by Emma Prince
Just as simple as that, he admitted to the acts of a traitor and murderer. He truly was everything Domnall had claimed—a monster.
And for what? A few coins from Balliol? Even if Andrew had been promised a fortune, no price could ever justify committing the sins to which he’d readily confessed.
Ailsa had never seen him like this before. Aye, he’d often been cold toward her, uninterested in her childish fancies whenever he’d come to visit. And he’d been brusque with her when he’d declared that she would wed Lord de Laney. He’d turned nigh purple with barely-leashed rage when she’d refused.
But this…this cruel, untroubled villain before her seemed like some demon wearing her brother’s skin. Mayhap it was the drink running through him, making him loose-limbed and relaxed in his ruthlessness. Mayhap that was why he was so hateful.
Or mayhap this was his true nature, and what she’d seen of him before was the act, the mask covering this heartless, spiteful fiend underneath.
The air rushed from Ailsa’s lungs on an anguished moan. Bile pressed in the back of her throat, threatening to make her sick. How could she share blood with a man like that? How could she have defended him?
The noise she’d made drew Andrew’s hard gaze.
“What the bloody hell does my fool sister have to do with any of this?” he demanded, sweeping her with a contemptuous look.
Domnall’s hand reflexively tightened on her arm. “I went looking for ye at Tullibardine, but ye werenae there. I followed the trail of debts ye left all the way to Stalcaire Tower. I thought to find ye at yer family’s keep, but I found Ailsa instead.”
“And you brought her with you?” Andrew fixed him with a perplexed gaze. “Why? What use is she to anyone? Unless…you were keeping her for your amusement along the way?”
Ailsa’s stomach took a slow, nauseating tilt. How could he speak of such things about his own sister, and in that flat, emotionless voice?
“I thought to lure ye out with her,” Domnall said through gritted teeth. “Use her to bait ye. I assumed that although ye are a vile slug worth less than the dung on the bottom of yer boots, ye still might care for yer sister’s wellbeing. I see now that it was a miscalculation on my part.”
“Indeed,” Andrew said with a sneer. “She is naught to me—less than worthless. A burden I cannot seem to offload.”
Once again, the memory of his words after she’d refused Lord de Laney came back to her.
You are worthless to this family. Learn your place before your foolishness costs us even more.
He’d meant cost him even more. Trusting fool that she was, she’d taken his words deep into her heart, believing that she’d failed what was left of their family with her selfishness. When all along, he’d only sought to sell her to the highest bidder so that he could drink and gamble away the rest of his miserable life.
Distantly, she wondered if her parents had known that Andrew was rotten to his very core. Was that why he so rarely came home to Tullibardine? Had they been protecting her from seeing his selfish, cruel nature?
Well, she knew the truth now. She opened her mouth, but the scathing emotion burning her up inside wouldn’t form into words. Instead, hot tears stung her eyes and spilled over her cheeks.
A deliberately cruel smile peeled back his lips. “Look at her,” he said to Domnall. “What a soft-headed idiot she is. This was your grand plan? To trap me into a corner with her? Dangle this useless female before me and hope I would crumble at your feet, begging you to spare her?”
Domnall’s gaze swung to her. She looked up at him helplessly, her broken heart clogging her throat. Even through the blur of her tears, she could see the desolation in his eyes. Yet she could not be sure if it was for her pitiful existence or his own thwarted plans.
A flash of movement in the corner of her vision was her only warning.
Andrew had taken advantage of the heartbeat Domnall had looked away. He’d thrown himself onto his horse’s back and kicked the animal into motion—straight for them.
Everything seemed to slow as the horse surged forward. Ailsa froze. There wasn’t enough time to think, to move. Only a few paces separated them—a space that was rapidly disappearing. She and Domnall would be trampled under the charging animal’s hooves in the next instant.
