Ana’s face colored in a blush. “Aye, well, she’s in here.” She pushed open the chamber door and bustled inside.
Leila followed and was met with the sickly-sweet odor of illness. The room was shuttered in darkness and a fire roared in the hearth. After having been in so cold a room for so long, the excessively hot chamber made Leila feel as though she were being roasted on a spit.
“Ana?” The feminine voice was softly spoken and wispy.
Leila looked to the bed and found a slender woman with flushed skin and lank strands of red hair lying beneath a mountain of blankets and furs. A sheen of sweat glistened at her brow.
“Aye, my lady.” Ana bent over the hearth to settle another log into the flames. “I’ve brought—”
“Nay.” Leila put a hand on the new log Ana reached for to keep her from adding it to the flames. “Please do not add more. We will need to air the room out. It is far too hot as it is.”
“Whoever is here, you must leave.” Lady Davina’s voice was frantic. “Please, I do not want you to become ill.”
Leila went to her side. It did not escape Leila’s notice that as soon as she redirected her attention, Ana shoved the log into the greedy flames. No matter. Leila would have it all sorted out in good time.
“Lady Davina.” Leila approached the ill woman.
An angry black lump swelled at the side of her slender neck, making her head lean to the right, where Leila stood. Her eyes slitted open, so bloodshot, Leila could not make out their color.
“Please go,” Lady Davina panted.
Leila sat on the chair beside the bed and took Lady Davina’s hand in hers. The young woman’s small hand nearly burned Leila’s fingers. “My name is Lady Leila. I have been ill before with the pestilence and from what we have seen, once one is ill with it, they cannot get it again. I have worked with my own healer at Werrick Castle and am here to help you.”
Davina’s hand closed on Leila’s fingers in a weak grip. “Bless ye for yer care. Thank ye for coming to my aid. Ana hasna been ill. She must—”
“They’ll have to drag my corpse from this room before I leave ye.” Ana set about organizing the small bottles beside Davina’s bed.
“Ana, please boil some water for a tea.” If the servant was going to stay, Leila would at least put her to work. “While we wait on the water, I want you to open the shutters and move off most of these blankets. ’Tis far too warm in here.”
The servant’s eyes went wide. “But letting in the air will bring contagion.”
“She is already ill, and the fresh air will do her good.” Leila reached for the ginger balm in her basket, the one infused with willow bark and meadowsweet root, to aid with pain relief. “Water is much the same as air.” She spoke as she worked, saying the same thing to Ana now that she had been telling the villagers for years, each time she was called to a sick bed. “Free flowing is best while stagnation allows filth to gather. You should not drink from a murky puddle any more than you should breathe fetid air.”
Ana nodded, understanding immediately as many often did after Leila’s explanation. She and Isla had compared their experiences through the years, and they both had noticed the introduction of fresh air improved the patients in nearly all cases.
She turned her attention to Lady Davina while Ana set to work to comply with Leila’s instructions. “Lady Davina, I need to put a balm on your neck, and it will hurt. But the effects are worth the discomfort.”
Lady Davina squeezed Leila’s hand with her hot palm. “Thank ye.”
Leila cast a quick glance to the cauldron of water set to boil over the flames. It could not boil fast enough to suit her. Not when the fever had clearly been burning in the young woman for a while. The sooner Leila could get the tea down her throat, the higher the likelihood of Lady Davina’s survival.
Leila withdrew her hand from Lady Davina’s grasp and popped the cap from a pot of balm before taking her hand once more. “Forgive me,” Leila whispered. She scooped the balm onto her fingertips and carefully, oh-so-gently, spread the greasy salve over the swollen lump at Lady Davina’s neck.
The young woman pressed her lips together, her fingers gripping Leila’s as a tear ran down from the corner of her eye. Leila’s own eyes welled with tears to know the amount of agony she caused with her ministration. “It will be better soon, I promise,” Leila whispered.
“Thank ye,” Lady Davina gritted out from between clenched teeth.
