Me parents! He murdered them! I’ll kill him!
But Cicilia’s hand clamped around his other arm, pulling him back. “Alexander, stop,” she commanded, and she said it with such authority that he froze in place. “Stop. He’ll face a trial an’ everyone will ken what he did. An’ then, his miserable life can end properly. But nae here. Nae now.”
The fog of red anger faded slightly, and he lowered his sword, though he did not sheathe it yet. “Why did ye let him in here?” he asked her in a choked-up voice, trying desperately to think of anything other than his parents. “He could o’ hurt ye. He could o’ hurt yer siblings.”
“We hid under the bed,” Annys told him. “Because Cicilia told us to. An’ then when he came in, she chatted to him a bit, then as soon as he tried to move towards her, we hit him!”
“Hit him with what?” Alexander asked roughly.
Jamie and Annys simultaneously pointed to the heavy metal poker that was sitting by the mantelpiece. They must have both hefted it to wield it properly. Alexander could see on the end where Thomaes’s blood was still damp on one end.
Good. I’d like to beat him wi’ it a few times meself.
But Cicilia was right. Thomaes would be punished, but it needed to be in the right way—not out of vengeance, but by following the law of the land.
“So ye killed me parents, managed to manipulate me into coldness, an’ turned me people against me,” Alexander accused, ice in his voice as he turned back to the accomptant once more.
Thomaes’s expression had shut down almost entirely. He sounded utterly indifferent as he said, “Aye. An’ it was nae hard. Yer people are fools an’ beggars, every one. They’d have believed anythin’ I told them for a bit o’ coin.”
The pain threatened to overwhelm him, but he stood firm. “An’ Cicilia’s farm?” he asked quietly. “Ye planted men when I sent ye to observe, aye?”
A cruel smirk. “Aye. They slaughtered the animals. It was supposed to be enough to put a stop to it, but ye an’ yer noble idiocy ruined that plan, too. So I had the fire set. I was hopin’ to catch ye all in the blaze an’ be done wi’ it—but then ye brought them back here!”
Cicilia gasped, covering her mouth as the full realization hit her. “Ye threatened me in me bed. Ye nearly killed me wee siblings!”
Thomaes shrugged as best he could while tied up. “Me only regret is nearly.”
That was when the door opened again behind him, and Nathair walked in, limping heavily, supported between two men. There were three in total from the clan, that Alexander knew were highly respected amongst the people.
Are they the leaders o’ this fightin’?
“I kent ye were nae to be trusted,” Nathair said with sarcastic brightness, though Alexander could hear the thick pain in his voice. “Well, men? Are ye satisfied?”
The three clansmen looked at each other, then one stepped forward. It was Ronald, the baker, who Alexander knew had been most vocal about the need for change in the Castle village. “I heard enough,” he said. Disgust colored his voice. “It seems I owe ye an apology, Miss O’Donnel. Laird.”
He bowed his head to each of them in turn, then spat in Thomaes’s direction. “Fools an’ beggars, are we?” he demanded. “I’ll spread the word. I’m sure we’ll all be glad to see ye hang.”
Thomaes wheezed out a bitter laugh. “Aye? When I get to the devil, I’ll be sure to tell him to wait for all o’ ye. I still won, can ye nae see? The O’Donnel girl’s secret is out. Alexander is broken. I still win.”
Alexander’s hackles raised once more, but Cicilia said mildly, “I don’t see how. In fact, all ye’ve done is made things better for everyone. Nathair, did ye hear back from Jeanie yet?”
Nathair nodded. “Aye, she told me this morn. The Humphries are all for it if ye’re sure. Sorry I dinnae let ye ken sooner, but I had a few wee matters distractin’ me.”
Cicilia smiled, while Alexander looked against them, once again confused. What twist was this now?
“Ye see,” Cicilia said, “Me friend Jeanie is due to wed Chieftain Mr. Barcley here, but she wanted to let her parents ken first, an’ also make provisions for her grandfaither. So before they sent out the message, I had an idea. I asked Jeanie to ask her faither and grandfaither if they would nae do me the honor as servin’ as custodians o’ me farm.”
Alexander went still.
What? What is she talkin’ about? She’s been so against givin’ the farm away this whole time, so what is this?
“O’ course, it’ll be under me supervision. But technically, the farm will belong to George Humphries an’ his faither-in-law Ewan McCaul until me brother Jamie comes o’ age,” Cicilia went on. “We’ll need to sort the papers wi’ the Laird, but I imagine that will nae be much hassle.”
Alexander blinked. “Ye’re handin’ over the farm? What will ye do? Or will ye go back an’ do as ye were but just changin’ titles?”
Cicilia’s eyes sparkled. “As I said, I’ll supervise as much as I can,” she agreed. “But the Castle’s at least a seven-day ride from there, an’ once we’re wed, I imagine me duties will keep me from goin’ as often as all that.”
The room went very, very quiet, and Alexander could hear his own heartbeat thundering in his ears as he processed what she’d just said. “Once we’re wed?” he repeated.
