Page 34 of Leila’s Legacy

“Niall, handle the witch.” Lord Armstrong rubbed his brow, as one does when their patience is sorely tried. “Already there has been too much squabbling about this lass. I grow weary of it and pray the priest arrives posthaste.”

Alban huffed. “Da, I—”

Lord Armstrong’s face went with red. “Silence! I havena skirts for ye to hide behind, so dinna act like a spoilt bairn. On the morrow, ye’ll depart to join the scouting party.”

He issued forth a heavy sigh and sank wearily into the great wooden seat of power. “Leave me now. I’ve other matters to tend to and dinna wish to be vexed by ye further.”

Alban stormed from the room, his footfalls thundering over the rushes. Niall inclined his head respectfully and took his leave. He too had matters to tend to. But before he began any of them, he needed to secure Brodie to act as guard before the tower room stairs where Lady Leila was being held. Next, he wished to see to her himself and offer warning.

After all, Alban was not leaving until the following morning, which meant he still posed a very viable threat to Lady Leila.

The waiting was endless. Leila glanced toward the closed door to the chamber she’d been locked within. It had opened only once since the Lion had left, when the young maid had brought in a fresh ewer of water as well as some oatcakes and ale for Leila to break her fast.

The Lion had said he would see to Alban, but what if he could not? She had overheard some of the men speaking when she’d been in prison. Alban was no normal reiver. He was the only son to the Keeper of Liddesdale, heir to the Armstrong earldom. Powerful men were dangerous.

Especially great men who had been humiliated. As he had been by her. She had prepared for his arrival in case the Lion had been unable to stop his advances. Or worse, if the Lion’s efforts incited him further.

A sliver of wood from the side of her bed was tucked within the sleeve of her kirtle. It was firmer than the one she’d peeled from the trunk before and hard-won. She was relatively certain it would not crumble apart as the last one had. Mayhap it would even prove to be fatal.

She’d torn her nails digging it free. Her fingertips ached with a raw, angry heat that pulsed with her heartbeat despite the cold air of the room. Her nerves were just as jagged.

She paced the room, trying not to count the steps lest the ten she was able to take could become too confining with no way out. She’d been trapped thus before. When the Armstrongs had taken her and Lark.

Somehow Leila had been able to sense Ella coming to their rescue that day. The connection had been fast and immediate, as all-encompassing as a mantle on a cold day.

But she had been seeking aid then, as a young woman trapped with another who had been terrified. That fear had been contagious, feeding off the dark uncertainty within them.

But Leila was no longer that girl and there was no one else with her to protect. She would not allow her family to sacrifice themselves for her. This time, she did not seek to be rescued.

She knew well her fate. Her shoulder throbbed with a sharp, crystalline pain where Death’s fingers had marked her. Life was running short and he was waiting for her.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs leading up to her chamber. She stopped mid-pace and let the wooden spike slide from her sleeve into her waiting hand. Armed and ready, she pressed herself against the wall to hide behind the door, the same as she’d done in the dungeon before with the Lion. The key rattled in the lock and the door groaned open with a squeal of protest.

There was a moment’s pause, with no further steps into the room. Leila tensed.

“I’m no’ falling prey to that trick again.” The Lion’s familiar voice eased the knots from Leila’s stomach.

The door slowly closed to reveal the Lion’s powerful frame and a note of humor glinting in his hazel eyes. His mouth quirked to the side in a relaxed grin as he took her in where she stood behind the door with her stake lifted in preparation to attack.

He crossed his arms over his chest and the muscles of his arms bunched beneath his sleeves. “Ye’ve used that one before.”

“Only on you.” She quickly slid the stake up her sleeve. He did not comment on the weapon or demand she relinquish it. She could not be in such a place with no weapon at her side. Especially with a man like Alban nearby.

“I’ve spoken to Lord Armstrong. Alban willna be bothering ye. He’s being sent off with a scouting party and my most trusted guard, Brodie, will be watching ye to ensure yer safety.” He watched her with his steady hazel eyes that were almost golden in the wash of late morning sunlight. “I’ll ensure no one harms ye.”

“Why are you being so kind to me?” Leila asked. “I’m your prisoner, a woman you suspect of being a witch.”

A muscle in his jaw flexed at the last word. “Ye’ve no’ been judged yet.”

His back was straight with confidence and a righteous justice emanated from him. He commanded a room simply by being in it and the power of his presence was intoxicating.

She stepped forward before she could stop herself, so she stood directly before him, the tips of their shoes almost touching. Her hands lightly came up to rest on his fingers. They were large and warm and callused with strength.

It was then she noted her own ravaged nails and quickly withdrew her grasp. “Thank you for your kindness.”

He didn’t reply at first, his gaze fixed intently on her. Up close, she could make out more green than hazel in his beautiful eyes. He had shaved earlier and his cheeks were now absent the golden whiskers she’d seen on prior occasions. His jaw looked smooth and she was left with the ridiculous urge to run her fingertips over the skin there.

Her attention swept over his mouth. He had fine lips, another thing she could not appreciate until she was closer. They were fuller than she had realized, as they were usually set in a hard line of authority. They were not now, however, and she couldn’t help but wonder if they were as soft as they looked.

The Lion lifted his hand and gently swept it down her cheek. She drew in a quiet breath and her pulse spiked. Her eyes fell closed as she reveled in the tender caress. She wanted to sway against him, to feel the power of his body against her own.

All at once, the touch was not there and the glorious heat radiating off him had eased away. Her eyes opened and she found him standing a solid step away, his forehead crinkled. “I’m no’ like Alban.” He nodded. “Good morrow.”

Then, as soon and sudden as he’d arrived, he was gone. Leila exhaled and sagged against the wall behind her.

Never in her life had she kissed a man, and never had she wanted to. Her mind swirled in frustrating circles, pulled in every direction by the crush of lustful thoughts and the resonating logic. After all, how could she truly love a man who was meant to kill her?