35 THE SAME SIN
THE KING’S GAZE widened as he took in the three prisoners.
His eyes were dark blue. Nothing like Darach’s.
But the likeness was there all the same. The same jaw and nose, only Niall’s features were smoother, more classically handsome.
Pushing aside the remnants of his meal, the king rose smoothly to his feet. The scrape of his chair echoed in the hush. “Do my eyes deceive me?”
Darach didn’t answer.
Niall’s gaze slid to Gregor. “You know who he is?”
The druid frowned, tensing. “No, sire.”
Shouldering aside the slave who had been about to refill his cup, Niall stepped down from the high-seat. His boots crunched on the rushes as he crossed the floor. A few yards from Darach, he halted.
Darach stood unmoving, wrists bound, shoulders squared. His expression was shuttered. Only the glint in his amber eyes betrayed the gathering storm.
“You sly dog,” Niall greeted him softly. “How many assassins did I send after you … four?”
“Six.” The response was clipped.
Niall pulled a face. “I was sure the last one would do the job … the man was a beast.”
Ailsa stilled, recalling the huge, tattooed warrior who’d lunged from the mist on that hilltop. Indeed, he’d been difficult to beat.
A murmur rippled through the hall.
Everyone knew who Darach was now.
“But you slew him too?” The king’s gaze sharpened. “How is it you avoid an assassin’s blade … yet end up here?”
Silence followed. Gregor answered when Darach would not. “He and the lass tried to rescue the tattooist last night, sire.”
Niall’s attention shifted to Kayla. “So, this is the tattooist of Braewall?”
“Aye … the woman was once a sacrificer. We trained together on the Isle of Arryn.”
The king nodded, taking this in before his gaze traveled to Ailsa, where it lingered. “And who’s this?”
“My daughter,” Kayla said before Ailsa could speak. “Let her go. It’s me you want.”
Ailsa blinked. Kayla had claimed her as kin before, yet hearing the word now tugged unexpectedly at her chest.
“Your daughter, eh?” The king’s lips curved. “You look nothing alike.”
Gregor snorted. “The Kayla I remember didn’t fancy pricks much.”
Kayla met the druid’s gaze with silent contempt.
“Your daughter is a tattooist too, I take it?” Niall asked then.
Kayla’s lips compressed.
“She’s her apprentice,” Maol drawled from behind them. “A resourceful lass … tracked her mentor from Farnoch.”
The king cocked an eyebrow, his gaze remaining on Ailsa. “An apprentice tattooist will come in useful,” he replied. “We’ve much work to do here.”
“What are you doing in the North, Niall?” Darach ground out.
A ripple passed through the hall.
It was a fair question. The King of Braewall was supposed to be visiting his allies in Baldeen, discussing trade between the two kingdoms. Not building forts in the deepest, darkest corner of The Goatfells.
Niall smiled at his brother. “Preparing. You know how poorly things have gone for me in the South. Queen Lara claws back territory inch by inch. Soon, she’ll be at the gates of Braewall.
” He paused then, his expression hardening.
“I won’t let her take my kingdom. I’ll knock that fire-wielding crow from her perch and take Duncrag and her crown.
” His gaze swept the hall. “This is where it begins. An army no one will stand against.”
“You always had more ambition than brains,” Darach growled.
His brother huffed a laugh. “Strange … I always thought you the stupid one.” He took a step closer. “So bitter these days, brother … what’s wrong? Don’t like being bested?”
Darach glared back at him.
“If you had any honor, you’d know when you’re beaten.” Niall folded his arms across his chest. “You tried to kill me, so I returned the favor … what’s wrong with that?”
Murmurs rippled through the hall.
Ailsa stiffened before cutting her gaze to Darach. “I don’t understand … you said he tried to have you murdered?”
Darach looked at her, expression shuttering. “He did,” he admitted gruffly. “In retaliation.”
She stared at him. “What?”
Niall smirked. “Ah, so the lass thought you were the wronged one, did she? Poor misunderstood Darach?”
Darach tore his attention from Ailsa and faced his brother once more. “It doesn’t matter.”
Heat rolled over Ailsa. Doesn’t it?
“You had it coming,” Darach added, face stone-hewn now. Unrepentant. “My only regret is that I failed.” His gaze flicked—just once—to Ailsa.
Niall snorted.
