17. The Gift
The Gift
They came for Catriona that very dawn.
She hadn’t slept much. She certainly hadn’t gone near the bed, for fear that she’d wake up with Kenneth looming over her, grinning.
She knew it was dawn from the chinks of light that crept through the boards over the window. The fire had long since died down, leaving the room cold. The candle, already nothing more than a stub, didn’t last even half as long as the fire.
The soldiers kept their faces smooth and impassive as they dragged her away. She went without struggling. There seemed to be no point.
They passed a particular corridor, and the guards paused. One glanced at the other and scowled.
“We’ll get into trouble for this,” he muttered.
The other shook his head. “The old Laird deserves this much.”
For one wonderful moment, Catriona thought that she was going to be saved. Then the door opened to reveal Laird MacLeod, standing small and miserable in his own rooms. Her heart sank.
This is just a goodbye.
“I’m sorry, lass,” he whispered. “I have something for ye. I intended to give it to ye after the wedding in any case. I wanted to be sure that ye did truly love my son.”
He held out a shaking hand, opening it to reveal a delicate gold band, a ring with what seemed to be a ruby set deep into it.
“My late wife’s,” he explained, voice catching. “I hoped it would bring ye and Niall luck and happiness.”
Swallowing, she dug her hand into her pocket, drawing out her own token.
“This is my mother’s ring,” she confessed. “It means a great deal to me.”
“Wear them both. Take it, with my blessing. And forgive me for what I could not stop.”
She nodded tightly, accepting the ring. He flinched forward, as if wanting to embrace her in a hug, but the guard shook his head warningly.
Sighing, Laird MacLeod inclined his head.
“Thank ye, lad, for indulging an old man.”
The man grunted and began to drag Catriona away. She twisted in his arms, calling back down the corridor.
“Niall loved ye, Laird MacLeod. He loved ye so much!”
But the old Laird’s door had already been shut and locked, and she was not sure whether he had heard her or not.
They dragged her out into the courtyard. Kenneth waited there, cloaked and gloved, the MacLeod foxhead clasp gleaming on his shoulder. In the crisp, cold morning air, his breath billowed out in front of him.
“There ye are, lass,” he said briskly, rubbing his gloved hands together.
Catriona’s teeth began to chatter already, her thin dress and raggedy cloak doing little to keep out the cold.
“Taking me to Farrish, then, are ye?” she spat, eyeing the horses and soldiers waiting.
The courtyard was pointedly empty, and she wondered briefly if the servants and other Keep inhabitants even knew what was going on. Probably not. They’d find out after the fact, with no opportunity to protest or do anything to help her.
Kenneth gave a mirthless smile. “I am not. But these are my trusted men, and they’ll take ye to where ye are going. I suggest ye behave yerself, Catriona. Laird Farrish is much less forgiving than I am.”
She didn’t bother to respond. The soldiers tugged her over to a horse—not Strawberry, and she wondered briefly what had happened to her mare—and hauled her into the saddle.
Her hands were tied to the pommel, and ropes bound her ankles, curling underneath the horse’s stomach, keeping her feet in the stirrups.
“Be sure to sit up straight. I can’t say what would happen if ye fell out of the saddle tied up like that,” Kenneth chirped, offering her a nasty grin.
The other soldiers wordlessly climbed into their saddles as well. She was relieved to see that the soldier who’d taken her to see Laird MacLeod remained. He seemed to have some kindness in him towards the old man, at least. Maybe the Laird would be kept comfortable.
He’s one of Peter’s men, she realized suddenly. I’ve always seen him by Peter’s side. That means that he is loyal to Niall. He’ll have kept his mouth shut to spare his neck, but he’ll take care of Laird MacLeod. That’s something, at least.
Where is Peter, though?
That was all she had time to think of before the rope tied to her horse’s bridle was tugged, leading it forward, and they all trotted off through the gates together.
They rode in silence. Minutes ticked by, and Catriona had just begun to wonder how far they were going before they pulled off the road and into a wide, grassy clearing.
The clearing was already occupied. Her stomach dropped when she saw who was there.
Laird Farrish stood, arms crossed, in front of his horse, a huge black stallion. Four men in Farrish tartan stood silently behind him, watching.
