Chapter 1 #2
He swayed ever so slightly, blinking slowly like a cat. He was covered in blood, a good deal of it his own, and his clothing was torn in places. As far as she could tell, however, he had no mortal injuries.
It was strange to think that behind that mask of dirt, blood, and despair lurked a handsome man.
Una had caught glimpses of him before, in Keep Dickson.
Somehow, Una had never imagined him as a man of her own age.
She was twenty, and he was said to be three years older.
He was dark-haired, like her, and lots of the women in the Keep fluttered over him.
Respectfully, of course, and from a distance.
They’d no more risk approaching him than they would risk approaching a mad dog.
His eyes, cold and blue, gleamed at her, catching the light.
“Nay,” he said coolly. “I remember yer brother, but I don’t remember ye.”
Una gave up. That was clearly a lie, but that wasn’t her problem.
“Where is he being taken?” she asked the man in charge.
The Grahame soldier sniffed. “Dunno. Off for execution, I imagine. They’ll want to make an example of him.”
Una gave a wry smile. “Oh, he’s not being executed. Not yet, at least.”
The man flinched. “What? That can’t be right.”
She shrugged. “He’s more useful dead than alive, eh?”
“What did ye say?”
It was another soldier who had spoken this time. This man was young, barely twenty by Una’s estimation. He was thin, growing a scruffy beard, and seemed to be trying to make himself look bigger as he walked. His tartan was immaculate. There wasn’t even much mud on his boots.
“I said,” he repeated, more angrily, “What did ye say, lass?”
“Oy!” Janson snarled. “Don’t speak to her that way. Get back to yer post.”
The young soldier sneered at him. “I’ll speak to her how I like. Do ye have any idea, lass, who this man is? Do ye have any idea what he has done?”
She almost wanted to smile.
“Do ye?” she shot back.
The young soldier did not seem to like this. He squared up to Una, face falling when he realized that she was taller than him.
“He deserves death,” he whispered. “Ye have no idea what he has done?”
“Don’t I?” Una whispered back. “Lad, I do not have the luxury of forgetting.”
The soldier stared at her, then glanced at the others. His Grahame Captain seemed uncomfortable.
“Come on now, lad,” he muttered. “Back to yer post.”
There was a breathless moment of silence. Then the young soldier bit out a curse and yanked out a knife from his belt.
“If none of ye have the courage to do what must be done,” he spat, “then I shall.”
He raced into the croft, the blade glittering. Una cried out, her limbs too tired and heavy to work as quickly as they should. The soldier advanced on Struan Dickson and raised the knife into the air.
Struan moved like lightning. He surged to his feet, the chain clanking. He jerked his arm, and the chain struck the young soldier full across the face with a sickening crack. The man gave a muffled cry and tumbled to the ground in a spray of blood.
Commotion erupted at once. The Grahame soldiers poured into the croft, aiming swords at Struan as they dragged their comrade away.
“Heavens,” Janson mumbled, shaking his head. “What a bloody mess.”
Finnegan said something in agreement, but Una was not listening. She was watching the young soldier being dragged out, his face bloody. He was barely conscious, mumbling something.
More to the point, his hands hung loose and empty at his sides.
Her heart constricted. Turning to face inside the croft, she saw Struan still standing there. He clutched the knife in his hand. As she watched, he lifted the blade to his own neck.
There was either time to cry out a warning or time to act. There wasn’t time for both.
Una chose to act.
She ran into the croft, flinging herself bodily at him. They both crashed to the ground, the knife skittering away into the corner. She was vaguely aware of shouts in the background.
Struan growled, trying to push himself up from the ground. The chain was longer and looser than Una had imagined, and for an instant she pictured him looping it around her throat and tightening it. Even if Janson and Finnegan saved her within seconds, it might already be too late.
She shifted her weight, using her knees to pin him to the ground through his shoulder blades. She caught one scrabbling hand and twisted it up his back, until Struan gave a strangled yelp of pain.
“Oh, no, ye don’t,” she breathed. “Ye don’t get to take the cowardly way out.”
“Why can ye not let me die?” he hissed. “Ye are going to kill me eventually. Ye always said ye despised us, so why not let me die?”
She gave a grim smile. “So ye do remember me.”
He struggled again, trying to buck her off his back. If Struan had not been clearly exhausted and probably wounded, he might have succeeded. As it was, at the end of the battle, it was plain that the man simply did not have the strength.
“Ye don’t need to convince me,” she responded, her voice tight. “I think the world would be better off without ye in it, to be sure. But ye are going to pay for what ye have done. That’s not the reason I won’t let ye die yet, though.”
“Oh, aye?” he spat. “What is the reason, then?”
Una glanced over at the doorway. Janson and the Grahame Captain stood there, pale with worry. She dropped her voice so that only Struan could hear.
“I promised yer sister I wouldn’t let ye die.”
Just like that, all of that fight went out of Struan. He gave up struggling, slumping onto the ground. The Grahame chief tossed a length of thick rope at Una.
“Tie him up,” he instructed. “Ye seem to be doing well enough.”
Una caught it and nimbly began to bind Struan’s wrists together. They’d probably want more rope for his ankles.
“My sister?” Struan breathed. “Kyla?”
Una clenched her jaw and pulled the knot tight. “Aye. Kyla. She’ll want to see ye, I imagine.”
He swallowed thickly and took a moment before responding. “Aye, well, I won’t want to see her.”
Una didn’t bother arguing. It wasn’t her business.