Chapter Twenty-Six
“There is a hidden message in every waterfall. It says, if you are flexible, falling will not hurt you.”
Laria stared across the loch at Cyrus, her heart beating hard enough that she saw small stars in her periphery.
Jasper had caught her, and she hadn’t a single weapon on her.
She’d let her guard down because she was away from Tuath.
But Jasper had been gone for days before they left.
Had Iain sent him down to kill Cyrus’s father?
“What are ye doing here, Whitt?” Kenan called.
Jasper snorted. “I travel up and down Skye. Although the last time I was south, I was fighting for yer da.”
Kenan cursed under his breath. “Walter Macdonald?”
Cyrus had moved to the left as if to circle around.
“Stop moving, Chief Mackinnon, else she dies in a pool of her own blood,” Jasper said. “I’ve got one pointed at her back and one ready to slice her throat.” He held the second blade up to her neck. Laria kept very still.
Cyrus slowly began shucking his boots while standing in the reeds.
“Why were ye fighting for the Macdonalds if ye’re a Macqueen?” Rory asked.
Laria focused on Cyrus. His intense look showed concentration and restrained violence.
She would fight if Jasper would release even a fraction of his hold, but the rancid man held her for death to take.
And she had people to protect, a brother to encourage, a man to tell that she loved him.
If Cyrus met her gaze, he would see it there, her love for him. But he kept his gaze on Jasper.
Jasper smiled at Rory, and then his gaze moved to Cyrus. “Yer brother, Patrick, died of a tainted sword slice when fighting the Macdonalds. ’Twas easy enough to pick him out. He was an arrogant fool, shouting about conquering the Macdonalds for his father.”
Cyrus’s brows pinched tighter. “Ye went with the purpose of killing the oldest Mackinnon son.”
Iain did have a master plan. He was quietly moving his chess pieces around the board. His goal was to rule the Isle of Skye, not through alliances but through conquest.
“He was supposed to die at Solway Moss, during battle or imprisoned, but then yer da traded ye for him, so he needed to die another way.”
“That was part of Iain’s plan,” Cyrus said, not a shred of question in his voice. “Kill Patrick, marry Grace, kill me, and send ye to poison our father.”
Cyrus believed in Iain’s evil plan. Relief prickled through Laria, and she closed her eyes for a moment. Holy Mother Mary, thank you.
Jasper snorted. “I didn’t poison the old bastard.”
Cyrus continued through his teeth. “Then he sent ye down here to eliminate his cousin, because Laria knows the truth and told us. Perhaps ye’re to kill his grandmother if time allows.”
Jasper huffed. “I ain’t telling ye anything.”
“Let Laria go, and ye may live out the day.” Cyrus’s voice was calm, calm enough to make Jasper twitch, the point of his mattucashlass poking her back.
“Don’t come near us, Mackinnon, or I’ll stab this point up under her ribs until ’tis poked through her heart. There’s poison on the blade like the poison I put on my blade for Patrick.”
“If ye draw her blood,” Rory said, his words like a low rumble, “ye’ll die as we take turns slicing parts off ye. Bit by bit while ye howl for mercy.”
“Tell them to go, Laria,” Jasper whispered near her ear. The moist heat from his breath was sour. “Or I’ll travel back to Tuath and find that little girl with the red mark across her face. I’ll make her scream and bleed so much the red mark won’t be noticed.”
With a yank of his belt, Cyrus’s plaid dropped from around his hips at the same time he pulled off his tunic.
“No!” she yelled to him, holding her hand out. “He will find and kill Leah if I don’t go with him.”
Cyrus stood on the bank totally naked, his honed muscles bunched and ready to release. But he held himself in check.
“Where do ye think ye’re taking her?” Kenan asked, his sword out.
“Back to Tuath.”
“After ye kill her on the way,” Cyrus said. His fists were clenched so tightly his nails might be cutting into his palms. “Yer eyes are shifting, Whitt. That means ye might decide to take her away with ye somewhere, maybe keep her instead of killing her like Iain ordered.”
“Hold yer tongue, ye foking whoreson.” Jasper spit on the ground. When Cyrus made a move to leap into the water, Jasper’s brows went up and Laria felt the tip of the dagger in her back.
“He’s going to kill me,” she said. “Stop.” Although… If Jasper killed her, he would not survive to go after Leah. Cyrus, Kenan, and Rory would slice him apart.
She met Cyrus’s gaze, the freedom of her decision calming her breath. “If I die, make certain Jasper dies. Make certain he can’t reach Leah.”
