Leila’s Legacy

by Madeline Martin

  “Do ye know what he has ordered me to do?” Niall asked, still reeling at the horror of the demand.

  The earl’s daughter slowly shook her head.

  “Yer da thinks me bewitched.” Niall stared off at a distant wall, not seeing it or even caring to see it. “Or he believes the people will think I am. He insists I be the one to drown Leila, so that her spell on me will be broken.”

  “Niall, ye canna do it.”

  He took a pained breath. “If I dinna do it, they’ll kill Brodie’s wee sister.”

  Lady Davina put her hand to her lips. “Nay.”

  The weight of the situation settled across his shoulders once more, crushing him with its burden. Leila. Dead. By his own hands.

  The woman he loved, snuffed out from the world. No longer in his life. By his own hands.

  The fear, the suffering she would endure before she was finally gone. By his own hands.

  “On the morrow.” His voice cracked with emotion and he rested his forehead against the palm of his hand.

  “I have seen someone brought back after drowning afore,” Lady Davina said carefully.

  Niall slowly lifted his head. “Brought back from the dead?”

  She shrugged with a helpless look. “I dinna know, but he had been in the water for some time. A healer aided him, a woman who left at the onset of the pestilence, but one who was strong in the knowledge of healing.”

  “How?” Niall demanded.

  “She pushed the water from his chest. Hard and fast.” Lady Davina pushed the heels of her hands down in the air in rapid succession. “I was a girl, but I remember it well. It was a miracle, seeing a person brought back to life.”

  Niall rubbed his forefinger and thumb over his forehead, but the tension squeezing there did not abate. “There has to be another way.” He looked toward the open door. He could walk out now, go to the dungeon, kill a dozen of his clansmen, rescue her from the cell, and battle through several dozen more men to rescue her.

  Except he’d be killing his own men, and he would leave Brodie and Bonnie to face Lord Armstrong’s wrath.

  He hissed out a frustrated exhale.

  “I want to save Bonnie,” Lady Davina said. “And I want ye to save Leila.”

  Niall straightened, eager to start a plan, to have something in place to keep Leila and Bonnie alive. He nodded his assent. “I’ll do anything.”

  Leila sat with her back against the cold cell wall. She’d been thus through the night. Alban’s eyes glittered in the darkness from where he watched her through the barred window of the door. He’d entered the dungeon several minutes prior, relieving her guard and positioning himself in front of the barred window of her door. Watching her with a reptilian gaze, cold and calculating; a predator marking its prey.

  Though Leila had tried to ignore it, the pierce of his stare was beginning to fray her nerves, one ragged thread at a time.

  “’Tis morn,” Alban said.

  Leila’s heartbeat thrummed harder despite her resolve to remain calm.

  She didn’t need to ask what he meant by his taunting. She already knew.

  “With the morning comes yer death.” His voice was low and icy and more terrifying than Leila wanted to admit.

  “Niall?” Leila whispered. Warmth tingled along the back of her neck and hummed through her veins.

  Alban smirked. “My da has something special for him.”

  The icy water splashed over her feet, her ankles, so frigid it burned her skin.

  Leila fisted her hand. Not now.

  “Why don’t you just kill me?” Leila asked through gritted teeth.

  Water washed over her shins to her knees, churning at her thighs. The shock of its chill sucked the breath from her lungs as a shadow fell over her. The Lion.

  “’Tis no’ my place.” Alban’s voice was distant, a shadow in the corner of her fear. “Ye saved Davina. It’s why I’ve no’ touched ye. But my gratitude willna go as far as to rescue ye.”

  Hands shoved at her shoulders, holding her down. That face she loved was no longer soft, but hard and determined as water filled her nose, her mouth, her lungs.

  Shrieking hinges tore her from the vision and men filled her small cell.

  “’Tis time,” Alban said.

