Page 67 of Leila’s Legacy

Leila’s torso sagged toward Niall as they rode, pushed back by the speed of their travel and remaining there due to lack of strength to do anything otherwise. Icy wind rushed at them as they went deeper and deeper into the dense forest. Several times blackness claimed Leila until she awoke with her head lolling and her body firmly secured between Niall’s powerful arms.

She had no idea how long they had been riding when they finally drew to a stop. A cottage was nestled in a dense thicket of trees, virtually hiding it from view. Niall leapt from the horse and carefully eased her down into his arms. She wanted to protest she didn’t need to be carried, that she could walk. But if she were being entirely honest, she didn’t know that she could actually walk. Indeed, she didn’t even know if she could speak to say the words.

A pallet had been made up on the floor of the cottage with furs piled atop it. Niall set her in a chair before the empty hearth and immediately knelt before a pile of kindling.

She curled her arms around herself and shuddered with the cold while Niall pushed log after log into the hearth from a neat stack of dry wood. He struck a flint several times. So desperate was she for warmth that she imagined little pockets of heat emanating from those glinting sparks.

At last the fire caught and the logs erupted into hot, glowing flames. Leila stretched her shaking hands out to the heat. Her eyes closed with bliss and she had the irrational urge to put herself into the hearth to let it blister the cold away.

“We need to get ye from those wet clothes,” Niall said softly. “Or ye’ll get ill.”

She opened her eyes to find him watching her, his forehead creased with worry.

He shook his head. “I had no choice.”

She swallowed around her aching throat and nodded. “I know.” The words eked their way out and emerged huskier than usual, the pain evident in her speech. “Brodie’s sister?” she croaked.

“Bonnie is safe, thanks to yer bravery.” Niall knelt before Leila and took her frigid hands in his. “Lady Davina is hiding her and Brodie for the day. They will join us when ’tis safe to do so.”

He settled his brow to their joined hands in supplication. “I dinna know what I’ve done to earn the miracle of ye coming back to me, or if mayhap my da was in heaven looking out for ye. All I know is that I’m grateful ye’re alive.”

She touched his face to turn it up toward her once more. As she did so, she reveled in the scrape of his golden whiskers against her palm. “I love you,” she said softly.

“And I ye.” Niall got to his feet. “Now let us get from these sodden clothes, aye?”

Leila nodded, beginning to shiver again despite the blazing fire Niall had stacked as high as a solstice pyre. He grasped the hem of her shirt and drew it over her head. This time as she was undressed before him, she didn’t blush. She couldn’t spare the heat to do so.

He knelt in front of her and helped free her from her trews. She held onto his broad shoulders for support as he slid them from her legs. Her skin was damp and all the colder without any clothing. Niall straightened and carefully unbound the length of linen from her chest while she shuddered uncontrollably against the chill.

When he was done, he wrapped her in a linen he’d warmed by the fire. It was blissful against her skin, soothing and hot and wonderful. He assisted her into a fine chemise and a finer kirtle, wool dyed a soft lavender.

“Whose are these?” she asked in her strained whisper.

“Lady Armstrong’s.” Niall spoke from behind Leila as he finished lacing up the back. “She dinna have a happy marriage and made Lord Armstrong rather miserable toward the end of her life. Lady Davina’s betrothal was a sore spot between them, an alliance Lady Armstrong had insisted on that Lord Armstrong soured on over time. Apparently, she pressed the issue often, trying to encourage the union, and Lord Armstrong did not approve.”

Leila nodded. Lady Davina had spoken often of the man she loved, the man she had been so eager to finally wed.

Lady Armstrong’s insistence on the marriage explained why Lord Armstrong had so readily given Leila several gowns while she was being held at Liddesdale Castle. No doubt the earl saw it as an insult to his wife’s memory to let a woman he presumed to be a witch wear her clothing.

“It is rumored he had her killed.” Niall came around Leila with a slight frown. “I dinna believe it before. But now…” He shook his head. “I was blinded by what I wanted to see and may have missed what was actually there.”

The memory rushed back to her of what she’d seen in her vision at the cottage on the night of their failed escape. “Niall, I saw something before we were captured. I tried to tell you…”

Niall pulled her to the bed. “No’ now, mo chridhe. Ye need to get under the covers while I make ye a tea and see to the horse.”

Leila allowed him to pull her toward the pallet piled high with furs. Already, her body had ceased to shiver. “I must tell you.”

“Later.” Niall pulled back the furs to the inviting heat.

Leila’s eyes were heavy, her mind still murky from drowning. Still, she stopped allowing him to pull her forward and instead took his hand in hers. “Now.”

He nodded. “Aye, but by the hearth at least.”

“Only if you put on dry clothes as I speak,” she countered.

Niall’s mouth thinned into a hard line, but he nodded in agreement.

Only after he had her set before the hearth with enough heat on her back that she feared she might catch on fire, did she speak. As he undressed, she watched his body move with appreciation and deeply regretted her exhausted state. She wanted nothing more than to go to him and let their chilled bodies heat up together.

She turned her mind from such lustful thoughts and instead told him of what she’d seen in the vision. She spoke of how Lord Armstrong had ordered the death of Niall’s father, how he had intended to supplant the former deputy with his son, and how they used the man Niall had ransomed to their benefit, to kill both Niall’s father as well as the old woman.

When she was done, Niall staggered back in his newly donned dry clothes and sat down hard in the chair.

“I tried to tell you sooner,” Leila said.

Niall stared blankly into the flames. “There was no time.” His fingers curled around the wood arms of the chair. “I’ll kill the bastard.”

He said it with such vehemence, a sliver of apprehension worked its way down Leila’s spine, and she had the sudden fear that she’d made a grave mistake in telling what she’d seen.