by Lynsay Sands
Domnall chuckled dryly behind her, his breath catching at her hair and ruffling it slightly. "Now there's the Kade I ken. 'Tis good to ken marriage has no' completely unmanned ye."
Kade stared coldly back. "What is yer answer? Say ye'll let her go and walk out o' here, and I'll ha'e the men lower their weapons."
"'Tis a truly kind offer," Domnall said dryly. "And I ken yer usually honorable about yer word. Howbeit, I think this time I'll no' take chances. I'm takin' her with me to ensure me safe escape, and ye'll stay here to ensure I doona kill her. I'll set her free when I feel 'tis safe to do so."
Domnall began to ease to the side, forcing Averill to move with him by pressing the knife tighter to her neck, so that she either moved with him or sliced her own throat. She moved, her eyes searching out Kade as she went, memorizing him in case this was the last she saw of him in this lifetime.
Averill saw the way his hands clenched at his sides, his body stiff with helpless frustration and rage, then her eyes lifted to his to find them locked on her as if he in his turn were memorizing her. She tried to offer him a reassuring smile but knew it was a complete failure. She was scared, and the muscles of her face would not obey her mind's silent command to hide that.
Domnall came to a halt, and Averill felt the muscles in his chest shift against her back as he did something behind him, then a gust of stale air moved past her in a cloud. It reminded her of the night she'd crept through Mortagne's secret passageways to Kade's room, and she knew he had opened some sort of passage behind them. She wondered briefly why her husband had not mentioned that Stewart had them as well but supposed he would have in time. It also didn't matter much right then, she thought, as Domnall suddenly cursed.
Shifting her eyes to the side as far as she could, Averill tried to see what had the man cursing and saw that he'd picked up a candle from the mantel...an unlit one that would hardly be of much use to him. She sensed his hesitation, then saw his eyes turn to survey Kade and the men by the door.
"You! Boy!" he snapped, and Averill noticed Laddie standing in the hall, peeking around the door, taking in the situation. The boy turned his attention their way at Domnall's call, however. As had happened the first time she'd met the lad, his eyes went wide, and he pointed to his own chest in question.
"Bring a lit torch from the hall," Domnall ordered sharply, tossing the useless candle aside.
Averill gritted her teeth and barely kept from jumping nervously as the holder and candle hit the floor and skittered across it.
She saw Laddie turn and peer uncertainly along the hall, but when he didn't move she realized the torches were too high for him to reach. Aidan seemed to realize it, too, and slid into the hall and briefly out of sight to collect one for him. He returned a moment later and presented a lit torch to the boy. Laddie immediately carried it forward, his eyes wide and worried, and Averill forced an encouraging smile for the boy. Whether it reassured him at all, she didn't know, but he puffed up his chest a little and forced the fear from his face as he reached them.
"Give it to her," Domnall snapped, when Laddie paused.
Averill held her hand out, but the boy hesitated, lifted his chin, and bravely offered, "I could carry it fer ye. Ye could let Lady Averill go then."
Her gaze softened on the boy, and her smile was a true one as she whispered, "Thank you, Laddie, but 'twill be best do I take it." When he hesitated, she added softly, "All will be well."
"I said give it to her," Domnall growled impatiently.
Laddie did not look pleased but handed the torch over. Averill had barely closed her hand around the flaming stick of wood when Domnall began dragging her backward into the passage behind them. She saw Laddie move forward as if to follow as was his wont, but Domnall suddenly reached out and slapped a lever beside them, and the passageway entrance slammed closed, locking them in the wall together and locking out everyone she loved.
Domnall wasted no time then. Turning them both, he forced her forward, hurrying her along the dark and narrow corridor behind the rooms.
Averill was totally unprepared when he suddenly came to a halt, and she winced as she felt the knife dig into her throat when she did not stop quickly enough, but had little time to worry about that as he suddenly withdrew the hand that held the knife to her throat and pushed her forward. Unprepared for that as well, Averill stumbled and fell forward onto her hands and knees on the dirty stone floor, the torch slipping from her hand as she tried to save herself.
