by Amy Tolnitch
After plaiting her hair, she took a deep breath and walked into the room where she received visitors, though that was a rare event.
D’Ary stood in the center of the octagonal chamber waiting for her.
Sebilla paused at one of the fluted columns encircling the room, and gave him a haughty look. “Do not ever intrude on my privacy again.”
He shrugged. “’Twas not apurpose, my queen. I cannot seem to manage the portal well.”
Surely he lied, Sebilla thought with a frown. “I thought you claimed to have powers.”
“I do.”
“Then use them to land outside my quarters, not within.”
“You have a lovely body, Sebilla. I had thought so before, but now I am sure of it.”
“You … you should not have looked.”
He laughed and put his hands out to the sides. “I am a man. How am I supposed to come upon a beautiful, naked woman and not look?”
“A woman who is your queen.”
“But still a woman,” he said softly.
Sebilla looked away, unexpectedly caught by the burn of tears. No one had ever seen her as more than queen, or before that, as one destined to rule. Not one person, male or female, had ever looked upon her simply as a woman. Forcefully, she gathered the frayed threads of her composure. “I refuse to continue this discussion. Have you discovered Vardon’s identity yet?”
He frowned. “Not yet, but I sense his hand of revenge at work.”
“How so?”
“He has brought the MacCoinneach clan to the brink of starvation. ’Tis as if the land itself is tainted. Many of the animals have sickened and died, and the grain harvest, already poor, has been partially destroyed.”
“Can they survive?”
“Not without aid.”
“Then we must aid them. Wait here.” She wound through a labyrinth of corridors, finally coming to a locked door. After opening the door with a key she always wore on a chain around her neck, she lit a candle and studied the contents.
Within a few minutes, she gathered a pouch of valuables and returned to the chamber where D’Ary waited. She handed him the pouch. “See that Padruig MacCoinneach gets this.”
He poured the contents onto a low table. Gold flashed and stones of red, green, and blue caught the light. “’Tis a fortune in his world.”
“Castle MacCoinneach is a place of many hidden secrets. Perhaps an ancestor hid this cache away from enemies who would seize it.”
D’Ary scooped up the stones and coins and returned them to the pouch. “I could claim I got lost and—”
“No. Hide the pouch by the pool.
“’Tis more complicated.”
“Aye.”
“Why?”
“It shall be as my queen wishes.”
Sebilla gave a very unqueenlike snort. “Methinks you do as your queen wishes when it suits you.”
He walked closer to her. “You have enough fawning subjects surrounding you.”
“My advisors are good and wise men and women.”
“I did not say they were not.”
When had he moved so close? Sebilla wondered.
“Have you ever been with a man, Sebilla?”
She froze. “Wh-what?”
He leaned forward, his breath mingling with hers, and she found herself unable to move, barely able to breathe.
And that was before he kissed her.
Oh, goddess, help me, Sebilla thought as his lips closed over hers. It was not more than a brief touch, yet the force of it shot through her body like a tempest.
“I am thinking that one day soon, you will.”
She could do nothing more than watch him leave, finally bringing her fingertips up to touch her lips. Had D’Ary just kissed her?
Aye, he did, her inner voice shouted. And promised more than that.
Chapter Thirteen
By the time Aimili woke up the next morn, the jumble of emotions her last conversation with Padruig fomented had distilled into a deep sense of resentment. She’d not asked to become the wife of a laird. He had brought it all to pass when he decided to reclaim his birthright and seek her father’s aid to do so. If not for Padruig MacCoinneach, she would still be at de Grantham Castle living as she’d always done.
Riding and training her horses. Watching precious new foals being born.
Leaving tasks such as managing an estate to her father, brother, and sister. Oblivious to concerns over crops and livestock.
And still holding on to the dream of Padruig MacCoinneach.
In the face of Padruig’s censure, she’d realized something else. Her family, save perhaps Morainn, had never really approved of her, yet their attitude was generally of benevolent tolerance. A roll of the eyes. A shake of the head.