For the first time, uncertainty shone in those impossible gold-green eyes. “Aye. I spoke to Catherine an’…I mean, perhaps I’m assumin’ too much, but…”
Without a word, Alexander strode toward her and lifted her by the waist, pressing his lips fiercely against hers. He forgot the children, forgot Nathair and the clansmen, even forgot Thomaes. For now, there was only him and Cicilia, Cicilia and him, together and bound at last.
I’ll still have to make me proposal properly, but I ken we’re gonnae be the happiest couple to ever grace the castle.
He didn’t stop kissing her until Thomaes’s outraged yell echoed through the room. “Nay!” the accomptant protested as Alexander placed Cicilia back on her feet. “Nay! Ye were to be de-seated, an’ she was to be me bride! The people will never accept this!”
“The fools an’ the beggars, ye mean?” Ronald, the baker, asked coldly. “I think the rest o’ the clan might be mighty interested in what we saw here this evenin’, Thomaes Cunningham. We look forward to yer trial.”
Nathair beamed. “Indeed! Let’s get goin’ then, Thommy, shall we?”
Thomaes winced. He’d always hated Nathair’s jovial manner, and Alexander could only imagine how the childish nickname was hurting his pride.
Nathair tried to move forward, which was when Alexander noticed the limp to one of his legs, the wound in his shoulder, the blood in his hair. What other injuries had his friend suffered on his behest?
While Nathair was supported by Ron, the two other clansmen untied Thomaes at swordpoint, marching him towards the door.
Alexander saw the little nod that one of the men gave to Thomaes as if in slow motion.
He’s still on his side! He’s paid him off!
The man on the left released Thomaes’s arm. He pounced on the other one escorting him, who yelled in surprise and automatically raised his hands to defend himself.
Then, quick as a flash, the accomptant was free, grabbing Cicilia by the hair and pulling her close. Alexander jumped, but Thomaes’s blade flashed by her throat.
The twins screamed loudly, and Alexander threw out an arm to stop them from running forward and getting into danger.
Nathair lunged forward. His leg crippled under him, and he fell to the floor, but not before dragging Thomaes’s man off the other clansman. They both slammed heavily onto the floor, and the butt of Nathair’s ax made sure the traitor stayed down, even as the Leòmhann roared in pain.
Then there was silence, terrifying silence, and nobody knew what to do next.
“Ye can kill me if ye like,” Thomaes hissed, meeting Alexander’s eyes. “In fact, I welcome it. I will nae live in a world wh
ere I’ve been bested by the likes o’ ye.”
Cicilia’s eyes were wide with fear, but she was staring at Alexander, too. It was almost as though she was trying to communicate something.
But what?
“Let her go,” he warned, one hand out to keep the twins back, the other tight around his sword. “What good is she to ye? Leave her be. Dinnae make this worse for yerself.”
“Worse?” Thomas laughed. He drew his hand back. “Prithee tell me, Me Laird. How could this get any worse for me?”
Alexander had to admit that he didn’t have an answer. His fury churned inside him, matched only by his fear for Cicilia’s life.
He took a step forward, and Thomaes’s knife flashed, slicing along Cicilia’s cheek. As she cried out in agony, Alexander went stock still. He couldn’t move closer, not if it would make the accomptant hurt her any further.
“What do ye want?” he asked through gritted teeth as the children wailed behind him, Nathair lay injured on the floor, and Ron tried to tend to the attacked clansman. “What will make ye let her go?”
“I want ye to suffer, Alexander MacKinnon,” Thomaes spat. Alexander watched in horror as his knife lowered to Cicilia’s throat, ready to strike. He tried to hurry forward once more, desperate to save her.
Then Thomaes let out a surprised yell and dropped his knife. Cicilia tumbled away, Alexander’s dirk held firm in her hand from where she’d just stabbed it into Thomaes’s ribs.
It was not enough to kill, but it was enough to distract, and Alexander took the chance. He flew forward, smacking Thomaes’s temple with the flat steel of his sword. He would have liked to kill him then and there, but he needed him alive to face trial and prove Alexander’s own innocence.
Thomaes crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
He ran to Cicilia’s side and helped her to her feet, cupping her bloody cheek in one hand. “We need to get ye to a healer,” he told her. “Ye an’ Nathair both.”
Annys and Jamie were still bawling, but Cicilia smiled through her pain and shock just for them. “Och, it’s a nasty cut, that’s all. Dinnae ye worry. Mr. Jacobs will take ye downstairs an’ send some help to clean up here. Won’t ye, Mr. Jacobs?
The baker looked dazed, but he nodded, helping the non-traitor clansman to his feet. The two of them gathered the twins and left.
Nathair groaned and rolled on to his back. “Is that it? Did we win, or am I just deid?”
Alexander burst into dry, sobbing laughter, his heart still pounding erratically, and pulled Cicilia into a tight embrace.
“Ye’re safe,” Alexander muttered, running his hand through her red hair with that strange black streak. He looked at the two unconscious men, and at the injured Nathair, but she was all he could focus on. “Ye’re safe.”
Am I reassurin’ her or tryin’ to reassure meself?