"Pick it up," Domnall ordered, and Averill at first thought he meant the torch, but he was there before her, grabbing it up and gesturing it forward over her head, repeating, "Pick it up."
Averill turned back to look where he gestured and realized she'd fallen in front of a shallow, narrow alcove, just big enough for a good-sized chest. Rising onto her knees, she moved closer, eyeing the thing curiously and wondering what was in it.
"Hurry up, damn ye!" he snapped furiously, kicking her in the flank. "They'll no wait long before followin'."
Gritting her teeth against the pain shooting from her lower hip from the blow, Averill forced herself to her feet and bent to grab the chest by the handles on both side. She started to rise then, but the chest did not budge. Frowning, she squatted to use her legs in the lifting and tried again, but it was simply far too heavy, and her efforts were not shifting it at all.
"Pick it up," Domnall snarled.
"I cannot," Averill said quietly. "'Tis too heavy."
"It had best no' be or yer useless to me. I canno' carry it and guard you, too."
Biting her lip at the threat in those words, Averill made another effort, but 'twas useless. She could not lift it.
Domnall had just started moving toward her, eyes cold and face mean in the torchlight, when the passageway door opened behind them. Cursing, he glanced wildly around, then moved close to the wall next to her, and hit something. He then hurled the torch down the passageway at Kade as he started into it. Darkness immediately dropped down around her and Domnall at this end of the passageway, but Averill saw her husband duck back into the room to avoid the torch. And then Domnall grabbed her arm in the dark and hauled her to her feet. She stumbled where he pulled her, saw another entrance had opened, then she was being dragged into a room. The entrance slammed closed behind her.
Before Averill even knew where she was, Domnall had her tight against his chest again, his knife once more at her throat, but his other hand now covering her mouth.
"Make a sound, an' I'll kill ye right now," Domnall warned in a harsh whisper, then eased them both closer to the wall to try to hear what was happening in the passage on the other side.
Averill glanced around as they waited, quickly realizing they were in Brodie's room. She didn't know if it was planning on the man's part or good fortune, but he'd chosen the one room least likely for them to be found in. With Brodie dead, no one would bother coming into this room until someone ordered it cleaned, and she doubted if the men would even consider that Domnall would dare to stop to wait in a room, for they knew not that the all-important chest was in the passage alcove. Had Domnall not pointed it out to her, she certainly would never have noticed it, and Kade and the others would be looking ahead, expecting Domnall to follow the passage all the way to wherever it ended.
His arm tightened, his knife pressing painfully against her skin, and Averill became aware of the very faint sounds of voices reaching her. She supposed the entrance must have a sliver-sized crack either at the floor or where it joined the wall for them to hear it, but that mattered little. It sounded to her like the voices were almost directly on the other side of the wall and moving past.
Averill closed her eyes, trying to think. Domnall no doubt intended to wait for them to pass, and then...what? She considered the situation and realized with a sinking heart that her inability to lift the chest put her in a very precarious position. As he'd said, he could not carry the chest and hold the knife to her at the same time. Rather than a shield between him and those following, she was
suddenly a burden and a risk.
With the men out searching high and low for them, Domnall could conceivably remain safely in this room for some time without fear of discovery. When things quieted down, he could slip out, collect the chest, and disappear with it...In which case, he didn't need her at all anymore. In fact, keeping her alive risked her screaming or otherwise making a sound that would jeopardize him.
Domnall would kill her, Averill realized grimly. It was the smartest move. He would probably wait until the men had passed by to do it, but she doubted he would wait long after. If she intended to save herself, she would have to do it very soon, she decided, like that very moment.
Holding her breath, Averill began to feel around with her hands for something that could be used as a weapon. She did her best to keep her back and upper arms as still as she could while she did it, in the hopes it would keep Domnall from noticing what she was doing. Her eyes closed and her breath eased out on a slow exhalation when she felt something leaning against the wall before her, and she eased her fingers over it, trying to deduce what it was and whether it would be useful. It took her a moment to sort out that it was Brodie's shield. A fine metal one that she doubted had ever seen even one battle--the one that Laddie had used on its owner their first night there, when Brodie had attacked her.