Of course, she’d minded, had longed to hear her father do more than grunt when one of her horses brought seventy pounds into the de Grantham coffers.
Still, it was nothing next to Padruig’s disproval, his complete dismissal of her value.
She would flee if not for the horses.
Clenching her jaw, she rose, washed her face, and pulled on her usual attire. Not surprisingly, her husband was gone from his fur pallet, if indeed he’d ever come back. Telling herself not to care, she grabbed her mantle, gathered Lyoness under her arm, and trudged out.
By the saints, she would not cry, she vowed to herself as she rushed to the stable.
Today, we shall run, she told Loki as she quickly saddled him. Thankfully, the stable was empty. As she walked into the bailey, she looked around, considering whether she should seek out D’Ary.
No, she needed no protector. After all, she had Lyoness now. And the dagger, her inner voice reminded her.
She mounted Loki and eyed the path out of the castle.
What are you doing?
Escaping. She tucked the dog down the front of her tunic so that only her face protruded.
Must we take that thing?
Aimili giggled. My guard dog.
Loki sighed.
As they passed beneath the gatehouse, Aimili pasted a sunny smile upon her face.
“My lady, where is your guard?” a guardsman called down from atop the wallwalk.
“Oh, they are just ahead. Did you not see them?”
“Nay, but I have just come on duty.”
Aimili’s smile never shifted though she knew very well that the guards had rotated watch only moments ago. “We are visiting the village, ’tis all,” she assured him as she rode outside the castle walls.
Run?
Not yet. Wait until we are out of sight.
What guards do you speak of?
The ones my husband and jailer has ordered me to take.
They are not waiting.
Nay.
They rode a ways until they passed over a hill. Aimili twisted around and looked back toward the castle, but the hill blocked her view, as it would the castle guards. She blew out a breath. Now, we can run, she told Loki, squeezing him.
He took off and Aimili laughed. Lyoness whimpered and buried her head inside Aimili’s tunic.
Over the grass they flew, the early morning sunlight warm on Aimili’s cheeks. She closed her eyes, breathing in the verdant scent of grass, earth, and heather.
Must we go so fast? Lyoness sounded terrified.
Aimili sat back. “Easy, Loki.”
He settled into a rocking canter. Stride by stride, the hard lump inside Aimili’s chest softened. Eventually, her body relaxed and she simply let Loki carry her along. Would that I could ride on forever, she thought. Fly into the very heavens.
The sun was high in the sky by the time Aimili slowed Loki to a walk. She stroked his withers. Did you enjoy that?
Aye, my lady. ’Tis a fine feeling to run on such a day.
The dog poked her head out. Are we going to stop?
Have you not enjoyed the ride? Aimili asked her.
I have, actually, but I would like to be on the ground for a bit and, well, you k
now.
They stopped in a grove of rowan trees, with a small stream skirting the edge. After they all had a drink, Aimili wrapped Loki’s reins around a low branch and sat back against a tree trunk. Loki contentedly grazed while Lyoness ran around, clearly happy to be back on solid ground.
Aimili closed her eyes, letting the combined sounds of Loki shifting back and forth, Lyoness scuffling in the grass, and the trill of birds lull her.
Guards, she thought with an inward sneer. She never felt safer than outside, never found such a feeling of peace elsewhere.
Finally tiring, Lyoness climbed into Aimili’s lap and plopped down for a nap. Aimili put one hand on the dog and the other on the soft grass.
Loki’s scream woke her.
She blinked her eyes open to find a man standing before her. At first, she thought the guard at Castle MacCoinneach had sent someone after her, but slowly she realized the man had a length of fabric wrapped around his face concealing his features. All she could see was a small slice of skin and his eyes. Black, empty eyes.
Danger, Loki shouted.
Aimili pressed tight against the hard bark of the tree. “What do you want? I’ve no coin with me.”
