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?
11
Niall cursed himself the better part of the day. He didn’t know what had possessed him to reach out and stroke Lady Leila’s cheek. Even now, hours later, his fingertips hummed with the whispered memory of the connection between them.
He curled the offending hand into a fist and squeezed. She was a prisoner. Mayhap a witch.
He’d been so blinded by her beauty and strength that he had conveniently set aside what he knew to be true in his heart. Lady Leila had warned the castle of the arrival of the pestilence based on what others had said, and her own priest had lied when he’d said he didn’t believe she was a witch.
The condemnation ringing within Niall, however, was hollow. He knew the truth of his incensed thoughts and it had everything to do with how he had treated Lady Leila. She was locked in that room with nowhere to go, and he had touched her.
Truth be told, he had almost kissed her.
Her blue gaze had lowered to his mouth, unintentionally teasing, an innocent gesture that tempted him in the most carnal way possible. She was a lady, and quite possibly a witch, so either she was out of his realm of consideration as a lover, or she would be drowned for her heresy.
But witch or not, the fact remained that she was a lady and he would not leave her to Alban’s wrath. Niall carried the tray of food with him through the torch-lit halls. Brodie stood at the base of the curving staircase leading to Lady Leila’s tower chamber and broke into a smile as Niall
approached.
“Yer relief is coming soon,” Niall promised.
Brodie lifted his shoulders in a good-natured shrug. “I’m happy to guard the lass. After all, ‘tis because of her that Bessie’s fever has quelled.”
Niall lifted an eyebrow in silent question. He hadn’t been aware Brodie’s sister was unwell. But then, in times of such pestilence, it was scarcely news when someone fell ill. “I’m pleased to hear she’s recovered.”
Brodie’s blue eyes crinkled with as much concern as Niall had ever seen in them. “There wasna anyone to aid her. I told Lady Leila what ailed her, and she told me to use one of the bags of herbs.” He leaned closer to Niall. “It wasna a spell or charm. I looked through it before I made the tea. Just bits of flowers and stems.” His gaze flicked up to the stairs that twisted into darkness. “I dinna think she’s a witch. If she was, wouldna she fly out of here?”
Flying out of the castle seemed a bit far-fetched. However, if she truly did have the powers of a witch, she wouldn’t be hiding behind tower room doors with bits of her trunk broken off to use as a weapon. The image of her fingers flashed in his mind, her nails torn, the cuticles still stained with blood. “That isna for us to decide.”
“I’ll speak for her at the trial with Father Gerard,” Brodie said earnestly. “If we’re able. I’ll do it for her.”
Niall was uncertain how such things worked. He’d only witnessed the trial of one witch before, the one who had killed his father. It had been hastily done in the course of a morning and Lady Elliot was dead by that afternoon. She’d been much loved by the people of the village and they had protested their outrage at her death. It was why Lord Armstrong now went to such lengths to ensure Lady Leila was properly declared a witch, especially as Lady Leila was an English earl’s daughter. Regardless, Niall nodded at Brodie’s generous offer before ascending the stairs to Lady Leila’s locked chamber.
“Put yer stake away, woman.” He held the food with one hand and unlocked the door with the other.
He found her standing in the middle of the room, no doubt pacing. All prisoners paced. It was a way of passing time, of assuaging some of the pent-up tension.
“I’ve come to bring our food.” He set the tray atop the abandoned trunk that had never been moved. While a table could be easily disassembled for a wooden club, which Leila would no doubt try to use, the trunk was too flimsy to be of any real threat but held food quite nicely.
“Our food?” She stepped closer and eyed the roasted venison. Thus far, all she’d been fed were heels of bread and wee bits of cheese.
“I intend to stay with ye until morn.” He sat on the floor on one side of the trunk and took a small hunk of bread to dredge through the savory sauce. It was a rich brown sauce, spiced with saffron and various herbs he couldn’t name. It was damn delicious—that was all he knew and cared about.
“I’ll be outside the door, of course.” He gestured to the opposite side of the trunk for her to sit. “But I figured first ye might like a bit of real food.” He popped the morsel into his mouth.
Lady Leila joined him where he’d indicated and gracefully tore off a bit of her own bread. “Thank you,” she said softly.
They used their fingers to eat, something that would never be permitted at the lord’s table. But lacking their eating daggers, they were left with little choice. Especially when Niall knew exactly what Leila could do with a blade. While she was compliant and respectful, she was still a prisoner and every prisoner would do anything to get free.
They talked while they ate, with her sharing stories of her life growing up with her four sisters at Werrick Castle, and with him telling her of some of the more amusing misdeeds of his youth. Like the time he’d put a lizard in his ma’s favorite pot and various other innocent pranks of a boy with too much time on his hands.
He didn’t delve into the later crimes that were far more egregious, far less forgivable. The stolen cattle and food, the fights with rival clans, the man he’d tried to ransom, which ended with his own father getting killed.
Leila’s stories were far more fascinating, and her eyes lit up with a quiet joy as she spoke. While her previous conversation with her father was proof that she did not feel she deserved the love of her family, affection for them still glowed within her.