Leila’s heart flinched. How could this considerate, gentle-hearted woman be Lord Armstrong’s daughter?
“The water, my lady.” Ana extended a mug of hot water to Leila.
The tea was steeped quickly, comprised mostly of meadowsweet root, and carefully fed to Lady Davina, ensuring all of it went down her throat. It had been a difficult feat when her head could not straighten due to the lump at her throat, and swallowing appeared to be not only difficult but painful.
Still, never once did the young woman complain or fight against the remedy. As Leila administered to Davina, Ana complied with the rest of her requests. All blankets but one were removed from Lady Davina’s bed and sent down to be boiled clean. The shutters were opened to allow in light and one casing left ajar to allow in some fresh air.
Ana paused in her work and stared down at the sleeping Lady Davina. A smile curved her lips. “I havena seen her sleep so well since she’d been ill.” She wiped at her eye with the corner of her apron. “If nothing else, ye’ve given the wee lass a reprieve from her constant agony.”
“We shall pray to God for him to do the remainder of what is out of our hands.” Leila stroked a strand of hair from Lady Davina’s face. “She is far stronger than I think many realize.”
“I hope ye’re right.” Ana bobbed a curtsey and set about changing the water they’d used to wipe Lady Davina’s face clean.
Leila hoped she was right too, for though her own life did not hinge upon it, Lady Davina’s did. Because it was true what Leila had told Niall, her fate was marked long before her capture.
No matter the outcome of Lady Davina’s condition or the witch trial, Leila would die. And no matter how kind and tender Niall had been with her, no matter that she had tried to harden her heart to him, Leila’s resolve had begun to melt.
As much as she tried to deny it to herself, she knew the terrible truth: she was in love with Niall Douglas. There was only one more step in her fated destiny: her death.
Niall’s heart pounded with anticipation at seeing Leila once more. He had seen little of her after she was tasked with tending to Lady Davina. She was even ordered to sleep in the young lady’s room on a pallet at the foot of her bed, like a servant. Leila had not complained at the insult. Instead, she had lost herself in her efforts to save Lady Davina.
Nearly a sennight had gone by when the announcement was made through the castle that Lady Davina was declared well, and Niall was summoned to return Leila to her chamber. He rapped on Lady Davina’s chamber door where Brodie stood guard and waited with an impatience unlike any other he had felt before.
Leila stepped into the hall, more beautiful than he had ever seen her. A rosiness of health and happiness touched her cheeks and lightness sparkled in her blue eyes. Even her hair appeared as glossy as silk and left him with a yearning to reach out and skim his fingers over the cool smoothness. It went against everything in Niall to present himself as a soldier before this woman he had not stopped thinking about for the entire time she’d been busy aiding Lady Davina.
“I am to escort ye to yer chamber,” he said with as much authority as he could summon. Even still, his command came out soft enough to bring a knowing smile to her lips.
Their eyes met and held with the same burning need. “This way,” he said gruffly.
She followed him like a biddable captive. He kept his steps paced slow, though his need to be alone with her felt as necessary as his need for air.
The walk to her chamber was interminable, as was the climb up the stairs. He hated havin
g to lead her back to her chamber, to lock her up like a prisoner when she deserved to be set free.
Father Gerard would surely arrive soon. Mayhap when he learned what she had done, he would see Leila was no witch and proclaim her innocent. Niall grasped Leila’s hand as he led her up the last few stairs. Her fingers were warm for once, not icy with the cold.
The connection between them was instant, like tinder set to kindling. He opened the door to her chamber and immediately spun around to face her. They fell into one another’s arms, mouths slanting over one another’s, tongues tangling in lust. Niall edged her back against the wall and pressed his body to hers. She moaned into his mouth and arched into him, encouraging his arousal.
“I havena been able to stop thinking of ye,” he said between kisses. “Ye’re in my mind, my dreams. I’ve been waiting for this moment the entire week.” He ran his mouth down her neck, breathing in her clean, herbal scent.