“What is it you’re up to here?” Kayla interrupted the brothers then.
Niall nodded to Gregor. “Our good druid has been working hard of late. Now these warriors have tattoos imbued with earth magic … and the strength and speed to rival enforcers.”
A chill washed over Ailsa, her discovery about Darach’s lie momentarily forgotten.
Aberrations.
Darach muttered an oath.
The king ignored him, gesturing to where a man with dark braided hair stood silently next to Gregor. “A Circines village once stood on this hill. Tadhg mac Cormac here was chieftain of these people, yet now, he and his people fight for me … isn’t that right, Tadhg?”
The warrior in question stared back at him; his sharp-featured face was set in hard lines. His green eyes narrowed. A muscle flexed in his lantern jaw.
He didn’t say a word, yet Ailsa could almost taste his hate for the king.
She studied the chieftain with interest. He was as tall and broad as an oak. Tribal tattoos, interlocking spirals and knotwork, snaked up his bare arms and neck, although amongst them, Ailsa noted others. Blades, animals, and plants with power bound in every line and curve.
Her gaze narrowed as she studied the designs. Those glowing eyes of the warriors who’d abducted Kayla, their speed and strength. They were warriors from Braewall—yet they bore the same tattoos as the Circines chieftain. Everything was starting to make sense now.
Niall glanced away from the glowering Tadhg then and raised his right arm, revealing a tattoo that covered the underside of his forearm, just above his wrist. From this distance, it looked a bit like a spiderweb with a dark tangle at its heart.
“Gregor has given me something to ensure Tadhg and his friends remain obedient. However, they now require enough enhanced tattoos to make them unbeatable in battle.”
Ailsa’s gaze flicked back to Tadhg. Obedient?
A heavy silence fell before Kayla growled a curse. “Fools … earth magic shouldn’t be played with like this.”
Gregor’s lip curled. “But you’ve inked forbidden marks for years … that’s why we fetched you.”
Kayla flinched. “Not for this purpose,” she said, her voice faltering now.
“It’s the same sin,” Niall replied with a half-smile. “I’m just taking it further.”
Recovering, Kayla drew herself up. “I won’t help you.”
The hall fell silent, and then the king moved forward. However, he didn’t approach Kayla but Ailsa.
Heat crawled up her spine as he loomed over her. His gaze traced her face, her throat, her mouth. “She’s a striking lass,” he murmured.
Ailsa’s hands, bound by iron shackles, clenched uselessly behind her back.
“Leave her be, Niall,” Darach barked. “Ailsa has no part of this.”
Niall cut him a sharp look, understanding lighting in his blue eyes. “You’ve excellent taste, brother,” he murmured. Then, before Darach could answer, he shifted his attention to Kayla. “Do my bidding, tattooist … or I’ll make your daughter my bed-slave.”
Darach lurched forward, but Maol and another warrior hauled him back.
Niall cocked an eyebrow. “Too late for grand gestures, brother … the lass knows you’re a liar now.” He then nodded to Maol. “Throw him in the pit.”
The two of them dragged Darach backward.
He exploded against their grip, muscles bunched, chains snapping taut. His eyes burned unnaturally bright. The musky scent of something wild filled the air.
Ailsa’s heart slammed against her ribs.
The beast was rising.
The surrounding warriors stumbled back. Hands flew to weapons. Even Niall took a sharp step away, eyebrows drawing together.
Darach strained, veins standing out along his neck. His body convulsed as the clag-doo inside him hammered at bone and flesh.
He should have shifted, yet he didn’t.
Ailsa jolted.
Was it the iron at his throat and the shackles upon his wrists? Were they, somehow, choking the change?
Panting, Darach’s gaze found Ailsa’s.
The veil between them vanished. Ever since the hunter’s shieling, he’d stepped back from her, but he didn’t now. In the depths of his eyes, she glimpsed the raw fury, the desperation—and the apology.
“I failed you, Ailsa,” he wheezed. “I’m … sorry.”
Her heart lurched.
The hurt was still there—the questions too—yet none of it mattered while they were taking him away. She couldn’t let them take him. Not like this. “No!”
Rough hands seized her, yet she struggled. Kayla swore and fought too, but they were held fast.
Darach didn’t speak again.
Instead, his gaze remained locked on Ailsa’s as they hauled him away.
“Darach!” Her voice broke on his name.
Then he was gone.