Amabel nodded. She was sure they were almost at the attic. One of these rooms must hold Alina.
They reached the attic. Amabel looked around. There were five doors. They were in almost total darkness, the whole floor lit by a single torch at the end-most doorway.
“Alina!” Amabel whispered loudly. “Alina...”
She knocked at the first door. She had no idea which one housed Alina and she could not risk shouting her name. She heard someone move inside and a second later, a head appeared. It was a servant.
“Is that you, Jessie?”
Amabel froze. She reached for her broadest accent. “Nay. I'm here lookin' for Jimmy. Ken ye where he is?”
The woman coughed. “Nay. I don't. Check the guardhouse. What're ye up here for?” She laughed harshly. Then, as Amabel held her breath, she closed the door and she heard her shuffle off to bed.
She breathed out, relief disabling her a moment. If she had misjudged, and this was where the servants slept, their search could take hours!
At that moment, Duncan, who had been standing guard at the stairwell, ran back. “Hurry!”
As he said it, Amabel heard what he had heard. Feet, running up the stairs. There were distant sounds, too – beating and shouting and the clash of metal. Broderick was storming the fortress. And the guards were coming up.
Amabel whirled around. She was desperate. She threw herself up the row of doors to the end one by the torch. “Alina!” she called out desperately, all need for stealth abandoned in their haste.
“Amabel?”
She heard a shout from the second room. As she did so, she heard the feet reach the stairs and Duncan draw his sword.
She tried the door handle. It was locked. She had not known what else she had expected. She was desperate. “Alina?”
“Amabel! Sister?” She could hear her sister was almost crying. She wanted to weep, too. She was so close to her! And yet, so impossibly far.
“I am here. We are here.”
“The door key is with him. The thane,” Alina was calling. “He has it on his belt...”
At that moment, another sound filled the corridor.
“Fetch her, damn you! Now.”
Amabel froze. That was him. She would know that voice anywhere. It spoke in her nightmares if she chose to listen. Lord Thomas.
She turned around.
Lord Thomas, handsome face twisted with rage, was at the top of the stairs. Duncan whirled to face him. Amabel saw Lord Thomas snarl and draw his sword.
“Guards!” he bellowed, calling over his shoulder.
Duncan drew his sword fluidly. Amabel stared, transfixed. She did not know Duncan well, but she had to admit she had never seen anyone fight quite as well as Duncan was now fighting. His face a mask of cold sorrow, he was entirely dispassionate. Lord Thomas, however, was affronted and enraged, and he fought with that madness. Slashing and hacking wildly, his style was no match for Duncan.
“Miserable housebreaking scum...”
Duncan said nothing. He brought his sword down coldly in a blow that would have halved the man if he had not parried it. Amabel held her breath as the swords struck sparks.
She could hear fighting raging downstairs where Lord Thomas' guards fought Keith and the other me. She fought the urge to run to Broderick, who must be down there with them. She had to save Alina! Her attention was drawn back to the fight by Lord Thomas, spitting insults at Duncan to break his focus.
“You fight like my grandmother...”
Duncan was ignoring every insult, fighting as if he was in a trance.
Amabel watched them. She drew in a sharp breath when she saw Duncan bleeding. The sword had nicked his shoulder and blood sheeted down. She could see he was tiring.
“The key.”
She said it aloud as the thought occured to her.
Lord Thomas had not noticed her. All his attention was on Duncan, who was doing his best to hold the man at the head of the stairs. If only she could reach the key. But how to get in between the two fighting men?
Lord Thomas was grunting with effort. He had his sword pushed against Duncan's, holding back the blow that threatened to cleave him in half. The two men were grappling, entirely focused on each other. Amabel had an idea. There was just enough space for her to reach past Duncan to Lord Thomas, to push him off balance. She hesitated only an instant.
“Agh!”