“I’ve missed you, Niall.” Her words made the column of her throat vibrate beneath his lips. “I cannot stop myself from wanting you, though I know I should not allow myself.”
He cupped her breast in his palm and brushed the pad of his thumb over the hardened nipple there. “We shouldna be doing this,” he groaned. “But I canna help myself. Leila, I…” He straightened and stared into the most beautiful blue eyes he’d ever beheld in all his life. “I love ye.”
Her mouth opened, but she didn’t speak. Instead, she ducked away from him and lowered her head. He looked at her in question as the door flew open.
Alban stood there with his lip curled as he regarded Niall. “Father wishes to see ye.” His gaze slid to Leila in a way that made Niall wish he had his sword in his hand. “Davina has survived because of ye.” He nodded in a gesture of gratitude that was more than Niall had ever seen him display.
With that, Alban led Niall from the room, rather than staying there with Leila and tormenting her, which was a greater show of appreciation than any words he could muster from his withered heart.
When Niall approached, he found Lady Davina at her father’s side. She wore a pale pink gown that made the vibrance of her red hair stand out like fire. Healthy color touched her cheeks and the smile set on her lips bespoke of a full recovery, as had been rumored.
Lord Armstrong spoke softly to his daughter and tenderly touched the top of her head. She nodded once and the smile melted into an expression of obedience. Without another word, she left the room. An affectionate sheen gleamed in Lord Armstrong’s eye until he set his gaze on Niall and the look frosted into ice.
“Father Gerard is dead,” he said abruptly. “The pestilence took down the party of men he traveled with, as well as him. This happened some days ago, but I had wanted to ensure my daughter could be healed before letting it be known.”
Niall’s heart slammed into his ribs, but he kept his face impassive. “Will Lady Leila no’ be tried then, my lord?”
“Oh, aye, she will.” Lord Armstrong fixed Niall with a pointed look. “By the most trusted man in all of Liddesdale.”
Niall’s stomach slithered low in his gut.
Lord Armstrong steepled his fingers. “Ye’ll question her and will bring your final findings to me.”
“Aye, my lord.” Niall lifted his chin. His word, his honor, would be what held Leila between life and death. The woman he had told only moments ago that he loved. The woman he did love.
“This was sent to me from the monastery where Father Gerard passed.” He handed a parchment to Niall. “It will aid ye in the questioning.”
He accepted the parchment with a nod. She would be innocent, surely. Though even as he thought such a thing, his insides twisted into knots.
“I’ll expect yer findings as soon as ye’ve finished the questioning.” Lord Armstrong waved his hand dismissively to Niall.
“Aye, my lord.” Niall folded the parchment in his hand and strode from the room. Once he was near the tower, where the hallway was empty, he unfolded the parchment and reviewed the carefully scripted lines. The tension at his shoulders began to relax as he read. For he was certain she did not fly in the air, nor that she consorted with the devil through intercourse, nor that she controlled the weather.
He read further on and the fear tightened through him once more. Can they see the future?
Niall would ask the questions as he was directed. All of them. But his heart was already heavy with what he suspected her answer would be. If she truly was a witch, like the one who had killed his father, could he lie to save her?
15
Leila hugged herself in the cold quiet of her room. It had been so easy to adjust to the bustle of activity when she’d been healing Lady Davina. Her mind had been focused on caring for someone ill rather than overwhelmed with worry for her father.
Lady Davina’s room had been as sumptuous as Leila’s had been back at Werrick Castle, with tapestries and plush bedding, as well as various other luxuries that extended beyond a simple bed and an abandoned trunk.
Even more delightful than her surroundings had been the companionship. Ana’s matter-of-fact personality and the gentle kindness of Lady Davina. In the last few days, Lady Davina had been awake and speaking, her concern always on others.
Leila squeezed her arms tighter around herself. She was a prisoner again, confined in the cold tower chamber, alone, empty. A familiar burning ache clenched at the back of her throat.