“There she is,” Laird Farrish rumbled, taking a step forward. His gaze slid over Catriona, neutral and unreadable. “I’ll have a MacAlpin lass of my own, finally.”
“Why, my Laird, you are so sacred of the MacAlpins then that ye came yerself to get me?” Catriona remarked bitterly.
“I came myself because I did not trust the MacLeods to fob me off with some lookalike, but I can see that it’s really ye.”
“Shall I cut her down from the horse?” asked a MacLeod man, the one who’d led the way.
Laird Farrish sniffed. “Nay, I’ll take her with the horse.”
The man reddened. “I-I don’t think Master Kenneth wants to lose the horse.”
“I thought he was Laird MacLeod now.”
The man swallowed, glancing nervously around at his comrades as if they would support him. The others shuffled, avoiding his eye.
At last, Laird Farrish sighed, waving a hand. “Fine. Cut her down. I’ll throw her over the front of my saddle, then.”
The soldier hurried to obey, looking relieved that the exchange was nearly over.
Catriona sat very still, gaze fixed ahead, while they hacked at the ropes around her ankles and the ones binding her wrists to the pommel.
She was dragged down, roughly and clumsily enough that she could not get her legs underneath her before they released her and stumbled to the ground, landing on her backside.
Laird Farrish sucked his teeth. “Careful, lad. I don’t care for bruised goods.”
The MacLeod man lifted his head, lips already pursed in a sorry position. Then his gaze slipped past Laird Farrish and landed on something behind him.
His eyes widened in panic.
Some hard-won instinct must have made Laird Farrish move, flinging himself to the side. A sword whistled down, inches from his shoulder, in a tremendous blow that would have likely severed his arm.
The blade glinted. Men screamed, spinning to face their new adversary.
Farrish men hurled themselves forward, working in pairs.
The newcomer fought, cloak spinning around him, ducking and dodging blades.
His sword dug into the back of one man’s neck, neatly severing his head.
He killed another with one neat forward thrust. The two other Farrish men leaped forward, snarling.
Peter, the captain, fought at his side, grim-faced, brandishing a vicious swordbreaker.
Laird Farrish rushed to his horse, fumbling with a saddlebag.
Out of the corner of her eye, Catriona was conscious of the MacLeod men making their escape, shouting fearfully. They leaped onto their horses, abandoning her and the Farrish men to their fate.
One Farrish soldier got his arm around the newcomer’s neck, the two of them wrestling and kicking. The man’s hood fell back, and the world shifted around her.
“Niall,” she breathed.
He tore free, spinning and rounding on the man. His sword glinted, neatly sliding through the man’s neck.
Three down.
The fourth man took his time, pacing around him warily, eyes narrowed. Catriona glanced over to where Laird Farrish stood, and her eyes widened.
“Dagger!” she screamed, hurling herself at Niall.
She cannoned into him, clumsy with her bound hands. Laird Farrish hurled the neat little throwing dagger. Its blade glinted in the sun, spiraling towards them, missing Niall by inches. They tumbled to the ground.
Catriona lay, winded, unable to do anything more than stare up at the blue sky far above her. It was hard to breathe, and so she lay still, no longer even wanting to tug at the ropes around her wrist.
Blades clashed again. With an effort, she lifted her head, just in time to see Laird Farrish clamber onto his horse, teeth gnashing in rage. The fourth and final Farrish soldier slumped to the ground, leaving Niall standing over him with a bloody sword.
Spitting out incoherent curses, Laird Farrish turned tail, spurring his horse off into the woods. Niall watched him go for a moment, shoulders heaving. Then he turned, looking at Catriona.
“Winded, eh?” he laughed, hurrying over to her. He knelt beside her, leaning down to press a kiss to her lips. “We should move quickly. Can’t guarantee that more soldiers won’t come.”
“I-I thought ye were dead,” Catriona whispered.
Niall’s face hardened. “Aye. There are men and women loyal to me in the Keep, and they told me what happened. I believe that my father is safe for now. I knew that Kenneth planned to give ye to Laird Farrish, and I knew I had to intervene. We’ll leave for now and gather an army.
Then we’ll come back and deal with my cousin. ”
“How-how did ye survive that fall?”
