23 WHAT ELSE ARE YOU HIDING?
“WHAT WERE YOU and Fern whispering about this morning?”
Ailsa glanced up from where she was plucking the grouse he’d caught.
They’d camped upon a hillside. Fog rolled in like porridge now, narrowing their world.
The Goatfells reared to the north—Ailsa had caught glimpses of them through the trees earlier in the day—but the mist shrouded them.
The world ended just beyond the glow of their fire.
She thought about brushing off his question, about telling him it was nothing of importance. However, the suspicious glint in Dale’s eyes gave her pause.
Relations were so strained between them now, yet the things Fern had said had been gnawing at her all day.
“Fern thinks there’s something wrong with you.” Warmth rolled over her then. Coward. Fern’s observations hadn’t been confined to him, but she couldn’t bring herself to admit such. No, it was best if they made this all about him.
Dale pulled a face and dropped to a crouch before the fire, putting down the branches and twigs he’d just collected. Enough fuel to see them through the night.
“She says you smell feral,” Ailsa went on.
She let silence fall then, let her words sink in.
To her surprise, Dale’s face paled. A nerve flickered under one eye.
Ailsa’s gaze narrowed. She’d thought her news would vex rather than rattle him. The man looked as if he’d just seen his own shade. “I’m sure it’s all nonsense,” she added quickly.
Dale made a sound in the back of his throat and closed his eyes.
Her breathing caught. Now, he really did have her worried. “Dale?”
His eyes opened, and he met her gaze across the fire.
She stiffened at the bleakness in the depths of them. “What’s wrong?”
Something burst from the mist to her right.
Rùn, who grazed a few yards away, squealed in warning, but Ailsa and Dale were already moving. They rolled in opposite directions, the firewood and the half-plucked grouse forgotten.
The rasp of iron against leather followed as Dale rolled swiftly to his feet and faced his attacker. There had been no time for him to draw his sword. The weapon still lay sheathed in its scabbard by the fire, so he drew a long-bladed dragger instead.
The smell of leather and stale sweat hit Ailsa an instant before the blades clashed.
The man was built like an ox. A leather vest encased his massive chest, leaving his arms bare.
Coils of woad tattoos wrapped around bulging muscles.
He moved fast for such a big man, wielding two long blades that sliced through the damp air.
And each swipe came perilously close to sinking into Dale’s flesh.
Drawing her own blade, Ailsa readied herself to spring before checking herself. This man was dangerous. She had to be careful.
Just as well her bodyguard handled himself well.
Dale dodged each vicious strike and countered with his own. Savagery twisted his face as he fought.
Even so, his adversary was relentless. Almost frenzied in his attack.
Ailsa tracked every movement, her gaze narrowing. This warrior was one of the biggest men she’d ever seen. He hadn’t been with those she’d seen in that ale-hall in Farnoch, she was sure of it.
Maybe he was the one left behind to watch over Kayla.
And, just like the man who’d attacked them by Loch Lethe days earlier, this attacker was wholly focused on Dale.
It was as if he hadn’t even seen her.
Heat flared under her ribs. Did these warriors think she wasn’t a threat?
She stared at him, and the fire and mist vanished.
Even Dale faded into the background.
There was only the space between her and the assassin now—and she was going to cross it.
She was going to end this fucker.
She had to get her hands on a bigger weapon first. She wanted Dale’s sword, but it was too close to where the two men were fighting—and she’d never wielded a broadsword before.
Instead, she slid her knife back into her boot and scooped up a heavy branch that Dale had dragged up the hill to feed the flames later, and skirted around the fire.
She swung it hard at the warrior’s head.
He saw her coming and ducked, bringing his left fighting dagger up to ward off the blow. It did, but only partially, and he reeled back, his blade spinning out of reach.
Dale was on him in an instant, his dagger driving downward. The big man rolled, just as the dagger stabbed into the pebbly ground.
With a roar, the attacker lunged to his feet, drawing another blade.
In response, Aisla’s belly swooped, and she leaped forward once more.
Suddenly, she and Dale were a team, each taking turns to strike at him, moving around the warrior like dancers around a fire at Bealtunn.
Iron rang against iron and wood.
Every shift of the warrior’s weight tugged at her. His feet skidded on gravel, his body twisted, and his blades flashed.
Ailsa tracked every movement, anticipating them.
Until she realized she was smiling. Casting aside the branch, she whipped out her knife once more.
Meanwhile, Dale’s eyes gleamed gold in the firelight.
Aye, they were both enjoying this.
Fern was wrong. They were ready for whatever lay before them. Suddenly, the tension between them since Ardroth didn’t matter. When danger came, they stood together.
With a whoop, she flew at the warrior once more.
“Wait—” Dale shouted, but Ailsa barely heard him.