  Rough hands grasped her by the arms as she was broken from the grip of her vision and yanked to standing. She was pushed hard in the lower back, forced forward, her steps awkward with a stiff gait from knees that ached in protest at the abrupt change in position.

  Leila was not given a fine gown for her walk this time. Nay, she wore the same red trews and shirt she’d been arrested in as she was led up the stairs, through the castle and into the dazzling daylight. The wind was merciless with no cloak to stop its wrath as it whipped at the thin linen of her shirt.

  The guards led her to the gate as she shivered with cold and fear and anticipation.

  And though she knew he would kill her, that she would die this day by his hand, everything in her yearned to see him. The Lion.

  Niall.

  She longed for him with need that wrenched at her heart with every thundering beat. A knot of emotion tightened in her throat until she could scarcely swallow. She wanted his hazel eyes fixed on her, loving and tender. She wanted his wonderful cedar and leather scent filling her senses. She wanted his beauty and strength, to see how the sunlight played upon his golden whiskers and how his wavy hair rustled in a subtle wind.

  It would be her last time to see him.

  Her only time to see him.

  The clansmen led her through the streets, though this time they were absent the angry villagers. Her feet slipped in the sucking mud. Icy wetness seeped through her leather shoes and left the soles of her feet numb and clumsy.

  The guards made her walk through a small bit of forest on the outskirts of the village, where the naked winter branches and brittle brambles caught and cut as she pressed her way through. It opened up into a clearing dusted with white snow and a racing river with chunks of ice bobbing about on frothing waves.

  The water roiled against itself as it swept down to the right with rapid currents, as beautiful as it was chaotic. This was a view someone looked over to welcome a new day, not end a life.

  Her breath quickened, evident in the frantic puffs of white billowing in front of her mouth and nose as panic threatened to consume her. Seeing her own fear warmed her eyes with tears, but she forced them away. She had spent a lifetime terrified of this moment.

  Now that it had arrived, she would be brave.

  The villagers had gathered on the shore’s edge in a clustered group. This time, they had the decency to at least appear somber. None seemed to have brought with them their abundant food stores to toss her way. She would take her small mercies where she could.

  But the villagers did not hold her attention long.

  A dais was raised beyond the people. Lord Armstrong stood proudly at its head with Alban and Lady Davina at his side. Niall’s man, Brodie, was visible, as was a girl with dark hair. A guard held her in place with a hand on either shoulder.

  “Leila Barrington,” Lord Armstrong’s voice carried through the crisp early afternoon air. “Witch. Whore. Bastard.”

  Leila jerked at the last word, for it struck her more deeply than the first two. She was indeed a bastard, a child who did not deserve the love she’d received. Her chest ached with a pain she wanted to curl around. She would not see Father again to tell him she loved him. Nor her sisters, or anyone.

  “You have been charged and found guilty of witchcraft,” Lord Armstrong continued. “And ye will die a witch’s death in the Hermitage Waters.” He stepped back to reveal Niall’s form standing behind him, head cast down.

  Lord Armstrong addressed the villagers. “The Lion will see to her death. Through him, we will clear the land of pestilence.”

  The villagers cried out their gratitude, their voices warbling in a pitch that bespoke of mourning and desperation. Niall did not step forward. He di
d, however, look up and meet her gaze. A span of distance separated them, but it didn’t matter, that stare pierced her straight to her very core, giving her strength, even as it broke her down.

  “Niall,” she mouthed.

  He winced and his mouth formed her name in return.

  Lord Armstrong gestured to Niall to walk. “Let justice be served.”

  But Niall did not walk, not until the girl issued a quiet whimper, one Leila barely caught. Brodie stepped toward the child and halted. For his part, Niall glanced at the girl, squared his shoulders and strode forward.

  Leila’s stomach twisted with understanding, for the girl’s identity was apparent. That was how they intended to convince Niall to kill her; through Brodie’s young sister. Did their sins know no bounds?

