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Chapter Twenty-Four
The sharp sting of the blade against Nimue’s throat was painful for more than one reason. Nimue had never been so intimately faced with her own mortality before. She had never realized how easy it would be for someone to take her life, for her to lose it, and facing that reality was a sobering fact.
Can I even do it? Do I have the courage to take me own life?
She didn’t know the answer to that question, and so she wouldn’t be surprised if the Earl thought she was simply bluffing. Whether she was bluffing or not, though, would remain a mystery to both of them, until she either proved him wrong or right in the end.
The Earl remained seated, but Nimue could see the twitch in his eye, a sign that she had come to recognize as nervousness. Apart from that twitch, though, he showed no sign of worry, unlike the rest of his men. They all glanced at the Earl, the entire crowd of them confused as to what to do, some of them taking a step back from Nimue to make themselves appear as less of a threat to her.
“Nimue!”
The voice came from behind her, and Nimue didn’t need to turn around to know that it was her father, standing there in shock when he saw the sword against her neck. She could hear him as he approached her, his footsteps rushed and heavy, and a tear rolled down her cheek, not for her own fate but for her father’s.
She didn’t want him to watch her take her own life. She didn’t want him to see the blood or to hold her while she was taking her last breath.
“Nimue, what are ye doin’, lass?” her father asked as he came to stand in front of her. “What are ye doin’? Put that sword down.”
Nimue shook her head, choking on the words that she was trying to speak. Even the Earl seemed to understand that she was serious, and so he stood, taking a few hesitant steps toward the two of them.
“I told ye both that I’d rather die than be his wife,” she said through gritted teeth, her gaze coming to rest on the Earl. “It’s na a life that I wish to live, and if me choices are bein’ married to a man like him or bein’ dead, then I’ll choose bein’ dead any day.”
“Ye canna do this,” the Laird said, voice pleading, hands trembling as he slowly reached for Nimue’s shoulder. “I’m askin’ ye na to do this, Nimue. Please.”
“Will ye force me to marry that man?” she asked. “I’ll drop the sword, but only if the Earl promises to let me go.”
Nimue watched as her father looked at the Earl. The man stared at her for a few moments, his gaze sharp and inquisitive, but in the end, he withdrew his men with a nod of his head. Nimue saw them step back, and her breathing became easier, as though their proximity had been suffocating her.
For a while, she didn’t move. She didn’t trust the Earl, as she had no reason to, but the broken look on her father’s face made it difficult to hold onto the blade. She wanted to reassure him that everything would be fine and that there was nothing for him to worry about.
Slowly, without breaking eye contact with the Earl, Nimue lowered the sword. When she saw that no one was preparing to attack her, she dropped it onto the ground, the metal clattering against the ground.
For a split second, there was bliss. Nimue dared to feel relief, her lungs flooding with it, and she immediately began to think about Chrisdean and about returning to him and their home.
But that bliss only lasted for a fleeting moment, before the Earl’s men surrounded her father, all their swords pointed at him. The ones who didn’t, two tall, well-built men, grabbed one of her arms each, restraining her.
“Na!” Nimue shouted. “Leave me faither alone!”
The Earl approached her slowly, his gait light and cheery, a matching smile on his lips. He seemed satisfied with himself, and when he grabbed Nimue’s chin to make her hold his gaze, she had to resist the urge to spit on him.
“You never said anything about your father,” the Earl reminded her. “You only asked that I let you go. Well . . . you are free to go whenever you wish. My men here will take you back, almost all the way to the castle.”
“Do ye take me for a fool?” Nimue asked. “I ken that ye’ll harm me faither the moment that I leave this camp.”
“Of course I will,” Wentworth said. “What else did you expect?”
“Ye lied to me.”
“No . . . no, I never lied.” Wentworth shook his head, and he dared to look offended, Nimue thought. “I never made a promise about your father. As I said, you’re free to go. And once you do, I’ll have your father tortured and then, eventually, killed.”
Nimue cursed herself in her head for allowing Wentworth to do that to her. She should have expected it. She should have been smarter, she told herself. She should have known that he would play a trick on her and that she could never trust him.
“What do ye want from me?” she asked, willing to do anything to save her father.
“You know what I want,” Wentworth said. “I want you to be my wife.”
“Why me?”
It was the only question that Nimue could ask, a question that had been in her mind ever since she had learned about the plan that her father and Wentworth had agreed to. The Earl could have any woman he wanted, surely, and so Nimue couldn’t understand why it had to be her.