A hair’s breadth before the horse was upon them, it felt as though a boulder slammed into her. She went flying backward, landing with a lung-crushing thud on the ground. If the stable floor hadn’t had a thin layer of hay sprinkled over it, she might have been knocked cold.
She sucked in a painful breath, her wide eyes landing on Domnall. He loomed over her, his own gaze bright with shock. He must have driven them both out of the path of the charging horse with a sprawling dive.
Behind him, Andrew and the horse went careening through the stable doors and out into the freezing night.
“Nay,” Domnall hissed, springing to his feet. “He cannae get away.” Pulling Ailsa up by her arms, he took off after Andrew.
Domnall skidded to a halt just outside the stable doors. The horse’s hooves left a clear trail in the snow, but the swirling wind was quickly erasing the tracks. With a biting oath, Domnall bolted around the side of the alehouse, heading for the front where his horse was tethered.
Ailsa stumbled after him, pulled along by his grip on her arm. Even though her ankle was mostly healed now, it was stiff compared to the other. And her lungs felt compressed from being tackled to the ground a moment before. She staggered and slipped in the rapidly accumulating snow, landing on her hip.
“Damn it!” Domnall growled, reaching down to haul her to her feet once more.
But then he hesitated, his gaze shifting to the alehouse. Even through the darkness and swirling snow, she saw clearly what he was contemplating.
She was slowing him down, getting in the way of his chance for revenge against her brother. He was weighing whether he could leave her alone here at this tavern, without protection or a single friendly soul inside.
She recoiled in his hold, horrified that he would even consider such a thing. His frustrated gaze collided with hers and he breathed another curse.
Apparently, he wasn’t willing to be quite that ruthless, for he pulled her along once more toward the front of the alehouse.
Still, his myopic drive to hunt her brother at any cost—even if it meant abandoning her—sent a chill that had naught to do with the driving snow and biting wind through her.
Fern started as they tore around the corner of the alehouse and barreled toward him. He tugged against the reins hitching him to the post, clearly sensing the sudden urgency emanating from Domnall.
Easily hoisting her onto Fern’s back, Domnall yanked the reins free and vaulted up behind her. Fern’s ears rotated back and he tossed his head against Domnall’s harsh pull on the reins, but then obliged the sharp tap of Domnall’s heels. The animal hurtled into motion, dashing toward the stables and the trail Andrew’s horse had left in the snow.
Ailsa clung to the pommel as Domnall set a brutal pace. The wind lashed them as they plunged through the night. In only a few moments, they’d left Strathyre behind. They tore across the dark landscape like a shadow skimming over the fresh snow.
The swirling flurries seemed to swallow everything a few feet beyond Fern’s nose, yet they drove onward. She wasn’t sure how long they continued like that, but as they rode, all the heat began to leech from her body. The cold sliced through her cloak and gown, settling deep in her aching chest. Her chattering teeth slammed together with each of Fern’s pounding strides. The horse’s speed sent icy tears coursing from the corners of her eyes to her temples.
Ahead, a cluster of dimly glowing lights cut through the gloom. Abruptly, Domnall reined Fern to a canter, then a walk.
“The trail is gone.” His voice was like the strike of a hammer against an anvil behind her. He exhaled through his teeth. “There is no point in riding blind all night. And ye need shelter.”
They rode toward the lights. A tight clu
ster of buildings emerged from the flurries, some of whose doors and shutters were outlined by candlelight from within.
Domnall guided them to a two-storey structure with a wooden sign swinging in the wind above its door. Though the light from inside was weak, Ailsa could see an outline of a bed etched into the sign and painted in white and gold. An inn.
Domnall’s stony voice confirmed what she both longed for and feared. “We’ll stay here for the night.”
Chapter Eighteen
It took quite a while to get settled in their room.
Which gave Ailsa time to collect herself.
And think.
Domnall had pushed an entire stack of coins toward the innkeeper, ensuring that the man didn’t ask any questions of the exhausted, half-frozen couple before him. Fern was given a dry stall and plenty of hay for the night, then the innkeeper had shown Domnall and Ailsa to his best room.
