Chapter 28
Killian lay back on the dewy grass, his arms tucked behind his head, his eyes closed, as the dawn chorus began. There was no point in retiring to his bedchamber; he wouldn’t sleep a wink.
In truth, he doubted he would ever sleep again, forever imagining the suffering and cruelty that Ailis must be enduring at the hands of her brother and father.
Why is Peter nae back yet?
He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, as if that would help dispel the thoughts. Of course, his man-at-arms wasn’t back yet. It hadn’t been long enough.
“This is what ye’re doin’ while yer wife is probably in danger?” a sharp voice cut through the chirp and trill of the birds waking up.
Killian cracked one eye open to find Paisley standing over him. “Coming from the lass who thought that she should return?”
“I was… in shock,” Paisley stammered, looking away. “I’d just seen Fraser’s severed finger. I wasnae thinkin’.”
Killian closed his eye again. “So, now that ye realized that I was right, ye’ve come to tell me to fix it?”
“Somethin’ like that,” Paisley mumbled.
“And ye thought an accusation was the best way to do that?”
Frustration bristled in his veins, his whole body tense with the sense of helplessness that had been forced upon him.
He had wanted Ailis to stay until he could resolve matters himself. He had tried to tell them that it was foolish to obey a madman’s less-than-subtle threat.
No one had listened when it would have mattered, and now he was in torment. Paisley suddenly changing her mind in such an aggressive fashion didn’t help things either.
The healer heaved a long sigh. “I shouldnae have agreed to her leavin’. I… should have heeded ye. But all I could think about was Fraser, and when I saw… his finger, I… was selfish and I couldnae see the grander scheme of things.”
“That Laird Ainsley will never let him go, now that he got what he wants?” Killian drawled.
He didn’t mean to be unkind, but he, too, wasn’t thinking clearly.
Since watching Ailis hurry through the gates, his mind had been at war with itself, ricocheting back and forth between riding out after her and letting her do what she had insisted on doing.
Not to punish her for not listening, but because she was her own woman who had the right to proceed however she pleased.
And he knew what Skye meant to her.
“Aye,” Paisley said quietly. “I wish that box hadnae found its way into me hands. I wish… I’d looked inside and kept quiet. But ye have to go after her now, Killian. I feel sick just thinkin’ about what might be happenin’ to her.”
“I cannae,” Killian uttered bitterly.
Paisley scoffed. “It’s that attitude that allowed her to run off in the first place.” Apparently, she had jumped back to accusations. “If ye’d been firmer with her, she’d have stayed. Ye should have locked her up. Should’ve locked me up too, so I wouldnae say anythin’ so stupid.”
Killian sat up and stared at her. “How could I force her to stay with me when her niece might be in trouble? I believe with all me heart that it was a trick, but suspectin’ and kennin’ are entirely two different things,” he said crisply.
“Ailis wouldnae have been able to smile, laugh, or rest unless she found out for herself. It wasnae me place to deny her that peace of mind. And her faither and braither werenae goin’ to put her out of her misery, were they? ”
Paisley stared back at him, dumbstruck. “So, ye’re just goin’ to let her… stay there with them?”
“Because I have to think of the grander scheme,” he growled, getting up from the wet grass.
“I willnae march me army to their lands for one person, even if that one person is me wife. I willnae shed all that blood for someone who went willingly, while kennin’ the risks.
It doesnae matter if I want her back; I cannae sacrifice so many lives for one person. ”
Did Paisley honestly think he hadn’t been wrestling with every option he had before him?
He liked to think that he was someone who would raze the entirety of Scotland to the ground if it meant saving the woman he had begun to fall for, but the truth was agonizingly different.
He had to consider his clan first; his needs, wants, and feelings came second.
“It’s ignorin’ me duties that has got us into this mess in the first place,” he added sharply. “If I’d focused on Fraser when I snuck into Castle Ainsley, as I was meant to, then he’d be here, and we wouldnae be havin’ this conversation. Och, we’d likely be celebratin’ yer weddin’.”
Instead of lamentin’ mine.
“And the cost is yer misery and hers?” Paisley retorted, her voice catching.
Killian turned his gaze to the sprawling gardens, the dawn casting everything in a muted, inky blue. The birds continued their incessant song, grating on his nerves, and at that moment, he knew he would never find beauty in anything again.
“Who’s to say she’d be happier here?” he replied. “There’d be nay peace for her, even if she returned. Laird Ainsley has confirmed that the war willnae end, just because she’s me wife. Was me wife.”
