Chapter 28
The wind howled harder the closer they rode to O’Donnell Keep.
Rhys didn’t feel the cold. Not in his limbs. Not in his chest. That space had gone numb long ago. His body ached from blood loss and bruises, but it wasn’t what kept his spine stiff in the saddle. It was the dread.
Beside him, Amara hadn’t said a word in nearly an hour. She rode upright, determined, as if the silence might hold her together. But her jaw was set too tight. Her hands on the reins too white-knuckled.
They crested a hill and the trees thinned.
That’s when Rhys saw the smoke.
He swore.
Thick columns rose in the distance, curling into the darkening sky. The world seemed to tilt.
“Rhys,” Amara said quietly, like she didn’t want to believe it either.
But he already kicked his horse forward, spurring it into a gallop. Amara followed, the sound of hooves crashing against frozen ground the only answer to the horror in his gut.
The road turned, dipping low between the ridges. O’Donnell Keep stood ahead, but not as they’d left it. The western wall had been breached. Torches flickered wildly. Screams echoed. Iron clashed against iron.
The battle was still raging.
God help them.
“Daisy,” he muttered under his breath, searching the outer bailey, desperate for a glimpse of her.
“Rhys —”
“I have to get to her.” His voice cracked, but his eyes were wild with focus.
“I ken that. But ye cannae storm in alone,” Amara said, her horse catching up beside him. “We have to find someone… William… Myles… Nina, even! Anyone!”
Rhys’s jaw ticked, his every instinct screaming to leap off the horse and charge through the gates. But she was right.
I need help.
They slowed as they reached the edge of the woods near the north pasture. That’s when he spotted a flash of auburn hair, and then the unmistakable figure of William sprinting toward them through the smoke.
“Rhys!” William shouted, waving an arm. “Christ, thank the saints.”
Rhys was off his horse in an instant. “Where is she, Billy?”
“Safe,” William panted. “We hid the women and bairns in the cellars right when it started. A few nights ago. Mabel’s with her. She’s alright.”
The relief punched Rhys in the ribs so hard it nearly dropped him. He let out a strangled breath and braced a hand on his thigh.
Amara stepped closer, dismounting. “Finn?”
William looked grimly between them. “Finn.”
Rhys’s head jerked up. “What did he do?”
William’s mouth was tight. “He stormed the gates with our own men. We dinnae suspect anythin'. But naught hours after ye left, they turned. Opened the gates to mercenaries as well. Slit two of the night watchmen’s throats.”
“Nay,” Amara whispered.
William nodded. “He had this planned, Rhys.”
A chill sliced through Rhys colder than the Highland wind. “He told Murdoch we were comin'.”
William grimaced. “Did he?”
“Aye, he did. He and Murdoch planned this when he was… captured.”
“That traitorous —”
The betrayal ate into his gut like poison, but he had no time. “How many dead?” He asked, interrupting William’s tirade.
“Half dozen that I ken. The rest are holdin’ the eastern wall, but we cannae hold ‘em forever. Finn’s still inside the bailey. Commandin’ like it’s his right.”
So, this is about a right to lead? Where is this comin’ from?
Rhys looked toward the flames and the crumbling battlements. His men were dying. His castle burning. And it had been his cousin all along.
Amara reached for him. “Rhys —”
He turned to her. Her eyes were wide with worry, but strong.
“I have to stop him,” he said. “I have to end this.”
William nodded grimly. “Then let me get Lady Amara to the cellars. I’ll make sure she stays hidden.”
Rhys didn’t like it. Every part of him burned to keep her by his side.
But Daisy was safe.
Amara would be safe.
And he needed to make sure no one else died under his roof.
Rhys turned to her one last time.
The glow of fire caught the edge of her hair, and for a moment she looked like she had set it herself.
He stepped close and took her face in both hands.
“Listen to me, Amara,” he said, voice low, rough with urgency. “Ye’re worth far more than what that man said. What he called ye. Ye are so incredibly far from nothin’. Ye are everythin'.”
Her eyes shone, wide and brimming, but she said nothing.
“Yer faither and I have both trusted a snake,” he continued, jaw tightening.
“And ye went all that way to find somethin’ in that man that has been ripped from him right under his nose.
But I swear to ye, I’ll get to the bottom of it.