Screaming a wordless cry, she ran at him from the side. She saw his eyes widen and he stumbled. That was all Duncan needed. The instant the pressure on his blade faltered, he brought it down. Clean into the man's shoulder.
As he lowered his arm, face white and blood welling along the wound, Amabel called to Duncan.
“Pull him up! The key! He has it.”
Duncan, face shiny with perspiring, turned to her.
“Key?”
“Pass him to me!” Amabel shouted desperately.
Duncan, clearly on the edge of endurance, had just enough strength to grab the disarmed man and pull him, stumbling and resistant, up the last step. He collapsed on the floor.
Amabel ran over.
He saw who it was and his eyes widened, then narrowed.
“You're dead,” he said flatly. “I know you died.”
Amabel blinked. “No, I didn't.” She bent down, feeling sudden rage. This was the man who had almost ruined her sister's life! Who had attempted murder by the foulest means. Who had murdered Aisling for his gain.
“Give me the key,” she whispered.
He laughed. “Are you threatening me?”
“No,” she said. “I don't make threats.”
Hating herself for doing it, she grabbed his wounded arm and twisted.
He hissed out a breath of pain and looked at her with utter bemusement. She kept on twisting even as he snarled and fought her. Clinging on was almost impossibly hard. But Duncan was fighting the first guard to climb the stairs and he was more exhausted than her. She had to do something. She had to be strong like he was. Lord Thomas was hitting out with his good hand, snarling, grappling with her, trying to gain a purchase. Amabel heard a crash from the stairwell and did not want to look up. As the man fought her, she was trying to search for the key. It was on his belt, she knew. She would find it.
His hand was grappling for her throat. As she twisted and looked for the key, she felt his fingers closing round her neck. She coughed.
She could feel herself choking. She could almost hear the noises she made, but her ears were full of the crescendo of her own blood, singing and pounding. Her vision was swimming.
I will pass out. As she felt her sight swim, she found it. Her fingers closed on something cold and leaden. She pulled. It snapped.
Amabel was pushed backward by the force of the sudden break, and that loosened his grip on her throat sufficiently. She fell back, seeing stars. Then she wriggled to the right.
Grabbing her skirts, key in hand, she ran.
“Amabel!”
“Alina! I'm coming.”
She fumbled with the key. It turned.
Alina collapsed out of the door. She was gray-pale, hollow-cheeked. Amabel was not sure if she had been fed anything at all since their capture. She almost collapsed. Amabel grabbed at her and Alina bit her lip, righting herself.
At that moment, there was another crash from the stairwell.
“Let's go.”
Alina whispered it and Amabel followed her. Together they ran for the stairs.
They almost reached them.
As Amabel ran past the alcove, something stepped out and grabbed Alina.
Lord Thomas.
He had managed to stand. He was deathly pale but he had a dagger in his hand. He held it against Alina's breastbone.
He was white, blood trickling from his mouth. His eyes burned.
“You thought you could order me!” he said wildly. He spat, and blood-filled spittle stained across the boards. “Now you will suffer. All of you, lower your blades.”
Amabel
screamed. She turned around, but Duncan was finished. He was a mass of cuts and bruises. As she watched, the guard swung at him. The blow jarred down his arm and he turned it, but the movement was slow. The next blow took him in the arm, below the one that was there. He jerked but made no other response.
Amabel felt hope die. Their little band had almost succeeded. But they were defeated.
Alina gasped and the first line of blood welled at her neck. Amabel screamed.
Lord Thomas was smiling.
“No,” she whispered. “Please.”
“Like you, I do not make threats,” he said thinly. “You will feel the worst pain – the pain of seeing your sister die.”
“Nooo!”
“What is the meaning of this?”
Big, rolling and full, the voice split through the chaos and made silence. Amabel spun around.
Broderick was there.
He was on the stairwell, eyes blazing. His sword was in his hand. Amabel had never seen him like this. Burnished, like a racehorse, radiating strength, he filled the space. And he was coming for Lord Thomas.