“Fok,” Jasper said behind her, suddenly realizing his error.
The water called to her, the serenity in the brilliance of it. She’d come to the loch to bathe away the fears that seemed to cling to her skin. If she were to die, she’d die in its embrace.
Laria rammed her hand into Jasper’s holding the knife at her throat, pushing forward.
She felt the bite of the second knife through the skin of her back, but she was already shooting out, her arms reaching for the water.
Diving in, she cut through it, and the cold slaked along her like liquid ice.
The sting in her back numbed as the loch embraced her.
She used long strokes, her eyes closed. Water filled her ears, but she heard the sound of a splash. Before she could surface, a warm body grabbed her, forcing her upward. She broke through the barrier between worlds: the cold, pristine water and the clamor of the violent world above.
“I’ve got ye,” Cyrus said, pulling her into his arms, wrapping them around her like a blanket. “Bloody hell.” His hand felt along her back, but she was too numb to flinch as he pressed against her wound. “How deep did he press?” he asked.
“I don’t know, but there was poison on it.
” She opened her eyes and saw the red blood coloring the water around them.
Maybe she would die, but her lips relaxed.
Above them on the land, there was yelling.
Rory and Kenan were battling Jasper. But there, in the loch, surrounded by Cyrus…
“If I’m to die, I prefer it here.” She tipped her head back to meet his gaze. “In your arms.”
“Nay! Ye will not die.” His hand pressed against her back. “Where is the bloody hole?”
She answered with a gasp when he found it, and he kept his hand there.
It felt right to have her body pressed to his, as if she could fully breathe again, as if she were safe and supported. Sparks formed in her vision as she stared at his beautiful, tormented face. He was walking them through the water to the bank.
“Ye aren’t dying today, Laria. Do ye hear me?”
How could she not? He was yelling it, but then he sounded farther away. Perhaps God had other plans for her. The idea of leaving Cyrus made her so very sad. ’Twas cruel after he’d just buried his father and realized his sister was in jeopardy. Leaving him with his frigid mother was vile.
She was sucked out of the water into the cool air and realized her eyes were closed. She forced them open, seeing sky above and then trees as she was rolled to her side on the ground. Her heart ached for Cyrus so much that hot tears leaked out to snake a trail down her cheeks. “Cyrus.”
Pressure against her back made her wince, but then Cyrus’s face was before hers, and the pain ebbed. “Aye, Love, stay with me.”
“Love”? He’d called her “Love.” She swallowed, feeling the world shrink. Blackness drew in around his worried face as if she were floating farther and farther down to the bottom of a dark sea. “I love you, Cyrus Mackinnon.”
“Stay here with me, Laria!” She heard the edge of panic in Cyrus’s voice.
Kenan’s deep voice came from behind her. “I can’t tell how deep the blade went, but a lot of blood is swelling out.”
Laria felt the warmth of Cyrus’s palms as he held her face between them.
He pressed his lips against hers, and she relished the warmth and softness of them.
“I love ye, too, Laria. I want ye to be my wife. I want to wake up next to ye every morn for the rest of my days. Don’t leave me now when I’m finally bright enough to realize that. ”
She pulled the words inside, letting them cover her as tightly as the blanket Kenan and Cyrus seemed to be wrapping around her.
“’Tis just a cut. Ye feel faint because ye lost blood, but Kenan is tending it.
Stay with me.” Cyrus kept talking, even though her eyes were closed.
She followed his words, holding onto them as if they were a lifeline in a churning sea.
“We have long days and nights to know each other, but ye must stay here. Do not go to God.”
She tried to answer, but her lips wouldn’t move.
“I believe ye, Laria, all of it. Do not leave me. I love ye.”
Cyrus’s words held her like a warm bath, and she felt herself sinking into the embrace of oblivion.
…
Cyrus pushed past Bonnie into the bedchamber where Laria had been taken. “I need to be with her.”
She tried to protest, but another voice cut through. “Let him in. He gives her strength.”
It was Morag Gunn, and he’d never been so thankful that she’d appeared at Dun Haakon.
She wore flowing blue robes and had a braid of hair encircling her head, with another dangling down her back.
Her face was smooth for her age, and her pale-colored eyes stared directly, making her look as though she could see far more than anyone else.
Sophie sat on the other side of the bed, holding Laria’s hand. She stroked the ragged flesh of her childhood burns. “Laria, Cyrus is here.”