in Sir Robert’s arms, raising her knee, impaling his lower region with a quick jab. Before her uncle even knew what happened, he doubled over, releasing her. He fell to his knees and squealed like a stuck pig.
Adara unsheathed her sword, tossing it to Rowan, and he snatched it from the air. The bound Elite knights were freed, grabbing swords and taking control of the hall, awaiting orders.
Before anyone could react to the chaos, Sir Robert gasped—a fast gurgling echoed.
Everyone stilled, standing transfixed.
Erik had plunged his sword into his father’s back.
Sir Robert’s eyes widened, blood running out his mouth. He slumped the remaining distance to floor, and the reverberations of his death faded into silence.
Erik moved to stand over him, his face contorted and flushed. “He would have killed you all,” he said quietly, shaking his head. “I could not allow that.”
The clang of battle drew fiercer—the outside fighting was approaching closer.
“Rowan, we need to go!” Angus bellowed, moving toward the archway.
Without a word to his fellow knight, Rowan slipped a hand around Adara’s waist, drawing her against his side. He gave Erik a somber expression. “The God of justice served up his last rite. Be at peace,” he said, waiting the space of a breath before turning Adara in his arms. He did not want to seem heartless in the face of Erik’s loss, but he was happy the Gray Legion leader had met his end. Too many people had suffered.
His eyes were restless, soaking in her shocked expression. He hated that she had witnessed death, even that of her uncle. As the sounds of heated battle drew closer, he knew he had to go. “Kitten, I…” he trailed off, fighting a well of pain and regret surfacing.
Duty and responsibility weighed him down. He could not stay.
She cupped his face, holding his gaze steady with hers. “I love you, Rowan the McLeod. I will love you until my last breath. Go end this, my love. Go fight with Scots pride.”
A desperate cry ripped from his throat, he dropped the sword. He seized both her cheeks in his hands, taking her lips in a fast instant. She met him fierce and hard—the woman of his heart.
He pulled back, fighting his conscience to leave, rather than stay and protect her. “And you worried about my timing to say ‘I love you?’” Despite the raging battle and dire situation, he smiled, his dimples creasing. “I love you, lass. Make no mistake—you will be my wife when this is all over.”
“I am waiting for you,” she said, her expression that of worry and uncertainty.
He leaned forward, brushing his lips over her forehead. Turning away, he bent to retrieve Adara’s sword. “Innis? Help Lady Adara and Decimus find safety,” he ordered. “I am counting on you to keep them out of danger. Don’t fail me.”
With one last look at her, he left.
Chapter 19
Adara did not have time to consult her feelings or emotions. High energy was coursing through her. Moving to Decimus, she rolled him over on his back, gasping. He had lost weight since his captivity, his cheeks were sunken, and his face pale. His clothes were dirty and ripped. He had several gashes on his head mixed with dried and fresh blood; his wiry gray-brown hair was clumpy and greasy. Dark bruises lined his jaw, cheeks, and the rims of his eyes—his left eye was swollen shut. His neck was red and blistered; his wrists were equally shredded where he had been bound. She placed two fingers on his neck, checking his heart rate. He lived, but just barely.
“Decimus, can you hear me?” She smoothed a hand over his cheek, her stomach knotting as he winced at her touch.
He groaned, his good eye fluttering open. “My lady? Is that really you?”
She smiled. “Aye, Decimus,” she said, fighting back a wave of tears. Her hands shook as she dug through her medicinal pouch, grabbing a mixture of elderberry and willow bark. She moved closer, slipping her hand under his head. “Take this. It will help the pain and infection.”
His gaze connected with hers as she eased some of the herbal potion over his lips before stowing the medicine. She grabbed a leather flask, uncorking the top; she helped him take a sip of water. He sighed, as if there was a measure of relief whispering over him. A tear traced down her face, and she looked away, fighting the urge to cry like a baby. Decimus had taught her to be strong and to face troubles without crying, but her feelings were all over the place. Terrible emotions bombarded her, ranging from pain to happiness. He was as much a father to her as Lord Samuel, and Decimus was always there for her when she needed him.
She swiped the tear away with the back of her hand, looking at her injured knight. They needed to move quickly. The distinct ring of sword battle and men yelling perpetuated urgency. “We need to get you out of here. Can you move?”
His shaky hand covered hers. “God’s blessing was upon me the day you were born, daughter of my heart,” he said softly.
“Decimus,” she whispered, more tears falling. He had never said anything of his feelings before. She knew he cared, but not how much. The impact of expressing his heart tore down the last bit of loneliness. She knew she had gained far more than she ever lost.
He attempted a smile, but a long sigh escaped his dry, cracked lips. “Do not fall apart on me, Adara. Get me to a horse. Freedom is only an opportunity for the quick and impatient. There is no quickness in me, but I am as eager as God is steady. Let’s go.”