  And yet, it served to ease the burden of what she knew was to come. Niall did not do this because his affections had shifted. He did it because he had no choice.

  Leila had briefly considered shouting out the vision she had seen of Lord Armstrong before her death. Now, she realized that would be impossible. She could not have the earl retaliate with threats on the child.

  Leila’s death would not stop the great pestilence; it would not cure the ill or raise the dead. Her death, however, would save the life of a little girl.

  Niall strode toward her, his gait slow where once it had been purposeful, hesitant where once it had been confident. Her heart clutched mid-beat as he approached. She took in every detail of him, drinking him in, memorizing him.

  He did not look at her when he finally stopped before her. His hazel eyes scanned the hills in the distance, then the sky above, as his jaw locked into a hard line.

  “Niall.” Leila’s voice caught on his name and she could say no more.

  Finally, his gaze settled on hers, red-rimmed and glossy with unshed tears. “Mo chridhe.”

  20

  There was nothing more Niall could say. Not with Alban following closely behind. That scant moment out of earshot had not been enough to tell her that he and Lady Davina had worked out a plan, and how desperately he hoped it would work. It wasn’t enough to tell her he had a backup plan in mind as well, one that carried the risk of losing her forever.

  It hadn’t even been enough time to tell her he loved her. And yet he’d said what mattered most.

  Mo chridhe. My heart.

  For surely, she was. And that heart was about to be cut from his chest.

  Her wide blue gaze slipped purposefully from his own and lingered on where Bonnie stood beneath the guard of a clansman. When her stare returned back to Niall, she gave a single nod.

  In that one nod, Niall knew she understood it all. About Bonnie, that he had no choice. It didn’t abate the excruciating pain squeezing him from all angles. Nothing would. Not now, not ever.

  “To the river,” Alban snarled. “Take yer prisoner, Lion.” He drawled Niall’s moniker like a sneering slur.

  Niall didn’t care. His name didn’t matter, the way it was said didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but her.

  Leila.

  Agony blazed a new hollowness in his chest. Together, they were forced to turn to the swiftly flowing river. It was swollen with the heavy rains they’d recently had and moved more quickly than Niall had accounted for.

  He forced his gaze steadily ahead, so he did not glance back at Lady Davina. She would try to cause a distraction so that Niall might manage an escape with Leila, and while his departure drew the attention of everyone else back to him, Lady Davina would free Bonnie and Brodie. It was a risky plan. The alternative, however, was far riskier.

  Snow crunched underfoot as he made his way to the riverbank. His heart ached with every thrum and finally he turned his attention to Leila.

  Her chest rose and fell quickly as she looked out on the river. She had seen this fate many times. And she had always known it would be him.

  He gritted his teeth to quell the scream welling in the back of his throat. How could he do this? How could he kill Leila?

  The river rushed past the bank, snagging bits of twigs and leaves along with it. It moved too damn fast.

  If Lady Davina couldn’t distract everyone… Nay, he wouldn’t think of it. He couldn’t.

  “Now,” Alban growled. “Grab her and go in the water.”

  Niall reached out and took Leila’s slender arm in his. She wore only her red leather trews and the white linen shirt. Her body trembled. He wanted to sweep the cloak from his back and throw it over her shoulders. Not that it would do any good when they were in the water.

  He pulled the cloak off and handed it to a nearby guard.

  She stiffened at Niall’s touch, looked at him, then relaxed with a nod. “This is how it must be,” she whispered.

  He wanted to tell her of the plan with Davina, that she would be saved. But Alban was too damn close. A creak sounded behind Niall.

  He glanced over his shoulder to find Alban with an arrow nocked. “I’ll be watching ye the whole time. If ye canna do it, I’ll kill ye and the witch with ye.”

  Niall tensed, but not with fear of Alban. Fear that the first plan was no longer an option. Lady Davina would never take the risk with Alban’s aim and gaze locked on Niall.