She wanted to get close enough to open up his throat with her fingernails, to watch his blood spill over her hands.
Her heart started to pound even harder at the thought.
With one hand, she slashed her blade at his chest, while her other flew out to rake his face.
But he dodged both weapons with an impressive burst of speed. Twisting, his elbow cut sideways—and smashed into the side of Ailsa’s head.
Pain exploded inside her skull.
And in that instant, she knew she’d moved too soon. She’d gotten carried away.
The world tilted.
Then everything went black.
Ailsa awoke to nausea and a brutal pounding in her skull.
Groaning, she pried her eyes open. Her vision blurred for a moment as bile surged up her throat, but then her surroundings sharpened once more. She was lying on her side, just a couple of feet from where the fire pit merrily crackled. The gamey aroma of roasting grouse filled her nostrils.
“Shit,” she rasped, gingerly pushing herself up. “What happened?”
“He nearly killed you, that’s what happened,” came a curt response. “You made a mistake that almost cost you your life.”
Ailsa winced. Dale was right. The fire in her veins had turned her reckless.
She glanced left to where he sat, turning the grouse on a spit.
A corpse lay sprawled on the hillside, just a couple of yards behind him.
The big tattooed warrior stared sightlessly up at the swirling mist, mouth slack. His throat had been slashed, and dark blood pooled around him.
The sweet, earthy scent slammed into her.
Hunger twisted sharply in her gut. Not for roast grouse, but for warm, sticky blood.
Ailsa jerked her gaze away and swallowed hard.
The Reaper strike her down, it was getting worse.
She’d hoped she could master this, but she couldn’t.
She had to face facts. She was twisted.
“He was good,” Dale went on, casting a cold glance over his shoulder at the body. “Even better than the last one.”
Ailsa frowned, wincing as pain lanced through her skull.
She’d taken a knock to the head, but she wasn’t so easily distracted. He was trying to draw her attention away from the obvious—from the fact that for the second time, an assassin had come for him at dusk.
“It was him watching earlier, wasn’t it?” she said finally. “In that stand of firs by the burn.”
“I’d say so.” Dale lifted the grouse to check the cooking before lowering it over the embers once more. Yet he didn’t comment further, didn’t explain himself.
He wouldn’t meet her eye.
Reaching up, Ailsa tentatively prodded at her tender skull with her fingertips. She then hissed softly. That oaf’s elbow had been like a battering ram.
However, that wasn’t what mattered right now.
Something had occurred to her just after the warrior had attacked; something had finally clicked into place, and she wouldn’t let it go.
“That’s two of them now,” she said, fixing Dale with a hard stare. “And I don’t think they’re part of the group we’re hunting. They’re assassins … they were hunting you.”
He stiffened, still not looking her way. “Ailsa—”
“Just be honest with me, Dale,” she cut him off. “Before the attack, you were about to tell me something. What was it? Who wants you dead?”
Silence pulsed between them, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the hiss of sizzling grouse fat.
Eventually, Dale heaved a heavy sigh and reached up, pinching the skin between his eyebrows with forefinger and thumb. He then, finally, looked her way, gaze shadowed. “My brother.” His words were growled, like he’d just uttered a curse.
Ailsa jolted. “Your brother sent killers after you?”
“Aye.”
Her frown deepened. “And when were you going to tell me this?”
“I hadn’t planned to.”
Ailsa’s skull still pounded, and queasiness churned in her belly, but she was too vexed now to care. “What else are you hiding?”
His jaw tightened, but he didn’t answer.
“Tell me the rest of it, Dale … or you’re fired.”
His expression turned incredulous. “You can’t take on those men alone.”
“I’ll find a way,” she shot back. “I’d prefer to work alone than with someone I can’t trust.”
Shit.
Why had she hired this man?
Another silence followed before he grimaced. “All right … my name isn’t Dale,” he ground out. “It’s Darach … Darach mac Lachlan … brother to King Niall of Braewall.”
Ailsa sucked in a sharp breath.
Whatever she had imagined her bodyguard might reveal, it wasn’t this. She looked at his now-familiar face with fresh eyes.
The arrogant bearing. The strong jaw and wavy brown hair.
She’d never set eyes on the prince who’d disappeared nearly six years earlier, but she’d caught many glimpses of his elder brother, Niall. The king’s good looks were more chiseled than his brother’s, but the family resemblance was there.
Aye, on the evening they’d met, she’d felt a tickle of recognition but hadn’t been able to place it. Of course, she hadn’t. Never would she have thought the man who’d agreed to help her rescue Kayla was the king’s missing brother.
“But you’re supposed to be dead,” she said finally.
He snorted. “Aye, and that’s how Niall likes it.” He paused then, something ugly moving in his eyes. “But he knows I’m not.”