For ye and for him. I’ll find the truth, and I’ll make sure ye never have to carry this alone again. ”
A breath escaped her, shaky and soft. Her hand covered his briefly.
“Rhys…”
But he kissed her forehead instead of answering, and then stepped back.
“Go,” he said to William, voice hoarse. “And guard her with yer life.”
Then William mounted again, hauling Amara up behind him. “We’ll be safe. Ye have me word, Rhys.”
She hesitated. “And ye?”
“I’ll be fine, lass,” he lied.
Her lips parted, but she didn’t argue. She nodded and squeezed his hand.
Rhys watched them vanish into the smoke and trees.
Then he turned toward the keep, and ran straight into the fire.
The shelter beneath O’Donnell Keep had once been used for food stores and winter grain. Now, it smelled of poultices and iron. Of soot and sweat. The air buzzed with murmured prayers and groans of pain, but all Amara could hear was the sound of her own heart thudding inside her chest.
“Lady Amara!”
The small voice sliced through the noise like a blade. Her head whipped to the right, and there she was.
Daisy, hair loose, face smudged, running toward her with bare feet and outstretched arms. Amara dropped to her knees just in time to catch her.
The girl threw her arms around her neck and squeezed, as if afraid Amara might disappear again.
“I kent ye’d come back to us,” Daisy whispered against her neck.
“I’ll nae leave ye again, lassie,” Amara breathed, holding her close. “Nae ever.”
Daisy pulled back just far enough to peer into her face. “Where’s Da?”
Amara smiled gently and smoothed her hair. “Fightin’. But he’s all good. He’ll be back soon.”
Daisy looked like she wanted to believe her — so Amara made sure she sounded convincing. It didn’t matter if her stomach churned with worry. The child needed to feel safe.
A warm hand landed on her shoulder.
“Nina,” she breathed.
The other woman gave her a quick squeeze. “Come. Mabel and Mack need help. They’re tendin' wounded in the back corner.”
Amara kissed Daisy’s cheek. “Go on with Nina for a moment, sweetheart. I’ll be right there.”
She stood and followed Nina to the other end of the shelter, where pallets lined the stone floor. Every face she passed bore marks of war. A bruised brow. A bloodied arm. Some children lay tucked against their mothers. But one face —
“Leighton,” she gasped.
The older man lay against a stack of blankets, his tunic soaked dark with blood. His arm was bandaged, but the skin beneath was angry and hot. Mabel knelt beside him, pressing a cloth to his forehead.
“Hold him here,” Mabel instructed.
Amara slid down to the floor and took his hand.
Leighton blinked slowly. “Me lady…”
“Shh,” she said. “Save yer strength.”
He gave a weak chuckle. “Nae much left of it, I’m afraid.”
“What happened?” she asked, adjusting the cloth on his brow.
He exhaled. “Finn. And half the guard. He waited ‘til ye and the laird left… turned on us like a fox in the henhouse.”
“Why?” she asked. “Why did he do this to ye?”
Leighton didn’t answer right away. His gaze drifted upward, somewhere far away. “I suppose he’s after somethin’…” he said eventually.
“Did ye… Did ye ever love me maither?” she asked quietly.
That snapped his attention back to her. “What?”
“Finn told me faither…” Amara swallowed. “That there was an affair. That I wasnae his daughter. That I… that I was yers.”
Leighton’s expression shifted — confusion, then horror, then a sudden sharp bark of laughter.
“Lass,” he coughed. “Nay. Nay, nae ever. I did have much respect for yer maither, aye — She became a dear friend. A voice of reason amidst the warring clans. But nay, nae ever like that.”
“Then why —?”
As if the realization slapped him across his face, Leighton’s features fell, and he shook his head.
“Finn’s faither, Rhys’s uncle, was passed over for the lairdship quite late in their youth.
Anyone with two eyes could see that the elder Adams brother hated Rhys’s faither for it.
Threw the man off the council when he came into power, he did.
Rhys’s uncle clearly passed that hatred down like an heirloom to Finn.
The lad never stood a chance from it, I’m afraid.
I suspect Finn has been plannin’ this for quite some time…
if nae his own plan, it’s definitely his faither’s plan that he’s taken charge of. ”
Amara’s throat tightened. “So he lied.”