Innis knelt down on the other side, helping Decimus into a sitting position, he grunted in agony, but eventually stood to his feet. She grabbed a torch from the wall, the three moved as quickly as possible. She retraced the path of the secret tunnel, leading them through the bolthole. Her heart was heavy. As much as she wanted to ensure Decimus’ safely away from Chevington Manor, she hated to leave Rowan. But duty and honor called over the balance of her heart. Pulling back on the mask of strength, she focused on her task. She would be the trained leader, guardian, and protector—the woman that would do anything for those she cared about.
As the night air washed over her, freedom bathed her in a cleansing freshness. The ghosting sounds of engagement were distant and eerie. Adara knew they were close to escape. She reached for her sword, coming up empty. Then she remembered she had given her weapon to Rowan. She pulled her dagger instead, her eyes darting left and right. She found several tethered horses. A creak of sticks and leaves shuddered under heavy footsteps, and a snaking fear hit her stomach. Her grip tightened on her dagger.
Simon stepped from the brush, bowing. “My lady, Lord Darrius was hopeful you would need horses to lead you to safety.”
A flood of relief traveled over her. Behind him, Cylah strode closer, leading Isidore.
Her female knight flashed a brief smile, handing the reins over to her lady. “Get out of here. The woods are mostly clear with everyone fighting, but there may be a stray knight here and there. Innis will go with you. Now, go.”
Adara frowned. “You are not coming?”
Cylah’s jaw hardened, then she shook her head. “I am staying, my lady,” she said, rushing ahead when her lady tried to comment. “I have been itching for some retribution and I am not leaving until I get it. The Gray Legion made it personal the day they attac
ked HieLach. I owe them an introduction to my brand of justice.”
The determined jut of her knight’s chin and her narrowed eyes confirmed what she already knew. There was no more to say on the matter—and no time to debate the issue. “Please be careful,” she murmured, fighting the impulse to hug her, fearing this was the last time she would ever see her. She gave in, throwing her arms around her knight. “Come home safely.”
Cylah stood stiffly, and then relented after a moment’s hesitation, clasping her mistress. “Always,” she rasped, stepping back and inclined her head.
Adara turned away, vaulting up on Isidore. Out of her peripheral vision, she saw the two Elite knights help her injured knight onto a horse. Simon handed her the reins to Decimus’ mount. Glancing at Cylah, she said, “HieLach is waiting for you.”
Then she turned her horse into the night and led Decimus and Innis away.
*.*.*.*
Cylah waited until her lady was out of sight before she turned toward Simon. She gave him a cursory glance. “Will you stay?”
He flinched, then rubbed the back of his neck. “What will you do—”
She exhaled a hard breath, turning away. “Leave, Simon. I do not need your worries or weak stomach,” she said, stomping through the woods. Her steps were surefooted and steady. She heard him curse, following behind her.
“We should talk about this,” Simon called out.
She stopped, flipping him a glare. “What is there to discuss?”
He huffed a small breath. “We have a king’s prisoner in our hands. The king’s justice must be upheld. We are not rogue knights.”
She sneered. “Really? The king’s justice? That is the only comeback you have? Where was the king’s justice when that man—” She pointed the opposite direction, “—raped a fourteen year old girl, then slit her throat. I found her mother clutching her lifeless body, then kill herself because her grief was too much.” She shook her head, disgust riding her expression. “Where was the king’s justice when I found a room full of babes was slain in a village not far from HieLach? I listened to the weeping mother’s mourn the loss of their children and I could do nothing. I will not wait for the king’s justice—I will give my own. If you are worried about your Elite reputation, leave Simon. I do not want you here.” Turning her back on him, she stomped away.
She came up to small clearing, a small fire blazing. Searching her surroundings, she found her quarry, tied up with several knights guarding him. Erik of Chevington stood to one side with Rowan. Her gaze connected with the McLeod. “Lady Adara and Decimus are safely headed back to HieLach,” she said tonelessly.
He nodded. “Thank you.”
The sound of grunts and a high-pitched cry infused the area. A sense of impending justice filled her. There was deep, swirling emotion fisting her gut, an emotion close to righteousness. She would make the accused pay for his crimes—her way.
“May I ask how you captured him?” Rowan asked, flicking a glance toward the bound man on his knees.
Cylah raised an eyebrow. “When he came flying out of the great hall, I was waiting. I tripped him, and then speared him in the shoulder. Erik helped me bring him here. Then, I sent for you,” she explained, giving him the same glare she gave the other Elite knight. “If you have an issue with me handling this, then leave. As Simon pointed out, you are not rouge knights and this is not the king’s way.”
Rowan shook his head. “I am staying.”
She gave a curt jerk of her head, walking toward her captive. A dark sense of bloodlust flowed through her veins. She would draw upon her ancestors and use the skill of her Saxon-Norse lineage. The two Elite knights were welcome to watch her torture the criminal, but they would not interfere with her plan.
No one would stand in her way.
Drawing her small axe hooked to her side, she took a step toward James, the Gray Legion first knight. He squirmed and continued squealing, but his cries did not reach her. Thoughts of all his victims and everything he had done echoed through her mind. The raped women and children. The feeble. The lost. The destitute. The husbandless. The fatherless. The homeless. Her face would be his last vision before hell’s fire claimed him.