It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that at last, it was over.
And once Thomaes’s trial was over, and the sentence was given, a new chapter could finally begin.
Chapter 29
Dum Vita Est, Spes Est
While There is Life, There is Hope
Cicilia came down with a fever while she was recovering from the wound on her face. The healer said it was some infection, and it only seemed to get worse as time went on.
She didn’t remember much of the next while. She was in her rooms, frequently visited by the healer. Sometimes Annys and Jamie were there, sometimes Jeanie and Nathair, but mostly Alexander. They all talked to her, but she didn’t know if she talked back.
It’s hard to tell when I’m awake an’ when I’m dreamin’.
Cicilia often had strange fever dreams, mixed memories of her father and her mother, terrifying images of Thomaes coming to finish off the job. She often cried out, but whether the dreams actually woke her, she could not say.
It was so warm. So cold. It was like burning and drowning all at the same time. All of her extremities ached, and she felt heavy like she could never leave the bed again. She could barely even move her own head.
Sometimes, Cicilia didn’t feel like she was in her body at all. She barely knew her own name. Sometimes it felt like she was an observer, a spirit floating above her own body, waiting for her soul to move on. Other times she felt imprisoned, trapped in a cage that had once been named Cicilia.
Am I gonnae die, then? What will happen to the bairns?
Perhaps it was for the best. Alexander would take care of them. If he couldn’t, there was Jeanie. There were the Humphries. There were plenty of options to take care of the little ones. And Cicilia could be with her father again, and her mother, too.
Did I do well, Daddy? Will ye be proud o’ me, when I get to heaven wi’ ye?
She had to be strong, more durable than most young women ever dreamed, for such a long time. Her mother’s death meant she had to play the parent in her grief. When her father went, she hadn’t even been able to grieve for him properly. Instead, she’d had to hide in a tumult of lies and deception, breaking her back to keep an illusion in place.
But the illusion is broken now. We’re free.
She’d managed so much. Would it be wrong, now, to finally let herself rest? Was it so bad if she answered the gentle call of the wind that promised to soothe her ravaging fever? After all, her father had gone the same way. It was almost poetic, really.
It wasn’t that she wanted to die, but the chance to rest, to finally let go after everything…was it, indeed, a sin to be tempted?
All I’d have to do to see me parents again is to just…let go.
It would be that easy.
And suddenly, it seemed like the only option. She felt an overwhelming rush of relief, and her very soul began to slowly, slowly move away from the fevered husk that had been Cicilia. She rose up, up, and it would be over very soon…
…and then someone grabbed her hand.
It was the large, comforting hand of the Laird, centering her in place, capturing her in her body once again. The feel of his skin against hers, the way his touch reminded her of life…she couldn’t leave all this behind.
“Cicilia,” Alexander’s voice came, from above and below and all around her. “Cicilia, mo leannan, come back to me.”
Dinnae worry, Alexander. I’m comin’.
Then she felt a jolt, just below her chest, and everything went dark.
Alexander was not too manly to cry with relief when the healer told him at last that the infection had passed, and Cicilia was awake and asking for him. He and Nathair shared a quiet moment where his friend just hugged him, brother-to-brother, and let Alexander cry.
It was already late, so the twins were asleep, and he didn’t wish to wake them now. Nathair promised to tell Jeanie later and urged Alexander to hurry to Cicilia’s side.
He didn’t need telling twice. He ran to her rooms, spoke briefly to the healer, then practically burst through the door.
Her hair was in disarray, and there were black bags under her eyes. Along one cheek was an angry red line where Thomaes’s cut had finally healed over. There would always be a scar. She looked bleary-eyed and confused.
When her eyes met his, all of that ceased to matter. He’d never seen anything so beautiful.
He was at her side in a moment. “Cicilia,” he breathed. “Me love, I worried—”
“Ye need nae have worried,” she said. She sounded exhausted to the bone, but there was still some of her familiar teasing in her voice. “As if I could go anywhere an’ leave ye here alone. Ye simply cannae be trusted.”
Alexander laughed, touching her hair. It was still soft, despite the mess. “Never go anywhere,” he said to her. “Nae if ye’ve nae got a way back to me.”
Cicilia smiled, but as Alexander’s eyes roamed her face, it faltered. “I…it’s gonnae be a big scar, is it?” she said, sighing. “I’ve never thought meself vain, but…God above, if I dinnae have enough imperfections for ye to see past already. I understand if ye dinnae want to…if it’s too much…�
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Alexander didn’t understand for a moment, and when he did, he actually let out a sharp laugh of disbelief. “Ye think I see that scar as an imperfection?” he repeated. “Miss O’Donnel, that scar right there is the neatest, most perfect thing I’ve ever seen. It shows that the love o’ me life is brave. It shows that she can survive anythin’. That we can survive anythin’.”
He knew her wound would be too fresh and still sore, so he leaned over and kissed her forehead instead, then her nose, then finally a brush of his lips against her own.
Cicilia blushed, the tiredness in her eyes retreating slightly. “What’s this about the ‘love o’ yer life’?” she asked.
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