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Nimue drew her bottom lip between her teeth, biting down hard. Chrisdean didn’t know what she knew. He didn’t know that Wentworth wasn’t only threatening her but also her siblings and that he would keep her father’s allegiance for as long as her siblings were in danger.
Wentworth laughed. “Her father and I have an agreement that doesn’t involve Nimue as much as you think,” he said, and just as he finished speaking, he moved his hand, ready to slice Nimue’s throat.
Nimue closed her eyes. She couldn’t bear to see Chrisdean’s expression when he realized that she was dying.
She still wanted to do so many things, so many things that she hadn’t experienced. She hated Wentworth for taking all of that away from her. She could have had a long, happy life with Chrisdean, she knew. They would have had children, many of them, and she would have raised them to love Scotland, just as her mother had raised her, Guinevere, and Tristan.
They would have been happy.
“Wait!”
Chrisdean’s voice shattered the walls that Nimue had built up around herself in the last moments of her life, pulling her back to reality. She felt Wentworth’s sword still against her throat, and it took her a few moments to realize that her head was still attached to her body.
She watched in horror as Chrisdean lowered his sword, dropping it onto the ground. That was the last thing that she wanted, Chrisdean defenseless and weakened by his wounds, easy prey for someone like Wentworth, who would have no qualms about killing an unarmed man.
She would give her life for his own without hesitation. She would rather die by Wentworth’s hand than watch him kill Chrisdean and having to live with the knowledge that she couldn’t save him.
“Dinna harm her,” Chrisdean told Wentworth. Nimue could hear the trembling in his voice. She could see the desperation in his eyes, the fear in the way that his hand shook. “I beg ye. Let her go. Ye can kill me but let her go.”
For a moment, Wentworth didn’t speak. Nimue could feel him against her back, stiff as a board and still in position to cut her throat.
“I could still kill her,” he said, and it sounded to Nimue as though he were speaking to himself, musing out loud. There was no emotion in his tone, just an empty coldness that chilled her to the core. “And there would be nothing you could do to stop me.”
“Will ye?” Chrisdean asked. “Will ye be that dishonorable? Even for ye, it’s na somethin’ that I would expect.”
Nimue saw Wentworth look at her father over his shoulder, who was still standing by one of the tents, unharmed but shocked, frozen in place. She knew that he was torn between the two sides; if he fought for the English, he would be betraying Nimue, but if he fought for the Scots, he would be risking her life and her siblings. She could hardly blame him now that she knew the truth, and she wished that she could do something, anything to put an end to his suffering.
To put an end to everyone’s suffering. More than enough people had died that day.
There is only one thing I can do to put an end to this madness. I must sacrifice our love. I must stay with Wentworth. Even if that promise made Wentworth stop his killing, though, Nimue didn’t know if she could go through with it. It was selfish perhaps, she thought, but every part of her wanted to be with Chrisdean, and she couldn’t bring herself to reject him so blatantly, even if he understood why she did it.
Besides, there was no telling whether Wentworth would even agree to such a thing. If there was one thing that Nimue had found out during her time in that camp, it was that he didn’t care about her. All she was to him was a means to an end, a way to keep her father bound to serve him forever. The decision to remain his wife would do nothing to stop him, simply because he didn’t concern himself with her choices in the first place. All decisions would be made by him and him alone.
And then, just as suddenly as Wentworth had grabbed her, he let go of her. There was no solid mass behind her back, no sword threatening to cut her neck in two. Wentworth had given her a hard push, perhaps expecting her to run away to her father.
But there was nothing else at that moment for Nimue apart from Chrisdean. He was the only thing that she could see, the only one that mattered. She ran to him, arms wrapping tightly around his neck, pulling him close to her, so close that she cut even her own breath short.
When she felt his arms wrap around her waist, gentle yet protective, she couldn’t help but let out a sob, relief flooding through her.
He’s still alive. He’s still here, and I’ll be damned if I let anyone harm him.
“What are ye doin’ here, mo ghràdh?” Chrisdean asked, his voice barely a whisper. “Take a horse, take yer faither, and leave. Go back to yer home.”
“This is me home,” Nimue said. “I’m na goin’ anywhere. And if Wentworth wishes to get to ye, he must get through me first.”
Chrisdean gave her the kind of look that he always did when he thought that she was being stubborn, and perhaps she was, but she didn’t care. Even when Chrisdean tried to push her away, she clung to him, refusing to leave.
“Ye must go to yer faither,” Chrisdean said, grabbing Nimue’s chin with his hand when she looked away, bringing her face back to him. “Listen to me. He willna hurt ye if ye do as he says. I want to ken that ye’ll be safe without me.”
“Ye’re na goin’ anywhere,” Nimue demanded. “I love ye, Chrisdean. Ye’re the only reason why I’m still alive, why I didna take me own life before that man forced me to marry him. I held onto the hope that ye would come find me, and ye did. I willna let him tear us apart noo that I have ye here, with me. I will do anythin’ to keep us together.”
The look that Chrisdean gave her was so raw and open that Nimue felt her chest tighten. She kissed him, slow and tender, her hands cupping his face as she did.
This is love. And I canna love anyone but him.
“I love ye, too, mo ghràdh,” Chrisdean said, his thumb tracing circles over Nimue’s cheek as he looked into her eyes, their foreheads resting against each other. “I love ye, and I willna let anythin’ happen to ye. So . . . forgive me.”
Before Nimue could ask what Chrisdean meant, he shoved her aside so hard that she stumbled back and fell onto the ground. The landing was rough, but that wasn’t what drew a gasp out of her lips.
It was the sight of Wentworth, sword raised high as he ran toward an unarmed Chrisdean with a thirst to kill.
