Chapter 15 #2
“Nay!” she cried. “I am no specter, Daniel. ‘Tis I, Isabail. The wound you gave me in the tunnel was nothing more than a scratch. I yet live to tell the world of your crimes.”
He halted.
“Your new lover will swiftly abandon you when you are tossed in the dungeon for the murder of my brother and an assault on my person. My cousin Archibald will stand beside me at your trial, and together we will see your soul rot in hell.”
Daniel spun to face her, a sneer on his handsome face.
“You forget, my dear Isabail, that a dead woman tells no tales.”
* * *
Working together, their combat styles strangely similar, Magnus and his mysterious new friend defeated the three guards handily. When the third and final man fell, Magnus was treated to a hearty thump on the back and a broad grin.
“By God, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”
Wiping his blade on the churned-up snow, Magnus considered his companion.
Given that he’d been the one in sore need of aid, such a comment would have been better suited to his own lips, surely?
His cohort was a tall man. Beardless and sporting the well-groomed hair that Magnus associated with nobles.
If Isabail had not claimed Tayteath as hers, he would have guessed this man to be the lord.
So, if not the Lord of Tayteath . . . ?
“Who are you?” he asked.
The other man’s grin fell away. “You do not know me?”
Magnus stiffened. Ah. The fellow recognizes me. That explained the camaraderie. “Nay, I do not,” he responded honestly.
“Wulf,” the other man said, “I am your cousin, Aiden MacCurran. Our fathers were brothers.”
Kin. This man was kin. A heady blend of excitement and frustration spun inside his head. But if the man was kin, why didn’t Magnus recognize him? Why did everything seem strange and unknown?
“Da!”
A slim, tousle-haired missile hit him in the gut and squeezed him tight with gangly arms.
“I knew you were alive. I knew it,” said the lad attached to his waist as his face pressed into the folds of Magnus’s lèine. “Oh, God, Da. I’m so glad to see you.”
He stared at the boy, rooted to the spot in shock.
It was too much to absorb, being a cousin and a da.
How could he be a father and have no memory of it?
Surely such a thing was impossible. Ought not the sound of the boy’s voice and the touch of his hand to stir something?
Yet they did not. No fond memories, no sense of familiarity.
Still, he did not have the heart to push the lad away, so he stood stiffly and allowed the boy to cling to him.
He shared a desperate look with the man who called himself Aiden, and thankfully, the man stepped into the breach.
“Jamie, lad. It’s good to see you safe. How did you escape de Lourdes?”
The boy pointed to the trees. “Isabail confronted him. He thinks her a ghost.”
“Isabail?” Both men spoke at once, their voices an echo of dismay.
“The wretch will kill her.” Magnus attempted a step, but with Jamie stuck to him as securely as a lamprey eel, it was hardly a smooth stride. “I must go.”
Aiden pointed to Magnus’s bleeding arm. “You’re wounded. Stay with Jamie. I’ll take care of de Lourdes.”
“She’s my responsibility,” he protested.
But even as the words left his mouth, he changed his mind. The lad had tightened his grip to a painful intensity, clearly fearful that having found his father, he was about to lose him again.
Lifting his gaze to Aiden, he nodded.
The other man disappeared into the trees, leaving him alone with Jamie. Magnus gazed down at the boy’s light brown locks and placed an awkward hand upon the lad’s head. The hair beneath his fingers was fine and soft. A child’s hair. His child’s hair. The tension in his gut eased.
Perhaps there was a wee spot of familiarity after all.
“Help me bind my wound,” he told the boy. “And tell me everything that’s happened since I saw you last.”
* * *
Isabail saw a shadow move among the trees behind Daniel, and a calm fell over her. She knew that shadow well—the broad shoulders and impressive height had become incredibly dear to her these past few weeks. Aiden.
“You tried to kill me once and failed,” she taunted Daniel, hoping to keep his attention focused on her. “I’m not convinced you’ll do any better with repeated effort.”
He walked toward her, slow and light-footed like a Highland wildcat stalking a rabbit. The sword in his hand remained low to the ground, but Isabail wasn’t fooled. His grip on the hilt was unwavering.
He intended to gut her.
Praying that Aiden would reach them before Daniel slid the blade between her ribs, Isabail slowly retreated. The cliff was behind her, some twenty paces away. Plenty of space for Aiden to make his move.
