by Eliza Knight
Cora could have choked on the mortification lancing her. Such vulgar terms had never before pushed past her mother’s lips.
“What has happened to you, Mother?” Cora gaped at her, confused by the many different faces she wore. The woman who’d seemed so meek before her husband and let the servants walk all over her, crushed the soul of her daughter behind closed doors. Her mother seemed to have been a viper in hiding this entire time.
Cora backed up a step, unsure of what to do or say. Had her mother suffered some sort of attack of the head? Was it the crushing blow of her husband being murdered that had her raging with madness? That had to be it. Had to be—
“What has happened?” Her mother straightened so much Cora feared for the safety of the woman’s spine. “My life has been taken from me. And for the past thirteen years, my daughter, whom I’d assumed to be a lost cause as a spinster, has lied to me about her wanton vows. Think you that I’ll ever trust you again?” Her mother’s head snapped back in a laugh that was low, too low for the violent reaction her body was having.
Cora backed up another step, prepared to flee to the safety of her room and swear never to come out, or to let anyone enter again until Liam came home.
“My ladies…” A man stepped from the great hall, slipping through a tiny opening of the door, as though he were sneaking from the great chamber unnoticed.
Light and music filtered out, along with the sounds of boisterous chatter and music before the noise was muted again by the closing of the door.
“My lord,” Cora said distractedly, only belatedly recognizing the man as the awkward lord she’d met previously. The air in the corridor grew stifling, as though he sucked all the breathable qualities out of it, and it left her feeling uneasy.
“Do leave us,” Lady Segrave ordered, but the man ignored her.
Was the smile on his face menacing? Or was Cora seeing things?
“Allow me to escort you inside,” he said, holding out his elbow toward Lady Segrave. “They are waiting to serve the main course.”
Cora’s insides crawled at the sight of the man and the smoothness of his voice, but still she couldn’t avoid him and what he stood for—answers. She pushed past her mother, threaded her arm through his and shot her mother a defiant look. If her mother wasn’t going to respond, maybe this man would. He stared down at the fingerless leather gloves.
“An honor, my lady.”
Her mother rushed to join him on the other side, fury etched in the lines of her profile.
“Well, it would seem I am a lucky fellow this evening.”
Cora tried to control the trembling in her hand as she laid her fingers on his rough linen shirt.
Rough… Now, that was odd. It wasn’t as smooth as Liam’s, which meant the material was inferior. She knew from what Liam had told her about his family when they were adolescents that the Sutherlands had some of the best wool in all of Scotland. They bred sheep and sold the wool all over their own country and even in England, but it would appear that either this man had not come in contact with fine wool, or he didn’t have the funds to obtain it. How curious that was.
“My lord,” Cora started as they stepped into the loud great hall. The king sat upon the dais behind a trestle table filled with several other courtiers. “I do not believe I know your name.”
“Oh, my lady, I apologize, my manners must have escaped me. I am Lord Wuller.”
Lord Wuller? The name sounded familiar, but she couldn’t place having ever met him. “’Tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
From the other side of Lord Wuller, Cora could swear her mother was making a choking sound, but when she managed to peek around the man to look, her mother simply stared straight ahead. On closer view, Cora could see that Lord Wuller was squeezing her mother’s arm quite closely to his body. Not only was it inappropriate, but it was disconcerting as well.
Thankfully, they’d drawn the attention of King Robert, and the conversation upon the dais quieted at their approach.
“Ah, Lady Segrave and her daughter, Lady Sutherland,” the king called. “Join me.”
Lord Wuller led them up to the dais table, where she and her mother curtsied and Lord Wuller bowed.
The king nodded toward two chairs at the end of the dais that had been saved for them. Though a place was not set for Lord Wuller, he acted the gentleman and pulled out her mother’s chair and then her own. Before taking his leave to find a seat amongst the crowd, he bent low toward her mother and whispered something in her ear. Though Cora couldn’t hear it, she suspected it was a threat of some sort. Lady Segrave’s face drained of color, and a glance down showed her mother gripped her hands in her lap so tightly, Cora feared she’d break her own fingers.
Lord Wuller went before the dais, bowed to his king, and then found a place among the other courtiers, shoving several on a bench to make his place.
The king ordered the meal to be served, and the servants who’d been waiting in the wings for the direct order melted from seemingly nowhere with platters full of roasted meats, poached fish, piles of bread, creamed turnip soup and goblets full of wine.
But Cora’s appetite was gone. She put food on her trencher when it was presented to her, allowed her cup to be filled, and even took sips and bites when her mother pointed out that she was not eating, but the entire time, her gaze was on Lord Wuller. He glowered at her mother, and then he shifted his gaze toward her, locking in on her in a way that had her feeling trapped.
As he scowled in their direction, and the tingling on her spine grew more and more intense, Cora started to shake. A flash of memory, fleeting as it was, had her sitting back sharply in her chair. She knew now why his violent eyes were so familiar. This was the big secret her mother was keeping from her. Lord Wuller, had thirteen years before stormed her castle wearing plaid, and blue woad on his face. She’d not recognized him right away…
This man had been the one to drag her from her home and toss her into the dirt. The one who’d shouted he would take her first, and then his men could have their turns. The very man that Liam had saved her from.
