Chapter 12 #2
The dark circles around his eyes and the tight pull of his skin over his cheeks reminded Isabail that Daniel was still ill. She tempered her frustration and once again attempted to reason with him. “Why are you so convinced MacCurran has the necklace?”
“Niall MacCurran brought it with him from Duthes.”
Isabail blinked. Duthes? “But the necklace was stolen from Lochurkie. How did it get to Duthes?”
He tugged. “None of that matters. We are wasting time. We must enter the caves quickly, before we are discovered.”
“Nay.” If they did not make it to the horses soon, all of this effort would be for naught. She tried to free her hand from his grasp and failed. “Cease this madness, Daniel. The necklace is not worth our lives.”
He snorted. “It’s worth far more than you know.” Yanking her sharply, he threw her off balance. As she stumbled, he caught her around the waist and pulled her toward the entrance to the caves. “I’m not leaving without it. Protesting will only cause further delay.”
Even ill, he was considerably stronger than Isabail. He dragged her along with surprising ease. Aware that she was slowing them down at a time when speed was of the essence, she reluctantly ceded the moment to him and ended her struggles.
He smiled down at her. “A wise decision.”
As they ducked into the ancient storeroom at the far end of the camp, they came face-to-face with young Jamie MacCurran. He slid the sack of dried beans he was carrying to the floor and eyed Daniel with a heavy frown. “Lady Isabail? Is all well?”
* * *
Pushing open the door, Aiden peered inside his chamber. There was no sign of Isabail. Even the brazier had gone cold. Where could she be?
He scanned the close, coming to an abrupt halt at the roundhouse with a guard standing outside. De Lourdes. He covered the distance between the two huts in a dozen long strides. But when he swept aside the fur drape, he found that room, too, was empty.
“Where is de Lourdes?” he asked the guard.
The man’s expression turned to surprise, and he peered inside with a perplexed frown. “I don’t know.”
“That’s a very poor answer,” Aiden said softly.
The guard gulped. “I’ll find him,” he promised. He jogged around the hut and returned to Aiden’s side. “There’s a hole cut in the back wall. It seems he’s escaped, laird.”
Escaped.
An icy calm filtered through Aiden’s veins. Spinning on his heel, he hailed the guards at the entrance to the hill fort. “Seal the entry! No one is to go in or out.” To the men milling about the close, he said grimly, “Find me Daniel de Lourdes.”
Every gillie immediately ceased what he was doing and searched for the missing man, checking every hut, lifting every tarp, opening every barrel.
The hill fort did not boast many hiding spots, and it quickly became clear that their wounded visitor wasn’t the only one missing.
Isabail had disappeared, too. Aiden’s chest grew painfully tight, every breath a chore.
There was only one conclusion to reach—the vixen had never intended to give him the names.
She had plotted an escape with de Lourdes.
“Fetch me my horse!” he roared.
One of the lads raced forward with his mount in tow. He swiftly saddled the horse and mounted. The hound, Gorm, remained at his side throughout, even when Aiden wheeled his mighty steed about and tore out of the hilltop enclosure.
* * *
Daniel immediately released Isabail and grabbed Jamie, clasping a broad hand over the boy’s mouth. “One more word and you’re dead, lad.”
“Let him go,” Isabail urged, suddenly beyond weary. This madcap attempt to escape was quickly becoming a farce. “He’s just a boy. He has no part in this, Daniel.”
“He stinks,” Daniel said with a laugh. “Do you perchance tend the horses, lad?” Easing his hand away from Jamie’s mouth, he allowed the boy to answer.
“Aye.”
“Marvelous. The Lord is surely guiding our efforts. We’ll need you when it comes time to depart.” Daniel tossed a lopsided smile at Isabail. “Let us continue.”
“Nay,” she said. “I will not involve this boy in our affairs.”
The smile fell away, and Daniel’s eyes narrowed. “You will do as I command.”
Isabail took a step back. Never in all the years she had known him had Daniel spoken to her in such a tone. Not a hint of the charming scholar remained. In his stead stood a cold, hard stranger. “I will not.”
“You speak too hastily, Isabail.” He held up his eating dirk. “Enter the tunnel, or the lad’s blood is on your hands.”
“You would not hurt an innocent boy,” she protested, aghast.
“Are you willing to test my resolve?”
She shook her head, her mouth sour with dread. Turning, she led the way into the tunnel. But her feet dragged. Several of the torches that normally lit the way had burned out, and the walls felt unusually close and damp. Memories of being trapped in the darkness sucked the air from her chest.
