Page 42 of Leila’s Legacy

Leila jerked back reflexively. The stake she’d pried free from the bed lay beneath the mattress on the other side of the chamber, too far away to be of use.

“Ye’re still alive, it appears.” Alban scoffed. “The old priest who will send ye back to hell is taking his time traveling from Edinburgh.” His gaze slicked down her body. “Meaning ye’re still here and I’ve returned.”

The door was left open at his side. If she could dart past him, she might be able to slip out before he could stop her, mayhap make her way down the stairs. Then what? Be caught by the guards and returned to her chamber?

She ground her teeth in frustration. He was too quick to attempt an escape.

He smirked. “We were near the English border yesterday. Did ye know that?”

Leila regarded him warily, dreading whatever it was he wished to share.

“The village outside of yer castle isna doing well.” Alban inspected his hands casually as he spoke. So casually, in fact, it made her realize the door had been left open intentionally. He wanted her to try to escape, to use it as an excuse to kill her himself.

“Most of the villagers are dead.” He shrugged. “Even more than here. Guess yer protection isna aiding them with ye gone.”

“I’m no witch. I can’t cast protection spells or create curses,” Leila protested.

Alban smiled, a cold, cruel curling of his lips. “Ye’re no’ there to protect Werrick Castle anymore, either.”

Leila’s knees went soft. She knew what he meant, but she did not press him to continue. Not when she didn’t want him to say more, as though not hearing might make whatever bad tidings he brought not be so.

“Lord Werrick is said to be brought down with the pestilence.” Alban’s eyes narrowed as he wielded his words as a cruel weapon. “His neck swells with the putrefaction of his body and he grows weaker by the day. Once he is dead, Werrick Castle will fall, and no one will give a damn if what is between yer legs stays intact or no’.”

Father.

Leila practically fell backward onto the stone wall, bracing herself upright against its strength. To imagine her father, his slender frame withered with the effects of the pestilence, his body searing with the same pain as hers had. Her eyes filled with tears and the room blurred.

She knew well the dangers of the pestilence for people who were her father’s age, who were of the same sparse frame. He had done everything for her, giving her a life she never deserved, always showing her love and acceptance, and she could not even be there to tend to him through his illness.

When she had thought seeing him in the prison would be her last opportunity to say goodbye, she had assumed it had been her life that would end. Not his.

Alban walked toward her, his steps slow and menacing. “As soon as yer da dies, I’m coming for ye, ye little—”

“What is the meaning of this?” Niall’s voice boomed in the room.

Alban spun around. “I wasna touching her.” He slid a glance to Leila. “No’ yet,” he muttered.

“Lord Armstrong asked for ye,” Niall said, the authority of his tone undeniable. “Ye’re no’ to see the prisoner. Get ye gone. Now.”

Alban skulked out of the room with a hateful glare.

Niall closed the door and locked it before rushing to her side. “Leila, what is it?”

She had been staring at the distant wall, not seeing it, but instead imagining her father as Alban had described him. “My father.” She could no longer feel her legs.

“What’s happened?” Niall caught her before she slid to the ground.

She sucked in a ragged breath through the pain lancing her heart. “He’s ill with the great pestilence.”

What she did not say was that his chance of survival was lower than most, that while she was locked in a tower at Liddesdale Castle, he might die.

Niall held Leila in his arms as she sobbed for the fate of her father. Yet, even in the length of time that he quietly comforted her, he could not stop the thought that kept nipping at the back of his mind.

She knew.

How many times had she asked him for news of Werrick Castle? Her questioning had started after the night of her dream when he’d gone in to ensure she was safe. It was only after the dream that she had fallen into a morose state. She’d tried to hide it from him, but he could make out the flatness of her gaze from behind her smiles and forced laughs.

’Tis you.