The man drew his sword. “I care naught for your coin.”
Was his voice familiar? Aimili frowned, staring hard at him. “Who are you?”
“A good question, but I fear you could never understand the answer.”
Was it her fate to be judged witless and foolish by every man she met? “You might be surprised.”
“Perhaps, but I doubt it.”
Aimili set Lyoness aside, and rose. She slipped her hand around to her back, where she’d tucked the dagger. “You conceal yourself. I ask again, who are you?”
His low laugh skittered down her spine. “Death.” He lunged toward her, his sword raised.
With a squeak, the dog raced off.
Aimili pulled the dagger free, knowing it was little defense against a sword. Still, if she were to die today, she would not go without inflicting as much damage as she could.
At the sight of the dagger, her attacker froze, halting his sword in midswing. “Where did you get that?”
Aimili was so terrified she could scarcely draw a breath. “From the Queen of Paroseea,” she spat, expecting him to laugh.
Instead, the part of his face that she could see reddened in rage. “Give it to me.”
“Go to hell.” Aimili held the dagger in front of her.
Her attacker howled and raised his sword.
It was as if an invisible shield surrounded Aimili, a radiant nimbus of silver flecked with green. When the blade struck, it glanced off with a chime as if metal met metal.
Aimili managed to swipe the man’s chest, but instead of jumping back, he wrapped his hand around hers. “I believe the question is—who are you, my lady?”
He thrust her away from him and murmured words she couldn’t understand, raising his sword once more. “I asked you a question, wench.”
She gave him the same answer he’d given her. “Death,” she snarled, leaping forward and plunging the dagger up into his shoulder.
Blood gushed out and the man sank to his knees. “You’ll not defeat me so easily.”
“It seems that I have.” She pulled the dagger free with a sickening, sucking sound.
Soaked with blood, Aimili stumbled to Loki, barely noticing that Lyoness had been trying to chew his reins free. She swept up the dog and flung herself onto Loki’s back. Take me home.
Hold on.
“Laird, I would speak with you.”
Padruig glanced at D’Ary, then held up his shield to halt his opponent’s attack. Sweat stung his eyes, and he wiped it away with the sleeve of his tunic. “Aye?”
“I have failed you,” the man announced.
Padruig narrowed his eyes, the beginnings of unease trickling into his gut. “What is amiss?”
“Loki is missing. As is your wife.”
“What? Where is she?”
“That, I do not know. The guards report she left not long past sunrise.”
Before Padruig could control himself, he had his sword at D’Ary’s throat. “I thought you were to accompany her.”
“I was.” D’Ary did not flinch as the sharp steel cut a line into his neck.
Padruig was so furious it took a rigid exercise of control not to let the blade slice deeper. “You are telling me that not only did my wife disobey my orders to take a guard with her, but she rode that uncontrollable beast, as well?”
“Loki has been much improved of late,” D’Ary offered.
“I will find her,” Padruig snarled. All the way to the stable, across the bailey, beneath the gatehouse, and across the vast expanse of his land, Padruig cursed the girl who had fast become both his greatest irritation and his greatest temptation. Damn it to hell.
What was he to do with her?
A few hours later, Padruig stared around a blood-soaked grove and regretted every single unkind thought he’d ever had about Aimili. If not for the men accompanying him, he would just sink to his knees and howl to the heavens.
“This is my fault,” he told Magnus.
Silently, Magnus handed him a bloody piece of green fabric. “We’ve not found a body.”
“She is dead, Magnus. Look at the grass. There are clear signs of a fight. And the blood …”
Magnus’s mouth turned down. “It does not look good, I grant you that.”
“I have done it again. ’Tis just like Brona.”
“Laird, you told Aimili not to leave the castle without a guard.”
“Aye, but—” He broke off, shaking his head. “I drove her to this, Magnus.” He could see her face clearly in his mind, the hurt he’d inflicted in his anger over the threat to the clan. Why would she not wish to escape Castle MacCoinneach? He had made it clear to her that she did not belong, that he did not want her. In his pathetic quest to protect Aimili, he’d instead driven her to her death.