And it would appear he was back, and her mother wanted to do precisely as Cora feared—feed her to the wolf.
Without a doubt, Cora was certain that Lord Wuller was the one her parents had promised her to.
Liam raised his arms over his head, stretched out the aches in his body, and then dove under the water in the Balnagown River a short distance away from Castle Ross. He’d taken his horse on a trek less than a mile from the castle, through the wood to the river, not at all fearing for his safety. His men, and his father’s men, had made certain of that.
The Earl of Sutherland had announced that prior to leaving for Ross country, the king had given orders that Liam should be the new Laird of Ross Castle, a title and position he never would have dreamed of having, but had suddenly become his own. The night before, as he sat upon the Ross throne in the great hall, villagers had come to bend the knee before him, and still, crofters from around the holding were trickling in to do the same. They all appeared almost relieved to have a new leader and a break in a decades-long war between the Sutherlands and the Ross Clan.
Aye, he should be flattered. There was even a chance the king would name him Earl of Ross, an even loftier title than laird, if he could prove his worth. Was Liam ungrateful for not wanting any of it?
He dove into the cool depths of the water still bearing a hint of the winter’s icy chill. The water soothed his wounded skin, washing away the weeks of fever. He’d been out of it long enough that the wounds had nearly healed, no longer open sores, but puckered pinch scars that ached. The cool water numbed the pain, not that it was more than he could handle. He’d had injuries before, even almost died from them. Perhaps this was a sign from above that he was not done yet, that he had plenty more of this life to live.
Despite living, despite keeping his promise to Cora that he would return for her, Liam was angry. Aye, he was bloody furious.
; Furious that in a moment of weakness, he’d allowed an enemy to go free—an enemy that had nearly killed him. And the enemy had been a child. Perhaps what made him angry most of all, was that if he had to do it all over again, he would let the child cut him down, because never would he push his own weapon through a wee one.
The lad had been captured and tossed into the dungeon to await Liam’s judgment. When Liam had been well enough to stumble from the makeshift bed in the great hall, he’d questioned the lad, who’d sworn he was only doing the bidding of his master. Liam believed him. The problem was, could they turn him around? Could they convince the child not to attack Liam or any other Sutherland?
Coming to the surface, he whipped his head back and forth, flinging water from his hair. He swiped his hands down his face and let out a groan of frustration.
Magnus appeared on the shore. He disrobed, dove into the water and then swam toward his son.
“Feels good, aye?” his da asked, coming to the surface.
“Better than good.”
Magnus ducked under the surface, came up scrubbing his hair. He wiped the water from his eyes and met his son’s gaze. “We’ll need to return to Stirling soon.”
“I can ride.”
“Nae doubt.” His father was frowning now, staring off into the distance.
Liam turned, expecting to find signs of an enemy approaching, but there was nothing.
“What is it?”
“We did not send word to the king,” Magnus said. “When we entered the castle, there were men waiting for our attack. That’s why when ye came in, ye were ambushed by villagers. They were warned of your impending arrival.”
Liam furrowed his brow. “Someone from Stirling.”
“Aye. So, we didna send word back, thinking it best they all stew in it. We’ll surprise them with our return.”
“And the king? He didna send a messenger looking for us?”
Magnus shook his head. “When I spoke with him before, he had his suspicions, and so I told him we’d only send word if we were defeated, so he’d not worry if he didna hear from us.”
“Who do ye think it is?”
“I dinna know. But if there is a traitor at Stirling, the king could be in danger.”
“And Cora.”
“Aye. The king’s men will protect them both, even if the enemy is ready to strike. He or she is bound to send a scout soon if they have nae done so already.”
“We need to leave.” Liam started to swim toward the shore, ignoring the ache in the muscles of his shoulder and back where he’d been shot.
Magnus swam after him. “I would say we leave at first light.”
“But ye know I’d argue.”
His da chuckled. “Aye. So, when I came down here to find ye, I had the men begin packing. We’ll leave when ye’re ready.”
“Can we trust the Ross servants and steward?”
“I will leave some of my men here to keep the peace until ye return with your own,” Magnus said.
They reached the shore, and Liam pulled on his liene and started to pleat his plaid. He laid it out on the ground where he rolled himself into it and belted it into place. His father dressed as well, and when they were done, Liam pulled his da in for a hug. It was not very often that he embraced his father. Not because he didn’t love him, but because it was not the masculine thing to do. Warriors fought. They pounded each other on the back. They jested and boasted and made wagers. They did not embrace. They did not love.
Well, right now, Liam was putting all that aside. He’d almost died, and his father had to bear witness to it. That deserved a hug, and love.
“Thank ye, Da.”
Magnus wrapped his arms crushingly around Liam, and Liam could feel the subtle tremble of his father’s back, as though he were holding back tears.
“Ye needna thank me, lad. Besides, ’tis Lucas who brought ye back from the dead.” Magnus squeezed the back of Liam’s neck and then scrubbed his hand through his son’s hair, much the way he’d done when he was a wee one.
