Page 11 of Leila’s Legacy

“Ye shouldna be out of yer bed.” Isla’s strong grip caught Leila’s shoulder, keeping her upright. “And I shouldna have told ye.”

Her hand on Leila blazed in icy pain. The mark of Death on Leila’s skin flew into her thoughts, as well as his message. The Lion was coming.

She would do well to keep from the village. And she did, for at least a fortnight. She remained within the castle where it was safe. But there were only so many times she could walk past the walls she was so familiar with. She remained within them until they started to close in on her and squeeze at her awareness, until thoughts of the villagers and their suffering pressed at her heart.

Isla and Rose still went out every day to the village to tend the scores of ill. Leila wanted to be there with them. Needed to be there with them. To be an extra set of capable hands, to prevent the likelihood of Isla getting ill. Especially when most likely, both Leila and Rose could not get sick again.

Bernard, who now did not ever wander past the village, had remained busy comforting and administering last rites. It was through his bravery that Leila found herself out at the pestilence hut once more, caring for the dying.

It was there, on the fifth day, she met a small girl who wore little more than a scrap of cloth in protection against the frigid winds.

“Are ye the healer?” the girl asked.

Leila crouched to be on the child’s level. Her dark brown eyes were nearly hidden beneath a fur cap far too large for her.

“Aye, I’m a healer,” Leila replied. “Are you in need of one?”

“’Tis no’ me, but my mum. Will ye help her?”

“Of course.” Leila straightened and prepared to follow the girl. “What is your name?”

“Ainslie.” She took Leila’s hand and led her, not into the village, but away from it.

Leila hesitated. “I cannot go this way,” she protested.

“Please,” she girl pleaded. “My mum is delivering a babe and there are no’ any healers to aid her.”

“How far is your home from here?” Leila asked.

“It isna far on a horse.” The girl pointed to a beast tied to a tree at a nearby forest line.

“Where did you—?”

“Dinna tell anyone, please.” Ainslie twisted her bare hands together. Her fingers were red chapped from the cold. “I happened upon it wandering around the fields and no one was about. I took it. To help find someone to save my mum.”

Leila relaxed. It was not uncommon to find animals roaming with no master. The number of abandoned beasts had been so great, in fact, that many lords were foregoing heriot, their tenant’s family’s gifts of an animal to the lord when a laborer died.

Ainslie led Leila to a nag, most likely an animal left to fend for itself after the family owning it died of the pestilence. “’Tis over the border,” the girl said sheepishly.

A knot of unease twisted in Leila’s stomach.

The girl’s large brown eyes went liquid with fear. “Please dinna say ye’ve changed yer mind.”

Leila gazed out to the sprawling landscape before them, where winter had turned the grass to straw and sifted a fine dusting of snow over it all.

“She keeps screaming.” The girl whimpered. “I canna help her. Please.”

Leila set her shoulders. “I will go.”

They climbed onto the horse’s bony back and the girl led the way to the small hut on the outskirts of the debatable lands. Her immaculate sense of direction was not surprising. Most likely the child had been on at least one raid with her father at some point to the English side of the border.

Leila leapt from the horse, following Ainslie’s eager steps as the girl pointed toward the hut. That disconcerting sense of uncertainty pitched to a scream of alarm. Leila shook her head in silent apology and clambered back onto the nag’s back.

“Where are ye going?” Ainslie cried. “Please! My mum!”

If she said anything else, Leila did not hear. She was running the knobby-kneed nag as fast as its hooves would carry her. Only it wasn’t nearly fast enough.

A prickle of fear tingled at the back of her neck. She chanced a glance behind her and found a band of reivers chasing her at full tilt, far faster on their stocky-legged horses than she was on the skinny nag.