The room was at the back of the second floor, safeguarding their privacy, or so the portly, balding innkeeper had assured them. It had its own hearth with wood for a fire already laid and waiting to be lit. On either side of the hearth was a dressing table and a wooden armoire. Opposite was a single bed with a clean-looking, heavy coverlet tucked in neatly and folded back.
For them.
The innkeeper had been discreet enough not to say aught, but he’d covertly glanced between Ailsa and Domnall several times. Ailsa had no doubt that the man had noted the lack of wedding rings on either of their fingers.
Once the innkeeper had slipped out with a promise to return shortly with the hot meal Domnall had requested, the acute intimacy of their surroundings hit Ailsa with full force.
Somehow, staying at an inn seemed far more provocative than sleeping beside a fire together, or even sharing a plaid. This was a domestic, private space. It felt small and secret, as if no one would ever know what went on behind their closed door—though the innkeeper clearly had his own ideas.
Domnall’s overwhelming presence only heightened that impression. She had almost exclusively seen him out of doors, where his size and strength seemed more reasonable, more appropriate. But confined within four walls, he was larger than life, far too big and overpowering for such a civilized setting.
He dominated the small room, his head nearly brushing the ceiling. His shoulders were wider than the doorframe they’d crossed through. Even when he knelt to light the fire, he seemed too large, too wild for the space.
But more striking than his physical presence, his frustration was as palpable as the heat and light cast off by the fire he struck. It made her itch to back into a corner and hope he forgot she was there.
They both remained quiet, he pacing in front of the hearth and she standing beside the bed, until the innkeeper returned with two bowls of mutton stew and a loaf of dense brown bread with butter. They ate in a heavy silence broken only by the crackling of the fire.
When their meal was done and Domnall had deposited their bowls on the floor outside their door, he flicked her a glance.
“Ye can have the bed,” he said simply, then returned to his post in front of the fire to continue his brooding.
But Ailsa had been doing her own ruminating. And she’d finally worked up the courage to ask what was needed.
“What do you intend to do with me, then?”
His shoulders stiffened at the calm question. He slowly pivoted to face her.
“I saw what you were thinking back there,” she continued, willing her voice to stay steady. “You were going to leave me at that tavern.”
“Ye were slowing me down,” he muttered.
She knew that was the source of his barely-pent frustration—that her brother had slipped away. He blamed her at least in part for it. Still, hearing the words spoken aloud made her pull in a breath.
“Is that all I am to you? First a tool to catch my brother and now an obstacle to the task?”
He refused to look her in the eye. Instead, he shifted his gaze back to the dancing fire.
“I’m sending ye home,” he said, so quiet she almost missed it.
“What?”
“I will hire men to escort ye back to Stalcaire Tower, or Tullibardine if ye prefer—trusted men who will answer to me if aught befalls ye. Or I will escort ye myself once this is done.” A muscle in his jaw worked for a long moment. “The fact is, I dinnae need ye anymore.”
He might as well have driven a fist into her middle. With a rattling exhale, she sank down onto the edge of the bed. “You are a fool.”
That had his head jerking around, his pale eyes blazing on her.
“I am surely the worst judge of character in the world,” she murmured. “After all, I trusted my brother.”
The pain of all the cruel words Andrew had thrown at her earlier rushed back, making her chest compress for a long, aching moment.
“And mayhap I am mistaken yet again, but…I thought you were different,” she continued when she could breathe once more. “I thought I saw something more in you than this all-consuming quest for revenge.”
“Naught can be more important than meting out justice for yer brother’s sins,” he rasped. “None are more deserving than he.”
“That may very well be true,” she countered. “But justice isn’t what you seek. You said so yourself—you want him to suffer, to torture him for what he’s done.”
His hands squeezed into fists by his sides. “Aye.”
