by Emma Prince
Realization flashed through Domnall like a bolt of lightning. The horse was too heavy. Already, Murray tested the ice’s strength by clutching Ailsa against him.
“Nay!” Domnall roared, waving an arm at Fern. “Get back, ye cursed beast!”
Fern tossed his head and nickered at Domnall but didn’t stop.
A string of curses streamed from Domnall’s mouth. Murray had halted and was eyeing the approaching horse distastefully. Fern drew closer, directing an angry whinny at Murray.
When it became clear that the animal would not stop, Murray retreated a step, turning so that Ailsa acted as a shield between himself and the horse.
“Back!” Murray commanded, but Fern did not heed him either.
His eyes widening with fear, Murray shifted the arming sword away from Ailsa’s neck and brandished it at the charging horse.
With another piercing shriek, Fern pulled up before trampling both Murray and Ailsa. But instead of retreating from the blade swinging toward him, he reared up onto his hind legs.
His forelegs pawed at the air wildly. One hoof landed a blow on Murray’s elbow, and the arming sword went flying from his grasp. Murray’s arm wrenched back from the force of the contact, leaving his torso exposed.
Even before his hooves had fully planted on the ice, Fern reared again. This time, one big, heavy hoof drove directly into Murray’s chest.
A great whooshing sound filled the air, along with the pop of several of Murray’s ribs. He flew backward, almost as if he’d been pulled from behind by a rope. He landed with a heavy thud half a dozen feet away, his head knocking against the ice. With a single groan, he went still, slipping into unconsciousness.
Ailsa sagged to her hands and knees with a sob.
“Ailsa!” Without realizing what he was doing, Domnall pitched across the ice and wrapped her in his arms.
Belatedly, he remembered that the pond’s icy surface could give way at any moment. And Fern stood only an arm’s span away, docile now that the threat to Ailsa had been dispatched.
Domnall hastily scooted them both back toward the pond’s edge, where the ice would be more stable. Fern watched curiously from where he stood for a moment. He seemed reluctant to be more than a few paces from Ailsa, so he turned to follow.
Just then, the air was rent with an echoing crack. The ice beneath Fern’s hooves fractured and gave way. With a cry of distress, Fern crashed through and into the freezing water.
Domnall acted on instinct. He shoved Ailsa the few remaining feet toward the pond’s shore, then dove for the horse.
He slid on his belly toward the jagged edges of the ice, where Fern whinnied and thrashed in the water.
Ailsa cried out something indistinct behind him.
“Stay off the ice!” he bellowed, daring the briefest glance over his shoulder to make sure she complied. To his relief, she was already scrambling to her feet and pulling herself onto the surrounding rocks.
Jerking his attention back to the terrified animal, he dragged himself to the rim of broken ice and extended a hand toward Fern’s reins. Fern was so spooked that he tossed his head wildly. He threw his hooves onto the edge of the ice a few feet away from Domnall, attempting to gain purchase, but the ice couldn’t support him. It shattered with a low squeal.
A single heartbeat was all the warning Domnall had. The ice he lay on cracked and then seemed to dissolve beneath him. The frigid water closed over his head in a breath-stealing embrace.
Domnall shot to the surface, gulping air and fighting the shock freezing his limbs. Distantly, he heard Ailsa scream, but he couldn’t expend any energy calling back to her or even finding her with his gaze.
His body worked sluggishly, but he knew with the burning clarity of the sun what he needed to do. With a hand that felt like a block of wood, he reached out and snagged the thrashing horse’s reins. Then he treaded to the ice’s lip and placed both arms flat and wide on its surface.
Kicking with his feet and pulling with his arms, he slid belly-down onto the ice. Fern’s reins were still locked within his clenched fist. Slowly, he began pushing himself along the pond’s surface. He tugged on the reins, guiding Fern to follow after him.
The horse tried again to brace his front hooves on the ice and heave himself out, but the ice wasn’t thick enough. It splintered and cracked beneath him, dropping him into the water once more. But Domnall was far enough away that he wasn’t plunged under again.