She saw the man shrink. But he kept his hold on Alina, whose throat was already bleeding freely. Another cut like that would kill her. Amabel stepped back and closed her eyes. She could not watch this. Anything Broderick wanted to do would cost Alina her life. She could not see a way out of this.
“You will drop the lady.” The voice was Broderick's, cold and angry.
A hollow laugh. “Make me. I will slit her throat and you will have killed her, too. You make a habit of causing the deaths of women, Lord Broderick.”
Amabel drew in a breath.
Broderick winced as if he had been slapped.
“What do you know of me?”
“I know you stood by and let your wife die. Where was your heroism then, Lord Broderick? You did not even think of her. You left her there for raiders to torture. You're not a protector. You betrayed her.”
Amabel saw Broderick's eyes flicker just an instant. And in that moment, she saw Thomas raise the knife.
“No!”
She wanted to scream but her breath was a high whisper. She had not seen the shadow in the darkness.
Lord Thomas jerked back. He was clearly trying to scream, but no sound was coming out. He dropped Alina, who collapsed onto the floor. Broderick caught her as she fell.
Amabel watched, transfixed, as Lord Thomas bent back, as if he was having a seizure. His eyes rolled back and blood trickled from his mouth.
Then she realized why. Saw Duncan, lying behind him. Saw the sword that disappeared into the man's back, puncturing a lung.
She listened, unbelieving, as Lord Thomas gasped and coughed, breath wheezing in a chest that could not draw air. It was a terrible way to go and she turned away as he collapsed, body contracting as he fought desperately to breathe.
Duncan was almost dead. Amabel could see that. He was leaning on the wall. His face was white, and he was bleeding from a myriad of wounds. His eyes were open but as she watched, they clouded.
“Brother!” Broderick turned to his brother. The sounds he made were not human – small whimpers of animal pain. He knelt beside him, rocking Duncan back and forth. Amabel felt her own tears pouring down her face.
As she listened, the place became still. She could hear the odd metallic click, as of a sword employed to dispatch an already-prone man, but otherwise the castle was silent.
Up in the attic, the only sound was of harsh breath. Broderick was utterly exhausted. Duncan was barely breathing. Lord Thomas was still now.
Alina was lying in Amabel's arms. Her throat still bled, though more weakly now, and Amabel gently lowered her to the floor so that she could see to it. The vessels he had severed were not the great veins. Even so, the injury was grave and it was far from certain Alina would live: she had lost a good deal of blood. Amabel tore a strip off her petticoat and bound the wound as best she could. Her sister's eyes opened and she looked, unfocused, at the ceiling.
“Not... dead,” she whispered. Then she passed out.
Amabel stroked the black hair tenderly, heart aching. They had seen so much death! Lord Thomas – a villain he might have been, but death in that manner was awful no matter who it was – the guards. Now Duncan.
She looked across at Broderick. His eyes were dark and empty.
She caught a movement to her left, seeing the servants’ door opened. As she looked, it slammed closed. They were alone.
Amabel bent to lift her sister, but she was too heavy for her to move.
“Wait... for the guards,” Broderick panted. He knelt where he was, one hand on Duncan, looking across at Amabel. They were both too weary to move. All they could do was breathe and grieve.
“My lord?”
A guard – one of their own men – appeared on the stairwell.
“Will. We need help. Carry Duncan?”
The guard saw the prone figure then and his eyes went wide. He paled.
“Yes, my lord.”
With immense respect, he knelt and, together with another companion, they lifted the body, one at the arms, one at his knees.
Broderick drew himself to standing and watched as they carried away his brother.
Then he slipped slowly down the wall.
“Broderick!”
Amabel ran to him and felt for his pulse. It was still there, if slow. She ran to the top of the stairs, fighting to stay on her feet. Two guards saw her.
“Carry the master down?” she asked. “And Lady Alina.”
As the guards appeared and very gently carried her beloved husband and sister away, Amabel finally allowed herself to collapse.
