14 HOLDING BACK THE TIDE
ENTERING THE BARMKIN, Liza halted, her gaze sweeping over familiar surroundings—the stables and byre to the right, the bakehouse and kitchen to the left, and the great stone well that sat in the heart of the cobbled space.
The bodies of the dead guards sprawled on the ground, many of them still clutching their dirks and swords. And among them was a big man with wild red hair. Captain Alasdair MacCormick. The leader of the Moy Guard had stood by and watched as Leod dragged Liza down to the rowboat. They all had. Nonetheless, the sight of his body made queasiness churn in her belly.
The iron tang of blood lay heavy in the air.
Liza breathed shallowly, a chill settling over her. Ye ordered this.
Usually, the barmkin would be bustling with activity at this hour. But it was deserted now. The servants of Moy had either fled or were cowering somewhere.
Liza’s heart leaped into a canter.
Or they’re dead. Where is Craeg?
At that moment, figures emerged from the shadows around her.
Men in bloodstained braies and lèines, their hair disheveled, and victorious smiles upon their faces. Pirates.
“My son?” she said, wishing her voice didn’t sound so panicked. “Where is he?”
“Safe,” Cory assured her. The Blood Reiver’s first mate approached in loose strides, a bloody dirk still gripped in his right hand. “He’s hiding with the servants in the cellar.”
Relief washed over Liza, and her legs wobbled under her. Drawing in a deep, steadying breath, she met his eye. “And Rankin?”
Cory’s mouth quirked, his chin kicking toward the tower house. “Speak of the devil.”
She turned, watching as the pirate captain emerged. Like his men, Rankin’s clothing was torn and bloodied. His left forearm had been bound, and he walked with a slight limp.
Halting on the top step, Rankin’s gaze met hers. He then favored her with a nod. “Welcome back to Moy, Lady Maclean.”
Their gazes held a long moment before she cleared her throat. “Is it done?”
“Yer husband is dead in his solar … if ye want to see for yerself.”
Dread dragged through Liza’s stomach. Seeing the bodies of the Moy Guard scattered across the barmkin had unnerved her. But her husband was a different matter.
Aye, she hated Leod Maclean—and had hired someone to kill him—but he was the father of her child. Once, she’d dreamed of winning his affections, had hoped he might grow to love her. But she’d given up a while back. No, she had to remain steadfast, for her biggest challenges were likely yet to come.
Lifting her chin, she held Rankin’s eye and took a step forward. “I shall go up now.”
“Ma!” A cry brought her to a swift halt.
Behind Rankin, a small figure burst from the doorway. Her son hurtled down the steps, legs flying, and across the distance separating them.
And when Craeg launched himself into Liza’s arms, she choked back a sob. They clung to each other for a few moments before she lowered herself to her knees in front of him and drew back, her gaze roaming over his tearstained face.
God help her, she’d gut Rankin if he or any of the other pirates had harmed her son. “Are ye hurt, love?”
“No … just scared.”
She swallowed, her throat suddenly tight. “All is well, love. I’m here.”
“Da said ye’d gone away forever” —Craeg’s dark eyes were huge on his pale face, filled with hurt and confusion— “that ye didn’t want us anymore.”
Fire ignited in her veins at these words, a red veil dropping over her vision. Suddenly, any regret for what she’d done lifted like morning mist.
The bastard.
Killing his wife wasn’t enough; he’d tried to poison their son against her as well.
“I’d never leave ye, Craeg,” she whispered, squeezing his thin shoulders firmly. “I swear.” She swallowed then, to try and loosen the tightness in her throat. “Yer father sent me away for a few days … that’s all … but I’m back now.”
Oh, how she wanted to tell him what a monster Leod was, yet something checked her. She wasn’t like him. She wouldn’t poison Craeg. Their son was too small to understand the complexities of adult relationships, but when he was ready, he’d learn what his father had done—and he could make up his own mind about whether to hate him.
Weariness swept over her then, pressing down upon her shoulders like two heavy hands. It was over. Leod was dead, and Craeg was safe. For the past few days, she’d been cast adrift in a violent storm, and now she’d finally reached a safe haven.
All she wished to do was crawl into a soft warm bed and pull the blankets over her head, but she couldn’t. Not yet.
“But why was everyone fighting?” Craeg whispered, his attention shifting to the corpses scattered around him. “Why are all those men sleeping?”
Sleeping? Liza’s throat started to ache. The Saints forgive her, she’d wanted to spare Craeg this, spare him the ugliness of life. Leod had accused her of coddling the lad, of making him soft, but she’d only wanted to protect her son, to let him believe the world wasn’t a harsh, violent place, if only for a short while.
But it was like holding back the tide.
“Hold still, I’m nearly done.”
Brow furrowed, Liza dug the bone needle into Rankin’s arm once more, drawing the lips of the wound on his forearm together and making her last stitch. She then cut the catgut and tied it off.
The captain let out a slow, relieved breath, peering down at her work. “Ye have done a neat job.”
She gave a soft snort before reaching for the bottle of strong wine she’d asked a servant to bring up from the cellar. “Aye, the women in my family are all skilled with a needle and thread.” Taking hold of his forearm, she then doused the sewn wound with wine.
Rankin’s hiss of pain filled the solar.
He sat upon the table, while she worked with the light of the setting sun filtering through the window.
They were alone. Her husband’s body had been carried away, yet a dark stain still covered the floorboards. She’d ask one of the maids to deal with it shortly—to scrub away all evidence of what had happened in this chamber.
Ignoring the pirate’s reaction, Liza reached for a cloth and gently patted his arm dry. She then picked up a length of clean linen and began to wrap the wound. Focusing on this task made being in this man’s presence easier, made the queasiness that had lodged in her throat ever since stepping inside the barmkin earlier settle a little.
“How does it feel then?”
She glanced up from her task. “What?”
“To be laird of Moy Castle.”
She pulled a face. “To be honest, it hasn’t quite sunk in yet.”
“I assured ye, my men and I would remain here for a few days … to ensure ye are safe,” he replied, holding her eye. “And we will.”
Liza stared back at him, uneasiness fluttering in her belly. “I appreciate that,” she murmured. And she did; she wasn’t sure how she’d cope without assistance, for she didn’t yet know if the servants were on her side. Not only that, but the surviving ten warriors of the Guard were waiting for her in the dungeon pit.
Would they swear to follow her when she freed them?
Aye, as much as this man’s presence unsettled her, she was relying on him at present.
“In the meantime, I will organize yer payment,” she answered, cutting her gaze away while she secured the bandage with a neat knot. “We shall go down to Leod’s strongroom first thing tomorrow.”
“Thank ye, Liza.”
Heat flushed across her chest. She wished he wouldn’t address her so informally. Aye, they were alone now, but he still took liberties. He clearly thought the intimacy they’d shared gave him the right.
Heat washed over her then as she remembered her boldness the night before.
What madness had possessed her?
The situation had addled her wits, but now that she was back home, sanity had returned. She couldn’t let Rankin think they’d ever lie together again.
She had to put some distance, some formality, between them.
As he’d just reminded her, she was laird now—and she needed to start acting as such.
Putting the items she’d used to tend to his arm back into her healing basket, she favored him with a level look, even as her pulse skittered. “We had an agreement, Captain Rankin,” she said cooly. “And I shall uphold my end of it.”