They inched along toward the shoreline like that, Domnall scooting on his belly and dragging Fern along behind. Fern tried repeatedly to hoist himself onto the ice, but every time it broke apart, so he was forced to slog through the freezing water after Domnall.
Suddenly a length of rope smacked Domnall across the back.
“Take hold!”
He lifted his head. Ailsa stood on the shore, tying the other end of the rope to her horse’s saddle.
Clever, brave lass. She must have found the rope in the horse’s saddlebags and acted yet again to save his sorry arse.
His free hand was too numb to grip the rope, so he looped it several times around his wrist.
“Go!” he called when the rope was secure.
Grabbing her horse by its bridle, she urged it into motion. The rope went taut around Domnall’s wrist. He clenched his teeth against a snarl of pain. Pulled between the weight and strength of two horses, it felt as though his arms would be ripped from their sockets.
Yet amazingly, his body did not give way under the force. He slid inch by inch over the ice, now under the might of Ailsa’s horse rather than his own dwindling strength. Fern, too, was dragged onward, breaking up the ice with his powerful chest as he went.
Abruptly, all the weight pulling against the reins in Domnall’s fist was lifted as Fern’s hooves touched the pond’s bottom and he stood up. With a groan of relief, Domnall pried back his deadened fingers and released the reins.
Ailsa must have halted her horse, for the rope dragging him went slack. He pushed himself up on shaking arms and crawled the last few paces to the shoreline.
When he reached the rocky edge, Ailsa was suddenly there, her arms looping around his chest, her fingers threading through his wet hair, her palms cupping his face. She was everywhere, touching him as if she feared he wasn’t real.
“Are you hurt?”
“Are ye?” he breathed, sitting up and pulling her into his lap. Gently, he tipped her head back to inspect her neck.
A tiny nick, shorter than half the length of his thumbnail, marred her pale flesh. Even that small wound was too much. His gaze shot across the ice to where Murray still lay sprawled and unconscious.
The man was bloody lucky that he was so far away, else Domnall might be tempted to rip him limb from limb with his bare hands. What was more, if the ice had broken beneath Murray when Fern had fallen through, Domnall wouldn’t have spared a single ounce of energy to save him.
Belatedly, Domnall realized that the dagger he’d carried with him since the Battle of Dupplin Moor—Murray’s dagger—was gone. It must have fallen into the water in the fray of rescuing Fern.
Good. Let the damned thing sink to the bottom and settle in the dark muck where no light shone. Let it stay there for all eternity, growing dull and useless with time. He didn’t need it anymore. The weight of the blade had been slight, and yet now that he was rid of it, he felt a load as heavy as a great boulder lifting.
As it was, he didn’t want to waste another second on Murray or his dagger when Ailsa was in his arms.
“I almost lost ye,” he whispered, crushing her in a fierce embrace.
“When you fell through the ice, I thought I’d lost you, too,” she mumbled into his chest, her voice high and tight with emotion. “And Fern.”
At the mention of his name, the horse, who had climbed onto the rocky bank and stood dripping on the snow, dipped his head and snuffled softly.
Carefully, Domnall shifted Ailsa out of his lap and stood on wobbling legs. He hated to put even a f
eather’s width between them, but what he needed to do couldn’t wait.
He cautiously approached Fern, angling toward the horse’s shoulder to ensure he wasn’t in his blind spot. Fern watched him, his serrated ear twitching and his dark gaze following Domnall’s movements.
“We havenae ever properly met,” Domnall murmured to the horse.
When he was within arm’s reach, he extended his hand and offered it to the animal. Fern sniffed gingerly, then lifted his head, waiting and watching for what Domnall would do next.
Domnall slid his hand over the animal’s shoulder. His coat was cold and wet, yet the muscles beneath twitched and shifted with vitality. Fern curved his head around, yet instead of trying to remove one of Domnall’s fingers with his teeth, he simply observed Domnall while he stroked his shoulder.
“Thank ye,” Domnall murmured. “Ye saved Ailsa’s life, which means ye saved mine, too.”
