Page 14 of Leila’s Legacy

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Leila tried to breathe through the panic snapping in her heart, making it race, leaving her dizzy with fear. She had been captured. By the Lion.

This was it, then. The way she would die.

She had thought there would be more time. Mayhap an opportunity to bid farewell to Lord Werrick who had loved her as his own daughter, to her sisters who had always sought to protect and love her, to Isla who had become a mentor and a friend. The old healer didn’t even know Leila had gone off to help the girl, that Leila had been so stupid as to fall for the trap.

She’d been so foolish. Too trusting. And now she would pay the ultimate price for that mistake. She ground her back teeth together to keep the tears at bay. Not that anyone was paying her any mind.

The younger clansman, with a head of straight red hair and finer clothes than the others, continued to cry out though the dagger had been ripped out some minutes before. His attempts to staunch his pain through closed teeth left him sounding like a dying animal, hissing, huffing and grunting. The Lion still held her dagger that he’d pulled from the younger man’s shoulder.

He wiped the blade on the snow-covered ground, leaving the snow pink with blood, and stuck it into his own belt. Leila’s palms ached with want of the weapon, a chance to defend herself from these men who meant her harm. Or mayhap, her hands were simply tingling at the tension of the ropes at her wrists. Already, her hands were beginning to take on a purplish tinge. She’d tried to wriggle at the bindings to loosen them, but they only cut more into her skin.

The Lion approached her once again, his face set with determination. “Dinna do anything foolish or I’ll set him on ye.” He flicked a glance to the red-haired man with the dagger wound in his shoulder. “Alban would have no qualms about killing ye.”

“And you would?” Leila demanded.

His hazel eyes met hers, light brown with notes of amber and flecks of black and green. Striking. “I’ve no desire to hurt ye.”

If only he knew how ridiculous a statement that was.

He glanced down at her hands. His lashes were tipped with blond, the same wheat-gold color as his shoulder-length wavy hair. He put his hands over hers, too quickly and with too sure a grip for her to pull free.

“Hold still,” he said in a low voice. His fingers moved swiftly, unknotting the rope, loosening the painful binding and then securing it once more. His actions were deft and done with such speed, no one paid him any mind.

Pain prickled through her hands and the purplish discoloration immediately lightened with the flow of blood to her fingers. She moved her wrists at the newfound freedom, ignoring the abrasions that remained.

He lifted his gaze to her eyes. “Better?”

Leila nodded slowly, uncertain. Was this kindness a trap?

“I can look at his wound if you like.” She glanced toward the man she’d hit with her dagger. The one still in the Lion’s belt, mere inches from her bound hands.

The Lion smirked. “Let him suffer.” His fingers brushed light as a feather over the reddened mark on her wrists where some of the skin had torn in her initial attempts to loosen the bonds. “He deserves it.”

He swept her cloak off the ground and put it around her shoulders. The thick fur lining within blocked the wind and warmed her body instantly.

Leila studied the man who was supposed to kill her. The man she was destined to love. Aye, he was kind, but it would never absolve him of the sin of killing her. How could she ever love a man who was so dangerous?

He put his hand to her back and nudged her forward. “Walk. Lord Armstrong is expecting ye.”

Leila stubbornly held her ground, but the Lion applied pressure to his hand at her back, enough that her body staggered forward. She caught herself and he used her momentum to force her onward toward his horse.

“Cease yer whimpers, Alban.” He tossed an irritated look at the younger man. “One of the other guards will see to ye when we arrive.”

Alban glared at Leila, his dark eyes glittering with hate. She let her own gaze clash with his, rising to the challenge. After all, it was not Alban who concerned her.

The Lion lifted her easily onto the back of the horse. Before she had time to clap her heels against the beast’s sides and gallop away, the Lion had swung up behind her. She froze at having a man’s body pressed against her own. His arms squeezed around her on either side as he lifted the reins, keeping her tucked snugly in his grasp. She sat forward in an attempt not to allow any part of herself to touch him, a nearly impossible feat when they were in such close proximity.

He was like an unyielding wall at her back, strong and warm. She begrudgingly admitted the latter part. For he was warm, the heat of his body welcome against the unforgiving wind that sent chips of ice stinging painfully in their faces.

“Dinna even think about trying to escape.” He spoke into her ear, his breath hot on her neck. “There is nowhere ye can go that I willna find ye.”

A shiver wound its way down Leila’s spine. This time, however, only part of it was due to fear.

They rode for the better part of an hour before a castle loomed in front them, the stonework dark gray from years of weathering. It sat like a hulking monster against the dingy winter sky with smoke and ash belching behind it from where the villagers were no doubt burning the effects of the dead.

They were passing the outer walls when she was informed Lord Armstrong wished to see her. While her harbored fears were primarily for the Lion, thoughts of Lord Armstrong filled her with a wary dread.