Still struggling not to shift her upper arms and back muscles too much, Averill slowly grasped the edge of the shield and managed to lift it. She then eased it over until she could grasp it with both hands. Averill paused then to decide the best way to proceed, but there seemed little choice in the matter. The only option open to her was to raise it straight up over her head and slam it down behind her onto his and hope she did so with enough strength to knock out the man, or he'd surely slit her throat for her trouble.
Gritting her teeth, Averill sucked in a breath and did it. Ignoring the knife at her throat, she shot the shield up with as much strength as she could muster and swung it back over her head at Domnall.
Fortunately, distracted as he was listening at the wall, the man didn't notice what she was about until it was too late. She heard the gong of the metal shield slamming into his head and Domnall's startled grunt. She was suddenly released, and Averill immediately stepped away, raising the shield again and whirling to face him at the same time.
Domnall roared with fury as he saw the second blow coming and tried to raise an arm to shield himself, but stunned by the first blow, he was clumsy and too slow, and Averill was desperate and quicker. She slammed the shield down the second time with a furious shriek of her own, putting every ounce of weight and strength she possessed behind it, landing a damaging blow to the front of his head.
Averill immediately lifted the shield for a third strike, but Domnall was already falling forward, and she leapt back instead, keeping her shield at the ready should he dare move once on the floor.
She was staring at him warily when the wall beside them suddenly burst open, and men poured in. Kade was at the front and came to an abrupt halt when he took in the situation. His gaze slid over the man lying before her, then to Averill. Leaving Domnall to the others to deal with, he stepped over the man with indifference and moved straight for her.
Averill let the shield slip from her hands, ignoring the clang when it hit the floor as her husband reached her and immediately scooped her up into his arms. She caught at his shoulders and held on as he swung around, intending to carry her out of the room.
"Kade?"
He paused at once and turned them both toward Will. "Aye?"
"What shall we do with him?" her brother asked, gesturing to the man he, Ian, Gawain, and Aidan stood over.
"Throw him in the dungeon," Kade said coldly.
He started to swing away again with her, but paused when Will said, "Well, I suppose we could do that, but why you would want to hang a corpse in chains I do not know."
Averill took a closer look at the fallen man even as Kade did. Her eyes widened when she saw that Will and Gawain had turned Domnall over to reveal his own knife protruding from his chest. He had apparently landed on it when he fell.
"Then do whatever ye wish with him. I doona care," Kade said with indifference, and turned away again. This time he carried her out of the room without being called back.
"I am fine. You need not carry me," Averill murmured, as he carried her along the hall toward their room.
"Yer bleedin'," he said grimly.
"What?" she asked with surprise.
"Yer neck."
She felt worriedly at her throat and winced at the tenderness there and the length of the slice in her throat. It was long, but Averill had no idea whether it was from when she'd hit Domnall over the head the first time, or from when he'd been dragging her around before that. She didn't think it was very deep, though. At least she hoped not.
"'Tis all right," Averill said reassuringly. "It hardly hurts."
Kade ignored that and roared, "Bess," as he carried her past the stairs.
"Husband, I am fine. Really," she insisted, tempted to smile at his concern.
This had no more effect than her earlier reassurance, and he continued on to their room. Once there, Kade carried her to the bed then paused. Rather than set her down on it, he turned and settled to sit on the edge of it himself, still holding her in his arms. He then kissed her with a barely restrained violence that rather took her breath away.
"Yer ne'er to scare me like that again," Kade growled when he finally lifted his head. "I thought I'd lost ye."
Averill stared at him, a bit stunned by the depth of emotion she saw in his eyes, then glanced to the door as Bess bustled into the room.