“And what of your honor? Your duty? What of your people, and…” She swallowed hard. “…And me?”
Those glacial eyes narrowed on her. “What are ye asking?”
“When you told me of your time spent training Bhaltair, you said you gained an understanding of the responsibility you have for your clan. How are you fulfilling your duty to your people by charging off after Andrew? Are they not leaderless without you now?”
“Aye, but—”
“And they have been for more than a month, isn’t that right?”
“I cannae go home anyway,” he shot back. “There is a reason I havenae shared my name with anyone but ye, Ailsa. I am a wanted man. Even now, Balliol’s supporters may be hunting me.”
“Very well, you cannot yet return to MacAyre lands. But what if you were to be hurt in your pursuit of my brother? What if he killed you?”
The hard lines of Domnall’s face darkened. “If ye are questioning my ability to hold my own against that soft, cowardly—”
“Nay,” she cut in quickly. She pressed a hand to her forehead. Her thoughts were a swirling maelstrom of anger, hurt, and frustration. To strike the truth she was struggling to express, she needed to listen to her heart instead of her head.
“I know you are naught like my brother,” she started again. “I’ve seen it for myself. That starving boy outside the tavern in Tyndrum—you didn’t have to help him, but you did. And you didn’t have to show me any compassion when my ankle was injured, but you went out of your way to ease my pain.”
He was watching her warily now, so she hurried on.
“Where Andrew is reckless with others, you protect those you care about. Where he is driven by greed and cruelty, you are guided by honor and right.” She hesitated. “But…”
“But what?”
She forced herself to speak the hard truth as she saw it. “But I fear that you risk becoming like him if you continue on this way.”
He glowered at her, clearly spoiling to make a retort, but instead he waited for her to continue.
She drew in a fortifying breath. “You have become consumed by the need for revenge. But you don’t realize that you will lose all that is good and honorable in you if you continue like this. Can’t you see? You risk your people’s leader, your very soul. And you would discard me just to get to Andrew.”
“I need to see this through,” he ground out.
“Even if it means losing everything?”
“I already have.”
Her voice came out as barely more than a whisper. “You haven’t lost me. Not
yet.”
A low, frustrated sound rose from his throat and he began pacing once more. He was like a caged wolf, feral with anger and ready to sink his teeth into the nearest hand—even one extended to him in aid.
Before, she would have cowered. She would have retreated, ducking her head and lowering her eyes, to keep from displeasing anyone. But she wasn’t the docile, innocent girl he’d found at Stalcaire Tower.
“I’ve placed my faith in the wrong person once already,” she said. “Mayhap if I had paid more attention, trusted my instincts about him, I would have seen Andrew for what he truly is sooner. But when I listen to my instincts now…”
She rose slowly from the bed and took a hesitant step toward him. He tensed, and the air between them suddenly crackled with unspent energy.
“…Now they are telling me that you are a good man at your core. A good man in danger of losing his way and blackening his soul with this insatiable desire for vengeance. A man I…I have come to care for.”
He froze, his copper brows winging in stunned surprise at her confession. He opened his mouth, but no words came. Ailsa waited, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Domnall closed his eyes for one heartbeat, then two, then three. He shook his head as if to clear a fog.
“Nay.” He winced, turning his head partially away from her. “Nay. I cannae lose focus.”
His whole body seemed to go rigid then, from his clenched fists to his bunched shoulders and the clamped set of his jaw.
He lifted eyes as cold as ice to her. “The only reason I took ye was to lure Murray to me. That failed. Now ye are just slowing me down, getting in the way of my mission.”
She gasped, jerking back a step. A small voice in the back of her head whispered that this was what he wanted—to push her away, to hide from the truth. She could not yield to such fear-based attacks.
“And the kisses we shared?” she demanded, defiantly holding his gaze. “What did they have to do with your mission?”
The shot landed, for his eyes flickered with surprise. He quickly dropped the stony wall down once more.
“That was a mistake.”