  Which meant it had to be the second plan, where the spectacle of Leila’s drowning would distract the people enough that Lady Davina could help Brodie and Bonnie flee. Then when they were well hidden in the forest, Niall would grab Leila’s body and take her to the horse strapped to the trees nearby, hidden from view. There was a cottage set up deep in the woods with everything he needed to care for her once he brought her back to life.

  Even as Lady Davina had suggested it the prior evening, her words were hesitant, as though she herself did not believe it to be possible.

  Niall stepped off the bank and into the frigid water. It sucked at his ankles, tugging greedily at him, as though it wanted to tear his feet out from under him and sweep him away with the bits of ice and debris. Panic welled in Niall, a wild, frenzied sensation unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. It was too fast, the currents too strong. Leila’s body would be swept away.

  The plan would not work.

  He looked to Leila whose already fast breath had quickened further still. “I love ye,” he said aloud. It mattered not who heard him. The villagers. The reivers standing by. Alban.

  Leila bit her lip as her eyes filled with tears. “And I love you. Always.”

  “Do it now,” Alban bellowed.

  Niall put his arm around Leila, shielding her slender body from the wind with his body. It wouldn’t warm her, not with such freezing water now rising up to their knees. Already his feet had gone numb and Leila’s mouth held a tint of blue. As though she was already dead.

  He shuddered.

  They were mid-thigh and not even a stone’s throw away when Alban called to them. “Stop there.”

  Nay. Not yet. Not now. Not ever.

  Niall turned to Leila and took her face in his hands. An arrow whizzed past the narrow space between their chests.

  “Do not risk yourself.” Leila lowered herself in the water, kneeling before Niall. She blinked and gasped, her breath huffing, no doubt in shock at the chill of the water.

  He shook his head.

  “End your bewitchment by killing her,” Alban said. “Or the girl dies as well.”

  A sharp child’s scream came from farther up the bank. Bonnie had been dragged from the dais, along with Brodie. Lady Davina was at their side, her demeanor commanding. A ruse, of course. She would force them to the outskirts of the crowd with one of her loyal clansmen. At least Bonnie and Brodie would live.

  “I am ready.” Leila looked up at him with wide blue eyes. The current dragged her long, dark hair forward along either side of her like a black cape and the thin linen shirt was nearly transparent in the water. A single tear ran down her cheek. “I love you.”

  “I love ye.” He settled his hands at her slender shoulders and tears filled his eyes. “Mo chridhe.”
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  He wanted to tell her that she might be rescued yet, but the idea was laughable now. To bring her back from the dead. It was a myth and nothing more.

  There would be no chance to save her. This was the last time he would see her, touch her.

  His breath came in ragged gasps that fogged the frigid air around him. Bonnie’s cry broke through the roaring in his ears. He had to do this.

  Damn him.

  He had to.

  Leila leaned back into the water under his hands, making it look as though he was pushing her down. Water rushed on either side of her head, the powerful current streaming her dark hair on either side of her face like ribbons. Bonnie’s sobs became louder, filled with a terror no child should have to endure.

  He had to.

  He set his face with a resolve he never wanted to feel, in a paltry effort to remove himself from what he did. His hands tightened on Leila’s shoulders, ones he had caressed and kissed, and he pushed her down beneath the water.

  She gazed up at him through the water sweeping over her face, her blue eyes open, her face serene. He stared down at her, unwilling to break the connection between them, wanting to hold onto any part of her that he could.

  She would be gone forever. Forever.

  The word rang in his head and echoed in the vast space carved out of his chest. Bubbles rose from her mouth and nose as she released her breath. She tensed against his hold and he braced himself.

  He longed to release her, to pull her from the watery depths and allow her to raggedly suck in air. Wet heat ran down his cheeks. Tears. His tears.

  He wished it was him who was dying, for surely, death would be more welcome than what he was being forced to do. Nothing had ever been so difficult in his life as holding down the woman he loved and watching her life slip away.