“It seems that when your mouth opens, only lies come out,” she said. “Since justice for John was clearly not what you sought, why take the necklace? Why risk all this for a pretty bauble?”
He said nothing, just continued toward her, one relentless step after another.
“Tell me why my brother died, Daniel.”
That sank through his icy facade. He paused. “I told you. It was an accident. But in the end, he died for a good cause—the triumph of right over wrong. Justice has been a long time coming, but it will see the light of day.”
His response was too vague and unsatisfying.
Isabail needed more. When she had believed John the victim of a thief and a traitor, his death had been understandable.
Not easy to accept, but understandable. Now that Daniel had confessed to the crime, there was only confusion and a horrible sense of waste.
“How do you accidentally poison someone, Daniel?”
But the answers she sought were not to be had. His brief moment of introspection passed like a cloud over the moon. Lips clamped tight, his purposeful stride resumed. With his eyes locked on her chest as if he was imagining just where he would place the tip of his blade, he came at her.
* * *
Aiden jogged into the trees, his fist tight around the hilt of his sword.
He’d nearly lost Isabail once to de Lourdes’s blade; he wouldn’t allow it to happen again.
The wretch would die before harming her.
He scanned the trees for some sign of Isabail.
The bright winter moon filtered down through the barren branches, creating a patchwork of dark and light.
He caught a glimpse of pale blue gown, and his heart leapt.
She was alive. De Lourdes was harder to see, but Aiden eventually spotted his outline in the dimness.
The miserable cur was relentlessly pressing her toward the cliffs.
Slipping silently through the trees, Aiden drew closer.
As he listened to the strange conversation between the two, he frowned.
Until the moment the necklace was mentioned, Aiden had assumed de Lourdes was a thief of opportunity—that he’d stolen the necklace and the crown because he could.
Not because that had been his aim all long.
Which spoke volumes about how disturbed Aiden had been by Isabail’s near death—he had not thought to question the cur’s goal.
But de Lourdes hadn’t entered the MacCurran camp to rescue Isabail—he’d come for the necklace. The same necklace that lay at the root of all Aiden’s recent troubles, the same necklace that eventually led back to the man in black.
By God.
De Lourdes knew the identity of the man in black. He had to. If Aiden but questioned him, he would have all the answers he sought. Dunstoras would be saved, and his clan could return to their home. All he had to do was wring the truth from de Lourdes’s lips.
Right after he rescued Isabail.
With his gaze locked on de Lourdes, he stepped around a patch of winter-dried bilberry—and very nearly trod upon a sleeping black grouse. The startled bird took flight, veering west in a madly beating flurry of wings. Aiden recovered quickly and raced for Isabail. But he was a moment too late.
De Lourdes reached her first. He wrapped an arm around her throat and swiveled. His sword flashed in the moonlight, now accurately pointed at Aiden. “Step any closer and I’ll kill her.”
Aiden continued forward, closing the gap to ten paces. To have a hope of disarming the cur, he had to be within striking distance.
De Lourdes shuffled back, dragging Isabail with him. “Stay back, I say.”
The sword was pointed at Aiden and not Isabail, so Aiden ignored him. Eight paces. “Harm her and you’ll die a very painful death.”
De Lourdes retreated farther, a scowl upon his face.
Aiden followed. The edge of the cliff was only a few feet behind them. Was de Lourdes aware? “Let her go and you can live.”
Isabail was clawing at her captor’s arm, but her efforts did not register on de Lourdes’s face. The man’s attention was completely focused on Aiden. He waved his sword. “Do you think me a fool? The only way you’d allow me to live would be if I betrayed the one I live for.”
De Lourdes took another step back.
Aiden’s heart thumped heavily in his chest. “Let her go and we’ll talk, nothing more.”
“There’s naught to be said,” the other man said, taking a firm step back. His voice was dark and crisp, the sound of utter conviction. The edge of the cliff lay immediately behind him, and his purpose suddenly became clear.
He intended to jump—and to take Isabail with him.
Aiden’s blood pumped slowly through his veins, and a cool clarity dropped over him.
He knew exactly what he had to do—stop de Lourdes before he could leap.
There was no time to think twice or doubt the plan of action that sprang to mind.
He simply dropped his sword and darted forward, eyes on his target.