“And you saved his,” Ailsa said softly as she approached.
Fern shifted, giving Domnall a gentle nudge with his shoulder. It wasn’t exactly the adoring nuzzle the animal usually gave Ailsa, but Domnall took it as Fern’s first sign of affection toward him.
Giving Fern another grateful pat, he pulled Ailsa back into his arms. Though he couldn’t feel the cold now that she was safe and tucked against him, some wise, rational part of his brain knew that he needed to get warm and dry before a bone-deep chill set in.
“Come,” he said. “We can take shelter behind the falls. We are both in need of a fire, and I have much to say to ye.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ailsa was a bundle of nerves as she waited to hear what Domnall had to say. He’d been so somber and serious when he’d spoken earlier. Yet there was much to do before they could get settled behind the frozen falls.
For starters, they needed to remove her unconscious brother from the pond, but Ailsa didn’t want Domnall to risk stepping onto the ice once more. So Domnall made a loop at the end of the rope she’d used to drag him to the pond’s bank, then tossed it out toward her brother.
It took a few tries, but eventually he managed to catch Andrew’s foot, then pull the loop tight and tug him across the ice to the shore. Andrew remained insensate, though he groaned a few times as Domnall hoisted him up and hauled him behind the falls. Just for good measure, Domnall also bound Andrew tight with the rope.
Ailsa couldn’t imagine the pain her brother was in, what with several broken ribs and an egg-sized lump growing on the back of his head. Each breath must be a torment. Yet she found that little sympathy for him occupied her thoughts.
They dried Fern with her mare’s saddle blanket, then draped Andrew’s horse’s blanket over his back to ward off a chill. Then they positioned him as close to the passage that led behind the falls as possible so that he would catch some of the heat from the fire they built there.
Once the fire was blazing cheerily, the ice that flowed over the rocks above them was illuminated like the finest crystal chandelier. Each facet of the ice refracted the firelight, sparkling and glowing as if from within. The whole cave behind the frozen cascade was lit with a warm orange radiance.
Domnall peeled off his tunic and laid it out beside the fire to dry. Amazingly, most of the contents in Fern’s saddlebags, including Domnall’s plaid, were relatively dry thanks to the well-oiled leather and securely cinched flaps. Ailsa watched as he slung the plaid around his bare shoulders, his skin luminous and his musculature bunching and dancing in the firelight.
Only then, when they’d lowered themselves to sitting beside one another before the fire, did Domnall speak.
“I’ve made a decision.”
She waited for him to continue, her breath stilling.
Domnall stared thoughtfully into the flames for a long moment, then gave a little nod.
“I will try to get word to Archibald Douglas, the Guardian of Scotland, and arrange for a meeting.”
“For what purpose?”
Domnall’s gaze slid to her brother, who lay bound and motionless at the edge of the light.
“To turn Murray over for Parliament’s judgment.”
The air rushed from Ailsa’s lungs. “Truly?”
“Aye,” he said softly, turning back to her. “It willnae be easy, mind. If Balliol still occupies Scone, Douglas and the loyalists in Parliament willnae be able to help—at least for a while. But it is worth trying.” His blue gaze flashed steel for an instant. “Justice must be given a chance.”
Emotion welled in her throat. Not for the stay on her brother’s life. His fate remained unclear, for if Parliament was indeed still loyal to Scotland’s rightful King, Andrew would be considered a traitor and treated as such. Nay, her heart soared for Domnall’s sake.
“Why?” she breathed.
He took her hand gently in his. Despite his dunk in the icy pond, his skin was warm, his touch strong and steady.
“Ye were right, lass. I nearly lost everything I hold dear in my blind hunger for vengeance. Only, it took until the moment Murray grabbed ye for me to realize what precisely that was.” He squeezed her hand, his pale eyes blazing with emotion. “It’s ye.”
Ailsa froze. Surely he wasn’t saying… To protect her tender heart, she hadn’t let herself hope that he…
“I love ye.”
The words came out cracked and raw, his voice barely above a whisper. But the strength behind them burned bright in his unwavering gaze.