“Lied?” Leighton looked toward the ceiling. “Lady Amara. It seems that he did much more than that. He single-handedly orchestrated this entire situation with but one seed of doubt.”
Amara’s hand was still resting on Leighton’s chest when she felt someone watching her.
She turned slowly, gaze drifting past the chaos of the shelter, and found Mabel sitting on a low bench near the back wall. A bandage roll sat idle in her lap, her hands unmoving. Her expression wasn’t stern like usual, nor tired like most around them. It was pained.
Amara stood, dusting her skirts, and made her way over.
“Mabel?”
The woman blinked and looked up, offering a strained smile. “He’s lucky ye found him when ye did. Thank ye for yer help, Lady Amara.”
“I’m glad I found him. Ye were… busy,” Amara said, her eyes floating around the space at the wounded, Mack was busy in the far reaches, and realized then that Mabel must have been watching them for a while.
“Aye,” the woman said blandly.
“Can I help ye with more of the others?”
Mabel’s eyes just dropped to her hands.
“Nay, we’ll manage.” She tilted her chin toward the man, “What was he on about?”
“Just that Finn betrayed us.”
Mabel’s lips twisted, but she remained silent. It was tense, held up by threads too thin to hold for long. Mabel’s face was unreadable, but her eyes were swimming.
“Mabel…” Amara said softly. “What is it?”
The woman’s lip quivered. And then, with a quiet sob, she covered her mouth with her hand. “I should’ve said somethin’ sooner.”
The words dropped like a stone in Amara’s chest.
“Said what?”
Mabel turned to her, and Amara was startled by the shimmer of tears on her cheeks. “I think I helped him do it. All of it.”
Amara’s brows drew in. “Who? Finn?”
Mabel nodded, voice trembling. “I… I loved him. Fool that I am.”
A thick silence stretched between them as Amara’s heart began to race. “Ye… ye were lovers?”
“Aye.” Mabel’s voice cracked. “He made me feel seen, Amara. He listened, brought me tea when I was up late tendin’ to the wounded. He flirted like he was still some dashing rogue, and I let meself believe it was real.”
Amara swallowed, her mind spinning.
“I let him in,” Mabel whispered. “To me heart. To this keep. To everything. And when he asked me to look out for ye… to befriend ye…”
Her voice broke entirely.
Amara felt her mouth go dry. “He asked ye to what?”
“To keep an eye on ye. He said he worried Rhys might mistreat ye, that the alliance was shaky. Said it’d be better if someone kind were watchin’ over ye.” She shook her head. “And I believed him, and I reported back to him. About everythin’.”
Amara leaned back, trying to process the weight of Mabel’s confession. “So why are ye tellin’ me now?”
“Because somewhere along the way… ye became a friend. A real one. And I saw how Rhys looked at ye. How Daisy loved ye. I saw how much ye cared for them.” Mabel’s hand went to her chest. “And I kent. Finn hadnae sent me to protect ye. He sent me to keep ye close, so he could twist the blade when the time came.”
“And when was he goin’ to do that?” Amara asked, her voice thin. “After he burned the keep down? After he slit Rhys’s throat?”
Mabel was weeping now, unable to meet her eyes. “I daenae ken, Amara. But he changed. Over the last week, he stopped pretendin'. Stopped hiding his plans. Said he’d been playin’ the long game. That Murdoch was too proud nae to believe him. That Rhys was too stubborn to see it comin’.”
“God,” Amara whispered. “He used ye.”
“Aye,” Mabel said, her voice ragged. “Like he uses everyone.”
Amara reached for her, heart still pounding. “I need ye to be honest. Did ye ken about the attack?”
Mabel shook her head violently. “Nay. He stopped confidin' in me the minute I questioned him. Called me a jealous coo. Told me I’d outlived me usefulness.” She let out a shuddering sob. “I’d never… I would never let him hurt Daisy.”
Amara’s hands tightened over Mabel’s. “I believe ye.”
Mabel blinked. “Ye do?”
“Aye. I believe ye. But I need to ken how far will he go?”
Mabel wiped at her face with the edge of her apron. “As far as he needs to. Until he gets what he wants.”
Amara stood suddenly, a chill crawling over her skin. “And what does he want?”
Mabel stared at the floor. “Rhys’s keep. His title. And his blood.”
Amara’s chest tightened.