“She is yer wife,” Paisley insisted vehemently. “And she’d at least be safer here.”
He was about to say that nowhere would be safe for Ailis when the shriek of rusty hinges snapped his attention to the garden gate. A figure came running, the gloaming making it hard to see who it was.
Peter? Has he come back, at last?
Disappointment flooded him as proximity revealed the man to be McBain, one of the sentries who tended to take the night watch. The same guard who had seen Ailis flee the castle the night before the wedding—which felt like a lifetime ago—and had done and said nothing to stop her.
He was breathless and pale, wheezing as he announced, “There’s a visitor at the gates, me Laird. We didnae ken whether to let him in or nae, but he’s insistent.”
“Who is it?” Killian asked, frowning.
If it were anyone from their clan, the guards wouldn’t have hesitated to let them in.
McBain pounded on his chest, coughing. “It’s Murdock Lyall, me Laird. Says he willnae leave until he’s spoken with ye.” He paused. “We considered shooting our arrows at him, but we thought we ought to ask ye first. He’s… actin’ strange.”
“Strange? What do ye mean?” Killian said, his temper flaring.
Wasn’t the box insult enough? Had Murdock come to deliver another warning? This time, would there be a box with some part of Ailis in it?
Killian’s stomach twisted into knots, knowing it wasn’t beyond the bastard to do such a thing.
McBain grimaced. “It’s hard to explain, me Laird. He seems… restless. Pacin’ up and down the hill. Every time we think he’s gone, he comes back and demands to see ye again.”
“This is a trick,” Paisley said, her hand coming to rest on Killian’s arm.
He shrugged it off. “Aye, it may be, but I’ll see what he has to say.” His hands curled into fists. “And when he’s done, I’ll run him through like his faither did mine.”
Like his actions have done me heart.
For this time, he had nothing to lose. Indeed, whether it was a trick or not, Murdock had presented a prime opportunity for Killian. If Laird Ainsley wanted to see his son and heir alive again, he would have to send back Ailis, Fraser, and Skye.
But they must ken that I’d do that, so why is he here? Why take such a risk when they have leverage?
That thought niggled at the back of Killian’s mind as he took off at a run, sprinting through the castle grounds.
There would be hustle and bustle once the sun rose, the courtyards filling with activity and chatter, the residents as of yet unaware that they no longer had a mistress. Not where she ought to be, at least.
Killian slowed down as he approached the gates and paused before the bars of the portcullis to peer out. There was no sign of Murdock, but McBain’s words lingered. The man was probably somewhere down the hill, either making his way back up or making his way back down.
With a breath, Killian called up to the guards, “Open the gates and drop me a sword.”
The portcullis began to rise immediately, but it was McBain himself who offered his broadsword, having caught up to him. The poor man looked like he might pass out from the exertion, leading Killian to wonder if he ought to put his soldiers through an even more rigorous training routine.
“Shall I join ye?” McBain wheezed.
Killian shot him a sharp look. “I daenae need yer death on me conscience this mornin’.”
Adjusting his grip on the unfamiliar broadsword, but too impatient to return to the castle to fetch his own, he ducked under the portcullis before it was even halfway up.
He strode out with vengeance on his mind and hatred in his heart, his eyes searching the hard-packed ground for fresh footprints.
As he lifted his gaze, however, he saw the figure of his enemy coming back up the hill.
“Laird MacNairn!” Murdock raised his hand in a hail but didn’t quicken his pace, his approach an almost mocking stroll. Then again, nor did he reach for the broadsword that hung from his hip.
Killian walked to meet him, ready for a fight. “I’d call ye a fool if I didnae ken ye were the son of a madman.”
Murdock frowned as he came to a standstill, maintaining a polite distance from Killian. There was something odd about him that Killian couldn’t quite put his finger on, not at first.
He’s… calm.
Uneasy, Killian narrowed his eyes at him.
“Am I to take this as yer answer?” Murdock asked, gesturing to the sword in Killian’s hand. He seemed bewildered, adding to Killian’s unease. “I… was certain ye’d agree to peace between us.”
Killian’s lip curled. “Peace? From the moment ye Ainsleys started this war, there’s been none of that.”
“I ken, but…” Murdock faltered, raking a hand through his dark hair. “I’ve been waitin’ in the woods since yer weddin’. I watched it from afar and kent the festivities would delay ye, but I thought ye’d come as soon as ye received me gift. Ye and Ailis both.”