“I was a fool—but ye kenned that.” One corner of his mouth hitched, and she came dangerously close to letting a delirious giggle pass her lips.
“My stubbornness and pride nearly cost me everything,” he said, sobering. “It nearly cost me ye. If I had lost ye…”
He shook his head, as if to clear away the terrifying thought. “I love ye, Ailsa Murray,” he said again. “I willnae let aught get in the way of that again. I can only pray that someday, ye will take pity on me and grant yer forgiveness.”
Tears stung her eyes and blurred her vision, but for the first time in what felt like forever, they were tears of joy. She hadn’t let herself contemplate the word for what had grown in her heart for Domnall. Too much had been uncertain, too much unknown. Yet with his declaration, it felt as if the sun had parted a heavy mist, burning away all doubt and fear.
“There is naught to forgive,” she began, fighting to speak through the surging emotion. “I understand the need to right the wrongs my brother committed, to bring him to justice—true justice, not just revenge. You have proven what I’ve come to know beyond a shadow of a doubt—that you are a man of honor…”
She swallowed, but her next words still came out a croak around the tightness in her throat. “…The man I love.”
With a rumble of surprise that turned quickly to pleasure, Domnall pulled her into his embrace, enfolding them both within his warm, soft plaid.
“Then I am the luckiest man in all of Scotland. I dinnae deserve yer love, lass, but I will try my best to earn it every day, if ye’ll let me.”
“Aye,” she said, tears streaming down her cheeks and dampening his chest. “I would like that.”
He pulled back, tucking a bent knuckle beneath her chin so that his eyes could find hers.
“I want to take ye home—my home, to MacAyre lands. I want ye to see the snowcapped peaks that stand sentinel over the keep. I want ye to see the wildflowers spreading over the green hills in the springtime. I want ye to meet my people—as their Lady.”
He swallowed, and for the first time since she’d met him, she thought she detected a hint of nervousness pinching Domnall’s rugged features. “Will…will ye marry me?”
It was all too much. The happiness threatened to overwhelm her, like a surging river breaking its banks. A noise that was somewhere between an elated laugh and a sob of joy rose from her chest.
“Aye, I will, Domnall MacAyre. I will.”
A marriage of love. She’d never let herself dream of such a thing, even though her parents had been blessed w
ith a love union. The thought of her parents laced a thread of sadness into the joy. With their passing, and now Andrew’s betrayal, she had no more family.
But a new realization hit her close on the heels of that one. She would be a MacAyre—which meant she’d have a whole clan as her new family. And she would have Domnall, the man she loved. That was more than enough to fill her heart to overflowing.
She beamed up at him through the blur of tears. But his smile had slipped and his russet brows had drawn together.
“I only wish that I could take ye there now. As it is, I am still a wanted man. I cannae risk going home until Balliol can no longer hurt me or my people—or ye.”
“Mayhap it will take time,” she said, smiling softly. “But I know that day will come. When you set your mind to a task, you are not so easily deterred. I know better than most.”
He snorted at that.
“Mayhap by spring,” she continued. “I would love naught more than to see those wildflowers you mentioned. In the meantime…”
She pressed her lips together in thought for a moment. “What if we returned to Stalcaire Tower for the time being?”
He lifted a contemplative brow at her, so she continued.
“Balliol and his supporters have no reason to suspect you’d be there. It is remote and quiet. Nolan might have a hard time accepting you there after you stole me away, but I imagine with some diligent effort, he could be convinced. And…” A warm blush washed over her face. “And I’m sure we would have plenty of privacy.”
Domnall’s gaze simmered with desire. “Och, aye? That sounds like the perfect place to enjoy our time as newlyweds. I intend to make an honest woman of ye with all haste.” He glanced at Andrew again, and reluctantly banked the blazing hunger in his eyes. “Something to look forward to when this business is finally through.”
“What are we to do next, then?” she asked.
Domnall considered that for a moment. “First I must find a way to reach Douglas without alerting Balliol. And then?” His gaze shifted to the fire. “Until it is safe, we wait.”