The tray sat between Niall and Leila; the decadent food now gone as well as the last of the wine in the skin he’d brought. The light in the window was beginning to wane, but still Niall did not wish to leave. Not when the time they’d spent speaking had been so enjoyable.
The wistful smile on Leila’s mouth wilted somewhat. “You never said anything about what was said during my father’s visit, yet I’m sure you heard it all.”
Niall nodded once.
Leila’s gaze slid away. “Then you know I don’t deserve the treatment you’re giving me. I don’t deserve the fine food, or the protection and kindness. I’m not the daughter of an earl, I’m—”
“Ye’re loved by Lord Werrick and he’s claimed ye as his daughter. That is all that matters.”
She chewed her lip. “You know the truth of it, though. What my true father did. What I did.” Her brows pursed. “I never told them how sorry I was. I was…” She swallowed. “I was too much of a coward.” Her voice broke on the last word.
“If ye’re a coward, I dinna know what name to possibly assign to a man like Alban.” Niall scooted closer to where Leila sat.
She looked up, and though her eyes were bright with unshed tears, the corners of her mouth lifted in a ghost of a smile.
“Ye’re brave and from what I’ve known of ye and seen of ye, ye’re considerate of others.” Niall ran his thumb over the back of Leila’s slender forefinger where the fingertip was pink and raw. “Ye deserve better than ye’re getting here. In fact, ye dinna deserve to be here at all.”
Leila shot him a questioning look. But she did not pull her hand away from his touch. Her hand was cool under his, but not cold as before.
“Brodie told me what ye did for his sister,” Niall explained. “Even when captured and held in prison, ye sought only to assist others. Even the man guarding ye.”
“Most people with knowledge of healing would have aided her.” Leila’s thumb rose slightly, a scant bit of movement that was just enough to whisper over his. “I pray she is recovered.”
Niall’s mouth went dry at the delicate connection forming between them. “Aye,” he said softly. “Thanks to ye.”
“Brodie steeped the tea and tended to her.” She gazed up at Niall, her blue eyes wide and innocent and beautiful.
“Ye’re too good to be here.” Niall lifted his hand to carefully touch the smooth line of her jaw. She was smooth and warm against his palm. It made him ache to caress all of her thus.
Her lashes swept over her cheeks as she closed her eyes and nuzzled into his touch. She was a bonny lass, with fair skin, and plump, pink lips that begged to be tasted. Not that he ought to be tasting them.
Even as he thought as much, he found himself leaning toward her to capture that mouth in a tender, eager kiss.
Leila had been expecting the Lion’s kiss. She had not, however, expected the softness of his lips nor the intensity of need that scorched through her veins. His mouth moved over hers carefully, as though he was afraid of frightening her.
She leaned her head up farther to let him know she welcomed the kiss. Though God knew she should not. Not with this man who would kill her.
Yet everything in her drew her to him. His scent of cedar and leather, the slight rasp of the whiskers on his chin, the heat radiating from his body.
His large hand slid up to cup the back of her head, cradling its weight. The tip of his tongue brushed the seam of her mouth and something innate within her parted her lips for him. He tasted her then with a sweep of his tongue, and she gave a small whimpering sound in the back of her throat.
His mouth slanted over hers as his tongue teased against hers again and again. Everything within her burned wit
h a lustful craving unlike anything she’d ever experienced. It pulsed hot and insistent between her legs and prickled at her nipples, so her breasts felt heavy and overly sensitive. In fact, all of her felt overly sensitive, and in tune to every movement of the Lion. Every smell, every taste, every sense was totally and completely enraptured with him.
Her breath came faster; her heart beat harder. She wanted more of this. Her tongue met his on the next stroke, tentative at first, then with a keenness that made her want more and more and more.
The Lion gave a low growl that sent tingles of pleasure skimming over Leila’s body. She reached out a hesitant hand and put it to the solid wall of his chest. His groan rumbled beneath her palm, encouraging her exploration of his body.
She let her fingers roam over him, learning the strength of his torso beneath from atop his doublet and shirt. In doing this, she eased up onto her knees from where they sat to better smooth her fingers over his powerful shoulders.
He lightly cupped her bottom, rounding his touch to fit over her perfectly as he raised himself to his knees as well. Her skin practically sizzled at the contact. She shifted closer to him and her kisses took on a passion she could not control; a passion she did not want to control. Her tongue tangled with his, their lips meeting and caressing against one another.
His hands ran up the sides of her waist and higher still to her breasts, where he cupped her against his palm and swept a thumb over her nipple. The highly sensitive bud needled with pleasure. She cried out in delight.
The Lion drew her closer, so she was fitted against him. A hardness strained between them. Though she was an innocent, she knew well what such a reaction from a man meant. A moan slipped unbidden from her lips and was muffled by their kisses.
His arms curled around her, solid with muscle and strength as he drew their bodies together. The length of his manhood pressed even more firmly against her. It was sinful of her, but she wanted it lower, near the source of her lust where she thrummed with hot abandon. She rubbed against him, panting with need at the hint of friction.
Leila’s Legacy Page 10