He laughed. “I never fell. I grabbed onto a stone ledge and saved myself. I knew he’d come peering over the edge, so I wedged myself underneath and waited.
We knew something like this was coming sooner or later, and Peter had followed.
Once Kenneth was gone, I climbed out with Peter’s help.
And here I am, safe! Yer hero,” he added, with a wink.
“Ye knew Kenneth would attack ye?”
Niall considered. “I didn’t know exactly what he had planned, but I knew that something was going to happen. I had to draw him out.”
Catriona smiled tiredly, nodding. She made no move to sit up, and Niall’s smile wavered.
“I didn’t think I’d see ye again,” she whispered. “I never even got to say goodbye.”
“Well, now ye don’t have to.”
“I got yer letter.”
“Ye did?” He reached out, tenderly pushing back her hair from her forehead. “I knew I could trust Sukie.”
“Ye said that ye loved me.”
“Aye, and I meant it.”
“And now I can tell ye that I love ye too,” she breathed, eyes fluttering shut.
The world seemed to contract and expand around her, vision swimming. Through her determinedly closing eyes, she saw panic sweep over Niall’s face replacing his warm smile.
“Catriona? Catriona!”
His hands skimmed down her front, pushing back her cloak. She knew what he would see. She could feel dull pain pulsing through her side from the dagger buried in her side.
Niall gave a strangled, horrible cry. When he pulled back his hands from her cloak, she could see blood smears on his fingertips. It seemed odd to think that it was her blood smeared there.
“Laird Farrish’s dagger,” he breathed, choking. “Ye took the blow for me.”
“If it makes ye feel better,” Catriona mumbled, “I didn’t want either of us to get stabbed. But I certainly didn’t want ye to be stabbed. After all, it would be too unfair, considering ye nearly died once before. It’s better this way.”
“Better this… wheesht, woman, let me think, let me think! Where is the closest healer to here?”
“I doubt even a good healer could help with this,” Catriona sighed, letting her eyes close.
The cold which had bitten at her all the way here had finally receded, fading to an annoying throb. She wondered vaguely how much blood she’d lost and decided that it didn’t matter.
Niall was talking, she realized. His voice buzzed around her, talking, barking orders like the brilliant laird he was always meant to be.
“Peter! Return to the Keep. Make sure my father is well. Keep this a secret as long as ye can. I’ll return, ye know I will.”
She wished she could wake up enough to listen properly, but her head had begun to ache, and all she wanted to do was sleep. With an effort, she opened her eyes, peering up at him.
“I am glad I saw ye again,” she whispered.
Niall’s face tightened. “Don’t speak that way.”
“What way?”
“As if ye are going somewhere. Ye, lassie, are going nowhere. I am going to keep ye alive and with me. I don’t care what I have to do. I don’t care if I have to go back to the Keep and beg Kenneth.”
“That would never work.”
“Nay, of course not, he’d execute us both. But there must be…” he trailed off, glancing desperately around. “There must be something.”
Catriona sighed again, closing her eyes. “I wish I could go home.”
“Home?”
“I’d love to see the Glen once more. My sisters and I used to play there. There was an old woman, Malvina…” She gave a faint smile, shaking her head. “We were terrified of her. Oh, I wish I could go home.”
This time, when she closed her eyes, unconsciousness washed over her.
It wasn’t a proper kind of sleep. There was a faint, dreamless quality about it, almost like when she knew the hour to rise wasn’t far off.
Even though the sky was dark, a person might struggle to stay awake, knowing that they would only get into a deep sleep to have to wake again.
Maybe I’ll never have to stumble through a groggy morning again. Ye know, on account of dying.
A strange weightlessness hung around her. For a moment, Catriona could have sworn that she was flying, the ground zipping by beneath her. She breathed in, smelling crushed grass and mint. A firm chest rose and fell beneath her cheek, warm arms holding her close.
It was nice to be held and nice to be warm for the first time in too long. Catriona let out a small sigh, allowing herself to sink deeper into unconsciousness. The wound in her side no longer throbbed, and surely that was a good thing?
I wish I wasn’t dying. I had things I wanted to do.
But at least I got to marry Niall. At least I told him I loved him.
It could have been worse, I suppose.
At last, she slept more deeply than she ever had before.