Liam laughed, clapping his father on the shoulder. They both stepped back, silly grins on their faces, and just the barest hint of tears in their eyes. “But mayhap my willingness to die in your place hit a soft spot with Fate, for she didna let ye die.”
“Appears there were many promises made that Fate seems intent for us to keep,” Liam said. “For I made one as well.”
“To your wife.” Magnus’s lip quirked in a smile.
“Aye. How did ye know?”
“I’ve made that promise a thousand times or more.” Magnus grinned, gave a pat to Liam’s cheek. “Ye’re a good man, son, and I’m damned proud of ye.”
“Ye raised me to be a good man, I take after ye.”
“Och, enough of these warm, mushy ballocks talk. Ye’ll have me dressing in a gown afore we reach Stirling.”
Liam choked on a laugh. “I’d be willing to die again to see ye dressed in a gown.”
Magnus scowled, though merriment danced in his gaze. “And I’d be willing to give ye that gift, son, if ye were to force the issue.” Magnus reached behind him and fingered the hilt of his sword. “My ballocks might be shrinking, but I’ve still got a mighty shaft.”
Liam laughed again. “Och, Da, I’ve missed ye. ’Tis been an honor fighting beside ye.”
“The honor has been all mine. Now, let’s go finish our fight.”
Chapter 17
Cora’s mother didn’t speak to her the whole of the meal. Instead, she sat stiffly beside her, ordering Cora to take bites and sips of her wine. Cora might have been resentful, except she needed the practice. Her fingers were stiff, and she had trouble gripping. As it was, she had to use both hands to sip her wine, and she was holding her fork like one might expect a toddler to. But if she were going to be any good at holding the knife strapped to her calf, it was best to get used to it now.
She was frustrated at having to relearn something that used to be so simple for her. However, she was doing it herself, and that was progress.
It’d been nearly two months since the fire, and at one point, she’d thought she might never have use of her hands again. So, she was grateful for these small favors. Being fed by others day in and day out, being unable to dress or even use the chamber pot alone had been mortifying and frustrating. At least now she could pull on her chemise, braid her hair and take care of any necessary private business.
In any case, it didn’t matter whether her mother spoke to her, because Cora was trying hard to concentrate on the questions she needed answers to, and just how to phrase them to her mother. Did her parents know that Wuller had attacked their castle all those years ago? Was an alliance formed to keep them safe from further attacks? What hold did the vile man have on her mother now? Cora stabbed at a turnip on her plate and bit her tongue to keep her groan inside.
Scanning the crowd, she caught sight of Lord Wuller. The lascivious sneer on his lips and the way he was cutting into his meat gave her an idea of how very much he wanted to cut into her. It was unnerving, and it took every ounce of concentration she had not to react to it, to keep her face still when she wanted to run screaming from the great hall.
She flicked her gaze down the table, raising her brows and smiling as though she’d heard something interesting, if only to break eye contact with him. Goodness, she was fairly squirming in her seat.
To make matters worse, when she surreptitiously glanced back while sipping her wine, she could have sworn she saw him licking his lips. She wanted to leave but feared withdrawing from the relative safety of numbers. Her mother still had a guard, rather a warden, that followed her, but Cora didn’t, so she couldn’t leave without her mother, unless she was willing to brave departing alone, which she wasn’t.
“Mother,” Cora said, sliding some of her meat over to the side of her plate in an attempt to make it look as though she’d eaten more than she had. “I’m feeling a megrim coming on.”
“Oh.” Her mother set down her fork gently and
glanced toward King Robert, who was in a deep conversation with the lord beside him.
Was that a bit of relief she’d heard in her mother’s voice?
“Do you think we can be excused?” Cora asked.
Lady Segrave flicked her gaze toward her daughter. “I do not know, Cora. The rules of the Scottish court are likely the same as the English court, and if that is the case, we will have to wait until the king is finished to be dismissed.”
From the side of her eye, Cora glanced toward Wuller. He finished a cup of ale and set it down a little too carefully. Slowly, as though he didn’t expect anyone to notice, he stood and swiveled toward her, his vision locked on them. Though the expression he wore was blank, Cora could make out the calculating look in his eyes. He approached the table with all the stealth of a wildcat hunting prey.
She swallowed the bile rising in her throat. What would he do? Was he going to ask permission to escort them somewhere? Would the king grant it?
Wuller drew closer, and Lady Segrave’s hands gripped the arm of her chair, knuckles white as she took note of him.
“He’s coming,” her mother whispered as though the Devil himself were upon them.
A dozen paces away, the man looked touched enough to leap through the air, claws outstretched to rake them over Cora’s face. What had got into him? Desperation? A plan gone awry? Whatever it was, she feared for her life, even in this room full of people, for she wouldn’t put it past her mother to agree to whatever he asked.
Cora held her breath, pushing her legs together. The cool metal of the dagger on her left calf pressed into her right. She’d kept it there every day since Liam had given it to her. She’d palmed it, tossed it from hand to hand, catching it most of the time, but unable to fully grip it to stab someone, though she’d tried thrusting it forward, more than half the time dropping it as she did so.
If she couldn’t cut air, how was she going to get the dagger through flesh and sinew?