The last thought she had as she felt Keith lift her and carry her outside was: let them live.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
WAKING AHEW
WAKING AHEW
Amabel felt herself stirring to consciousness.
Everything hurt. Her whole body was a dull ache. She felt as if she had fallen down the stairs and was sure she must have broken every bone in her body. She tried to feel her feet, tentatively wriggling her toes. They appeared to be numb.
As she slowly returned to the present, she sought for memory. It leaked through slowly from the dull fog that filled her.
Alina. She was safe. They had stormed the fortress and rescued her. Her mind sent her an image of her sister, white and drained, her dark eyes closed. A shell of complete beauty, frozen like a crocus in ice.
“Alina...”
“Hush,” she heard a gentle voice. “I am here.”
Amabel opened her eyes. She stared. She could see firelight. It hurt her eyes and so she slitted them. Then she saw a face.
A pale oval, the face the shape of her mother's. For a moment it was her, grave and smiling. Amabel wondered then if she was dead, and it was her mother who sat there by her bedside. Then it became another face. One with a slightly longer forehead, a thinner nose. Wide black eyes like pools of mystery. The eyes were smiling. As were the full, dusky lips with their Gaulish pout.
“Alina!”
Her sister smiled. Her face flushed. “Yes, sister. It is me.”
Amabel shuffled to sit against the pillows. She was weeping and smiling, and she held out her arms wordlessly. Alina leaned forward into her embrace.
“Sister! You're alive!”
“Of course, I am, you silly dear. Of course, I am. I was worried about you...”
They were both laughing, tears streaming down their faces. Amabel breathed in her scent of rosemary and lavender, dried flowers and iris and incense.
“I love you, sister. Never leave me again...”
“I love you, too, sister.”
Amabel could not quite believe it. She leaned back on the pillows. “I thought you were dead,” she whispered.
Alina smiled. “We have a healer in this family.”
“Actually, two healers. When are you going to believe me?” an exhausted voice sighed.
“Aili!” Amabel felt
her face split with a grin. She turned to see the older woman standing there.
“Yes.” Aili smiled. “It's me. Your auntie. My, but you were feverish. Alina has not left your side since she woke herself.”
Amabel looked down to where Alina's throat was still bound. The wound must have been clean, for she could see no redness or swelling to suggest any infection. She sighed.
“Thank you, Aili, for your gifts.”
“Don't think to thank me,” Aili snorted, thought she still smiled. “Doesn't come from me.”
Amabel nodded. “Thank you, anyway.”
Aili smiled and turned away.
Lying back, memory returned to Amabel. She did not want to ask if Duncan were alive. She was almost sure he was dead. Alina was inscrutable as ever – if she wanted to know she would not be hearing it from her.
Aili was busy preparing something – she could hear her grinding herbs in the corner near the fire.
“More like a party than a sick-chamber, this room,” she was grumbling. “Always people stopping in. And here's another one...”
As she spoke, Amabel saw Alina turn. She looked at the door, back straight, body tense.
“Amabel?”
Amabel drew in a breath.
“Duncan!”
Duncan walked slowly to the bed. He stood beside Alina, resting a hand on her shoulder. Alina took it. Together they smiled down at her.
Duncan frowned. “Amabel. I cannot thank you for what you have done. But we wanted to make you a gift.”
Amabel stared at him. “Duncan?”
He reached behind his back, face wreathed with smiles. What he passed her was a carved board. She felt over it, brow furrowed. Then her sight cleared as she recognized what it was.
“Duncan?”
Alina smiled. “It's a cradle-board.”
Amabel nodded, wordless. It was the carven headboard for a cradle.
But that meant... that meant...
“Amabel?”
His voice. She knew that voice. She turned to the doorway.
Broderick was there. He was smiling. His presence filled the room, and she felt her heart so full that she thought she might burst.
“Broderick! You're alive.”
Heart Of A Highlander (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story) Page 20