Failure choked him and robbed him of breath. He should have done more to keep watch over her, particularly after she’d been attacked within the castle itself. Instead, he’d focused on the clan’s needs and used that as an excuse to avoid her, leaving her care to others.
Randulf stopped in front of him, his gaze pitying. “There are signs of two horses, Laird. A trail of blood leads to one.”
“Which direction did they go?”
“Toward the castle.”
Padruig’s belly clenched. “’Twas the same bastard who attacked her before.”
“It would seem so.”
“But, you have found no—”
“Nay,” Randulf answered Magnus. “No body, but…I am sorry, Laird.” Randulf bowed his head.
Padruig shook with the effort to maintain his composure. Aimili dead. He could not get his mind around the very idea, even though he knew he must. “Someone shall pay for the deed done today,” he swore.
As they rode back to Castle MacCoinneach, the image of Aimili’s face played over and over in his mind. No matter how many times he’d seen death, sometimes caused it, it never ceased to surprise him how life could be extinguished in the blink of an eye. Somehow, it had always seemed a desecration of God’s will that his children be so fragile in the end.
Particularly one as vital as Aimili.
The men rode in silence, even Magnus grim and quiet for once.
It was not until they approached the gatehouse that Magnus spoke. “Clearly, this was aimed at you, Laird.”
“Aye.” Bile rose in the back of Padruig’s throat. Aimili had been as much a sacrifice today as she’d been in marriage to him.
Magnus reached out and pulled Padruig’s horse to a stop, motioning the other men forward. “I cannot fathom who would be doing this, Laird. I have talked to most of the clan, listened to others. I’ve heard none express the kind of animosity toward you that this deed indicates.”
“Clearly the bastard is one of us. All signs point to it.”
&
nbsp; “I agree, but I still do not understand.”
“Perhaps one of the stable hands saw someone take a horse.”
“I shall question them myself.”
“Thank you, Magnus.”
Magnus clapped a hand on Padruig’s shoulder. “These are dark days, Laird.”
“Aye.” Padruig squeezed his mount forward. “My fear is how much darker they will get.”
Magnus had no answer.
Aimili was so upset she didn’t realize for a while that Loki had veered from the path back to Castle MacCoinneach. By the time she regained her senses, they were across the loch from the castle.
Loki, you went the wrong way! By the saints, this was not what she needed. She fought the urge to break down and sob.
I am sorry, my lady. This day has been … strange.
’Tis not your fault. I should have been paying better attention. Aimili slid off the horse and stretched. She put Lyoness on the ground, where she promptly sat and just stared up at Aimili.
It has been quite a day, has it not?
Aye, Lyoness answered, her gaze unblinking. I am sorry I could not be of more aid to you.
At that, Aimili had to chuckle. Though she was nearly oblivious to everything but getting away from the grove, she did remember seeing the dog with a mouthful of rein. If determination could have freed Loki to help her, Aimili was sure her wee guard dog could have done it.
She looked down and grimaced at the sight of her torn and bloody tunic. Even her hands were streaked with reddish-brown marks.
You’ll not defeat me so easily, the man had said. Could he be the one Queen Sebilla had warned her about? Aimili shivered. Well, surely he was dead now. No one could survive losing that much blood so quickly.
She waded into the shallow edge of the loch and splashed water onto her tunic until it ran clear, scrubbing her hands until the blood was gone. Finally, she splashed her face, sickened to find that water came away red, as well.
After draping the mantle she’d tied in a roll to Loki’s saddle over her and Lyoness, she started back around the loch to Castle MacCoinneach. As she rode, the sun dimmed, then vanished behind an increasingly dark band of lowering clouds. She peered up at the sky, and squeezed Loki into a canter, hoping they could make it before the skies opened.