She spat on the ground, holding up her weapon. The sharp blade flashed in the firelight. She drew her the metal across her palm, showing no emotion. With two fingers, she swiped the blood, drawing it across one cheek. Then the other cheek.
She turned, eyeing Rowan. “I will not tolerate interference.”
He nodded, and then he asked, “What will you do?”
A slight smile curved her lips. “I will make him fly to hell, courtesy of the Blood Eagle.” Her hand tightened on the axe handle.
The McLeod’s lips parted. “God’s teeth! Isn’t that where you crack open his ribs, and—”
“Yes,” she hissed, striding toward James. Bare chested with a bloody wound oozing down, his hands were tied between two trees, and he twisted against his bonds. “It is time.”
She would do this for Lady Adara and everyone at HieLach. The tears of the innocent would be wiped away. The blameless would be made clean. Armed judgement would be served by her hand.
*.*.*.*
Blackstone Lands.
Dawn was upon the king’s men. Rays of soft light slipped through the trees and brought forth a new day. Freedom praised the earth with light dew and welcomed the crispness of life without unknown foes.
Surrounded by his Elite, Lord Darrius reined in his warhorse. The juncture parted several ways, and Rowan eyed the path that would have taken him north to HieLach. His heart was heavy as his eyes scanned ahead. He ached to travel that direction, but he could not. Still duty beckoned him to stay at his cousin’s side and finish the mission they had worked on for years. He knew Adara and Decimus had made their journey safely back to HieLach. Innis had traveled with them, and then returned, reporting their arrival.
While his heart was satisfied with the knowledge she was sheltered away from danger, he missed her fiercely. His lungs worked the air in and out of his lungs, but he was twisted up deep inside. He did not have leave to see her, but at the first opportunity, he would speak to Darrius about leaving the Elite. There was nothing he wanted more than to spend the rest of his life with his kitten—the love of his heart. And he would, one day soon.
His lord gave his grateful thanks to Sir Douglas, who offered his hand. The two men spoke in low tones, most likely discussing the fate of the remaining Gray Legion prisoners.
Cylah drew up beside him, eyeing him with a shuddered expression. She appeared tired and worn. Her cheeks were still smeared with blood, her face streaked with dirt. They had not had the best beginning, but he respected her, more now, especially after how she had ended James. He would never forget how she killed the Gray Legion knight, his haunting screams would be with him forever.
“How long will it be before I see you again,” she asked quietly, her eyes hard and glittering.
He enjoyed the subtle way she questioned his return, but he wished he had an answer. “I do not know, but expect me.”
She looked away, sighing, and then met his gaze again. “Do not delay too long, McLeod. Your presence at HieLach is… required.”
He flashed a grin, his dimples creasing. “Nothing could keep me away, lass.” Her lips curved upwards, but he could not say it was an actual smile.
She offered her hand. “It was an honor to fight beside you today.”
He shook her hand, feeling as though he had managed a great feat as to win over Adara’s female knight. “I’d spar with you any day of the week.”
Chuckling, she turned her horse in the direction of HieLach. “May it be soon!” She took off, galloping away.
The pain of not traveling with her settled like a dagger in his heart.
Chapter 20
HieLach
Sitting in his bed, Decimus appeared the image of vitality and health after one month. Adara sat beside him, checking the pulse on his wrist for the fifth time, findi
ng strong, steady beats. She was worried about him, but he was much changed from his injured state. Long gone was the pallor and blood running from his wounds—his bruises and gashes had healed. His weight had returned, and he looked refreshed and calm.
Taryn and Kayden took up the other side of the bed, filling the air with non-stop chatter and laughs. They helped lift Decimus’ spirits, making him smile. Cylah stood off alone at the window. She often took up residence at any portal, gazing out over HieLach, never offering a comment. After returning the night of the Gray Legion’s demise, she had only said everything had been taken care of, and that the Elite were safe from harm. That had been her way of saying Rowan was safe.
But he had not returned.
She knew he was sworn to Lord Darrius, a fealty she could not interfere, but she missed him. Their last moments replayed in her mind constantly. Sometimes she thought his touch and words never happened, only ghostly phantoms as strong as her night terrors. By some act of impossible fate, she felt as though he had not been real. Not his image. Not his embrace. Not his mouth. Not his… possession. And most certainly, not his love. Her heart burned with ache. Her body fought tremors. She was on edge constantly, struggling to breathe. When the pain was too much, she walked the battlements or went to Iron Mountain to harvest herbs, but there was no escape from herself, or the anguish stripping her heart daily.
There were times when she wanted to saddle Isidore and ride to Blackstone Castle. She would go to the stables, staring at her saddle and stroking the leather. She would brush down her horse, imagining the ride that would end her torture. Still she stayed at HieLach. She held back, waiting for a man that had shown her love and gave her hope in her darkest moments.
Kayden’s whining drew Adara out of her thoughts. Decimus had asked Taryn to take her niece for her nap so he could speak with her, yet the little darling did not want to leave.
Before she could comment, Cylah strode closer, offering her hand to the little girl. “Come, Kayden. You will need rest. I will give your first riding lesson today.”