Daniel gave Isabail a hard shove in the back that sent her to her knees. Rock bit into her knees and hands as she hit the floor. “Move,” he snarled. “Quickly, or the boy will suffer for your stubbornness.”
She scrambled to her feet, pressing her stinging palms to her skirt. “Let him go, Daniel. If you need a hostage, use me. You do not need Jamie.”
She turned to face him.
He held Jamie’s head in the crook of his elbow, one hand firmly clapped over the boy’s mouth and nose.
Jamie’s eyes were wide, the whites clearly visible.
Isabail’s heart clenched for him. This was all her fault.
She had believed Daniel’s greatest wounds were physical when, in fact, they were of the soul.
He had lied about his interest in the necklace—and he had made a fool of her.
A hot rush of anger surged through her veins.
“Let him go, Daniel,” she repeated. “Please.”
Daniel waved the dirk at her. “Cease your dallying. The hand I hold over his mouth and nose can either grant him air to breathe or deny him. Your actions decide his fate, Isabail.”
Isabail met Jamie’s terrified gaze, and she spun on her heel, continuing down the corridor.
The shadows around her were deep and thick.
Finding her way in semidarkness was a challenge she was ill prepared for.
A few days ago, she would have found the task a simple one, but after her ordeal in the tomb, the creeping shadows gave rise to goose bumps on her arms and thoughts that made her heart pound.
When the tunnel opened into the wide storage area, she breathed easier. Again, she confronted Daniel. “We are here. Now let him go.”
“Nay,” snapped Daniel. “He’ll bring the MacCurrans down upon my head. He stays.” He looked around. “Where’s the tomb?”
Isabail swallowed. She had no intention of revealing the tomb’s whereabouts to Daniel. In his current state, he wouldn’t hesitate to disturb the final resting place of the unnamed Pictish king. And who knew what he would do with the crown and sword?
“The tomb holds only a dead body,” she said. “This room is where the necklace will be.”
“Do you think me a lackwit?” he sneered. “No ordinary tomb is protected by such an elaborate trap as the one you described. This one surely contains a treasure, making it the perfect place to hide the necklace. Show me where it is, or I will kill the lad.”
Daniel de Lourdes had lived with her brother for more than five years.
She knew him well. He was a gentle scholar—an herbalist of some renown—not a warrior.
His expertise lay with the quill, not the sword.
He was not capable of killing Jamie. “You will not kill him. I know you, Daniel. Let the boy go, and I will help you search for the necklace.”
A humorless smile rose to Daniel’s lips. “You do not know me at all, Isabail. You’ve no idea what I’m capable of. I loved John—that much is true. Indeed, I loved him more than I have ever loved anyone in my life. But I’m also the one who killed him.”
Isabail’s heart skipped a beat. “What?”
Daniel’s face twisted. “It was an accident, of course. I did not mean for him to die. I brewed a potent poison, to which he was exposed. The moment I realized what had happened, I wished with all my heart that I could take his place. But it was too late. By the time I found him, the poison was already making him delirious.”
“Nay,” denied Isabail, clutching her chest. In all her wildest imaginings, she would never have believed Daniel would kill her brother. “It’s not possible.”
“I’m afraid it is,” he said coldly. “So, you see, your belief in me is unfounded. Open the door to the tomb, or I will kill this boy as surely as I killed our dear, sweet John.”
Isabail swallowed the bitter lump in her throat. Daniel had killed her brother. Not Ana Bisset. Not Aiden MacCurran. Daniel. The man she believed had entered the MacCurran camp to rescue her was a charlatan, a liar, and a murderer.
“Open the tomb, Isabail.”
With eyes blurred by a sudden onset of tears, she saw him draw Jamie against his chest, the arm about the boy’s neck tightening like a drawstring—squeezing, choking. Jamie’s face reddened, and he began to flail, kicking Daniel’s leg and clawing at his arm. But Daniel did not waver.
His eyes met Isabail’s as he slowly but surely strangled the boy before her eyes.
“Cease,” she cried. “I will show you.”
“Hurry, Isabail. The boy doesn’t have much time.”
She dashed to the twin barrels and squeezed between them. Then she scrambled up the flour sacks. “The door opens with a winch. It will take me time to wind it. Please let him breathe.”
As she reached the top of the sacks, she heard Jamie gasp for breath.
Fearing that Daniel would permit him only one, she dropped to the winch below and began to turn the crank.
Six turns of the crank and the winch locked into place, just as it had done before.
And just as she had recalled, the clink of the lock was followed by a harsh grind of rock on rock.
Isabail climbed over the flour sacks. Jamie was breathing in short, raspy draws.
“Show me,” Daniel demanded.