"You called for me, my--" Her voice died as she spotted Averill. The maid blanched at the blood Averill could now feel dripping down her throat, then turned and rushed back out into the hall, shouting for water and linens. Bess was back in the room in a trice and detouring for the chest where Averill kept her bag of medicinals. She paused long enough to retrieve what she thought she would need from the bag and moved over to stand before Averill and Kade.
"What happened?" Bess asked as she placed two fingers under Averill's chin and tilted her head up to better see the wound.
"Domnall cut her," Kade snarled, sounding like he'd like to kill the man, already dead or not.
"I hope you beat him for it," Bess said grimly as she leaned closer.
"Nay," Kade said, sounding unhappy, then added, "Averill killed him."
"I did not," she gasped, jerking her face from Bess's hand to glare at her husband. "I merely hit him with the shield. He fell on his own knife and killed himself."
"Oh," he said, then his lips spread in a slow grin. "Laddie, you, and Morag are proving handy with shields. I'm thinkin' we should hang some on every wall o' the keep. If we're ever invaded, ye can beat 'em back fer us."
"Morag used a tray," Averill reminded him, relieved to see some of the grimness slipping away.
"A shield is heavier," he pointed out. "And had there been one in our room that night, she'd ha'e no' spilled yer meal."
"Aye," Averill agreed. "Shields it is."
They smiled at each other and glanced toward the door as a rustling announced the arrival of Morag. She carried a bowl of water and the linen Bess had shouted for, and Bess took both with relief and quickly set about cleaning Averill's neck.
"'Twill need stitches," Bess decided as soon as she'd cleaned the blood away.
"Nay," Averill gasped, lowering her head with alarm.
"'Tis bleeding badly, Avy," Will said, making his presence known, and she turned to find that they had a good-sized audience by then. Will, Laddie, Aidan, Gawain, and Ian stood watching with solemn expressions, each nodding as she glanced at them.
Morag was still hovering nearby, and Lily and Annie were entering the room even then.
Averill bit her lip and glanced to Kade.
"'Tis a nasty cut, wife, and in an awkward spot. Every time ye turn yer head, 'twill reopen. 'Twould be better were i
t sewn up," he said with regret, then glanced to the maids, and ordered, "Fetch her some whiskey."
"I shall get the needle," Bess announced, moving away even as Morag headed out to get the requested whiskey.
"But..." Averill began with something close to panic. She paused, however, before blurting the rest of what she wanted to say, that she didn't wish to have stitches. Averill had stitched up countless injuries since her mother had taught her to tend the ailing and injured, but had only ever needed them once herself, and that was for a cut on the palm of her hand as a child. It had only been two very tiny stitches, but in her recollection it had hurt like the devil to get them, and she knew this was a much larger cut and very much feared it was going to hurt even worse. Rather than blurt her desire not to have them, she tried, "But, husband, surely do we put some ointment on it and bandage it up, 'twill close on its own. I will just not turn my head for a while. I am sure 'tis not as deep as all that and will heal quickly."
"Ye canno' see it, wife. 'Tis no' shallow."
"But--" Averill paused as a small hand slid into hers. Turning, she found herself peering at Laddie as he squeezed her fingers reassuringly with his much smaller ones.
"I'll hold yer hand through it, me lady," the boy offered, solemnly. "'Twill no' be so bad, and ye can squeeze me as hard as ye like if it hurts. Me ma always held mine for me while me scrapes and cuts were tended, and it helps do ye close yer eyes tight and squeeze real hard on someone's fingers."
Touched, Averill let her breath out on a small puff and squeezed his hand gently in gratitude. "Thank you, Laddie. And I shall return the favor do you ever need it."
He smiled at the words, then glanced around as Morag reentered, a pitcher of whiskey in hand.
Averill grimaced at the sight. She'd never cared much for the drink, and it did seem ironic that she was now going to drink some when she had worked so hard to stop her father-in-law and Gawain from drinking it. But she had called for it often enough in the past for men she was about to take the needle or knife to, and suspected she would be grateful for the effects of the liquid fire once Bess's needle began pushing into her skin.
Straightening her shoulders at the very thought, Averill held her hand out for the pitcher.