Footsteps sounded against the stone stairs leading up to her chamber, crisp with authority, but still gentle. Niall. The loneliness began to ebb at the very thought of seeing him. He had said he loved her in those precious seconds that they were alone. Before she had been able to wrap her heart around his declaration, before she could even compose a reply, he was gone.
He let himself into her chamber and locked the door behind him. Leila rushed forward, anticipating the softness of his lips on hers once more, the strength of his body like a wall against her. But the fullness of his mouth was drawn into a grim line and he did not come at her with mutual eagerness. Nay, he stood for a long moment, as though unsure of what to say.
“What is it?” Fear turned her heart to a block of ice. “My father.”
“Nay, ’tis no’ yer da.” He glanced down at the parchment in his hand. “Father Gerard is dead.”
She frowned in confusion. “He was the priest who was to determine if I am a witch or not, correct?”
Niall nodded and extended the missive in his hand for her to see. “I’m to take his place.”
“You’re to judge me?” she asked slowly.
A muscle in his jaw. “I have questions to ask ye.”
“I’m no witch,” she said with vehemence. If he loved her as he had so recently claimed, surely, he would not even question her innocence of such a preposterous charge. “Ask me your questions.”
Regret shadowed his features as he unfolded the missive. “Do ye consort with the devil?”
Leila scoffed at the ridiculousness of it. “Nay.”
“Do ye…” He shifted uncomfortably. “Do ye fornicate with demons?”
She couldn’t stay her mirth at that question. “Nay, of course not.”
“Do ye propel yerself through the air?”
“Are you asking if I can fly?” Leila shook her head. “What is this foolishness they’ve given you?
“Please answer the question,” Niall said softly.
Leila sighed. “I do not fly through the air.”
“Do ye see the future before it happens?” He kept his gaze fixed on the parchment when he asked that question. As though he did not wish to see her reaction.
The questions no longer seemed as humorous or silly. Her pulse ticked with wild abandon. She could say she did not and lie.
Yet, she could not agree to it and damn herself. Rather than speak, she let silence fill the space between them.
“Leila.” He said her name with a flinch to his brows. “Ye have to answer the question.”
“I…” She pressed her lips
together.
“Mayhap the next question, then.” He ran his finger down the page. “While ye consider yer answer to the last one.”
She nodded, but her mouth went dry.
He cleared his throat before speaking. “Have ye seen events that happened in the past in visions?”
Tears burned hot in her eyes at her frustration.
He dragged his stare from the parchment up to her. “Leila.”
“Aye,” she whispered.
“Aye?” His brows raised; his face furrowed, as one does when they await a blow.
“I have seen the past in visions.” She closed her eyes as she made the admission, unable to bring herself to look at him. “And I see the future before it comes to be.”
“Ye knew about yer da before he fell ill.” There was no accusation in Niall’s tone.
Leila opened her eyes. “I knew the pestilence would befall Werrick Castle. I did not know it would be my father who would fall ill.”
“Ye knew who I was when we met that day in the village outside Werrick Castle, dinna ye?”
Leila turned her attention to the scarred wood floor where lines crisscrossed themselves. “I did.”
“How?”
“I have seen you often in my visions. I’ve known for the whole of my life that I would meet you.”
“What did ye see of me?” His expression was unreadable, and it plucked at a chord of unease within her.
“That we would be lovers,” she said quietly.
The skin around his eyes tightened. “Is that why I canna stop thinking of ye? Why I dream of ye now? Because ye make yer visions say we are intended to be together?”
Leila shook her head, helpless. “I’ve never been able to control what I see, or what the outcomes are, or even when I will have a vision. I’ve been plagued by them my whole life. It is not the gift some believe it to be, but a curse, and I loathe it.” Tears were blurring her vision and her voice was harsh, but she could not stop now that she had started.
“I have always been different than my sisters. You know the origin of my conception. You heard it when I spoke to my father.” Her cheeks blazed with humiliation. “These visions have been with me for as long as I can remember, dark images of what was to come and no way to properly gauge when it would, or how to stop it.”
Leila’s Legacy Page 13