Finally Evan ordered her off her horse. Her bearded captor dragged her down and led her up the hill, to the noose dangling from the tree limb. Gillian couldn’t catch her breath. She dropped her weight back, bending her knees, but he just picked her up. He set her down behind the noose. She stared into his face, her eyes beseeching him to help her. He never met her gaze. He removed the sling that held her right arm immobile and pulled her broken arm around behind her. She screamed out, the world fading as pain ripped through her.
“Dinna fash,” someone said. “Soon there will be no more pain.”
Gillian sagged against her captor until the pain receded. Then she pushed away, standing rather wobbly but under her own power. The ghost had stopped her mindless shrieking. She stood beside Gillian, peering intently into her face. Her skin was brown and as wrinkled as a walnut, and her graying black hair stood out around her head.
“Dinna fash,” she repeated. “Just go to the light, aye, and it will be well.”
“Please,” Gillian said, her voice hoarse, remembering how Tomas had attempted to aid her. He’d protected her from the ballast and had nearly stopped her from falling off the cliff. “Help me.”
The woman nodded comfortingly. “Aye, aye. Go to the light.”
Evan had been watching her with a narrow gaze. He made the sign of the horns. “Witch,” he hissed.
A noose slipped over her head. Gillian swayed, fighting to keep on her feet, the pain in her arm stabbing through her repeatedly. Despair and hopelessness had her by the throat, leaving her weak and sick. The unthinkable was happening, and there was no rescue. She just wanted it to end quickly.
Evan rode his horse close to Gillian and gazed down at her, a small smile curving his cruel mouth. “You should have listened to Kincreag, Witch. We had a much harder time when he protected you. You made it easy for me.”
Gillian spat at him.
The ghost woman’s face distorted in sudden fury. She raised her arms, and she ran screaming at Evan’s horse. It reared and shrieked, pawing frantically at the air. Evan worked to control the frenzied horse as it fought to bolt. The horse tipped backward, sliding down the hill on its side. Evan managed to jerk his foot from the stirrup and roll away. At the bottom of the hill, the horse struggled to its feet and cantered away, riderless.
Evan stared after his horse, swearing angrily. He crossed himself, then made the sign of the horns at Gillian again and backed away, giving the signal to the men behind Gillian.
The rope pulled taut about her neck, though her feet remained firmly on the ground. Gillian’s breath caught, her heart straining in her chest. She closed her eyes and prayed for her soul, prayed for Nicholas to be safe andnot too angry with her, prayed that her sisters were still alive and well. The ghost was beside her again, exhorting her not to worry, to go to the light, all would be well.
Gillian’s head shot up when she heard a far-off barking, growing steadily nearer. She rose reflexively on her tiptoes, but it did no good. Her body jerked abruptly upward as the noose pulled tight. The air dried up, and the world went red. Two shots rang out and she hit the ground, the acrid scent of gunpowder surrounding her. She lay there, still barely able to pull in air, her lungs struggling.
Swords clashed around her; guns discharged. Her name was shouted several times. Nicholas. Wetness on her cheek, snuffling in her ear. Broc. When Nicholas called her name again, she feared he might get himself killed if she didn’t show some sign of life. She rolled onto her left side and pushed herself up, blinking at the world around her.
The man who had stood behind her, pulling the rope to hang her, lay sprawled on the hillside, his blood draining into the dirt. Gillian averted her eyes.
The fighting ended quickly, with the broken men taking to the hills. Nicholas bent over a body sprawled on the rise of the hill. He wiped his sword across the corpse’s plaid and sheathed it. Evan.
Nicholas climbed the hill toward her, his gaze scanning the area before settling on her. He dropped to one knee beside her. He smelled of blood and fear and gunmetal. Gillian leaned against him and inhaled. His fingers were on her neck, loosening the noose.
He tossed the noose aside and smoothed his hand over her hair, tilting her chin up with his other. She gazed up into his black eyes and saw what he had gone through, the worry, the fear.
“You’re killing me, Gillian.”
She smiled and closed her eyes, ready to collapse with fatigue. Her muscles quivered with pain. “I know.” He was everything safe and good in her world, and now that he was here, she could finally rest.
He worked the bindings loose from her wrists and gently folded her broken arm onto her lap, apologizing all the while for hurting her. Gillian cried silently and bit her lip until it bled.
He held her against his chest for a long while, rocking, his face pressed into her hair. One of his men addressed him, asking for orders, but Nicholas did not reply. Finally he said, “We have to go now.”
Gillian’s eyes fluttered open. Nicholas helped her to her feet. The woman in black was still there, smiling at Gillian.
“Why don’t you go to the light?” Gillian asked her. Her voice was a rasp, barely audible, but the woman understood her.
Nicholas raised a quizzical brow.
“Oh, I will,” the woman said. “Fash not on me. But there’s work for me still here.” She nodded sagely. “Ye’re blessed, ye are. Methinks there’s work for you, too.” And then she was gone.
Nicholas looked at the empty air where Gillian gazed. “You weren’t talking to me, were you?” His voice was resigned.
“No. You’re not going to yell at me now, are you? Can’t it wait until we get home?”
His lips curved ruefully. “Aye, it can.” He found her sling and refashioned it. Gillian saw her then. Catriona. She was on horseback, her hands bound before her, surrounded by guards. She watched Gillian and Nicholas.
