by Emma Prince
When she’d thought to kill Domnall to protect Andrew, she’d known without question that to take another’s life, even in the belief of doing right, was a weight far too heavy for her own soul to bear.
And she’d seen the feral, unthinking desperation in his eyes when he’d nearly left her behind in Strathyre. What if he did something he would later regret in his drive for revenge? What if he crossed a line he could not retread when this was over?
“Mayhap…” she began, thinking out loud. “Mayhap there is a way to see justice done—true justice, not just revenge—another way?”
He stilled, waiting for her to continue.
“He could be tried for his crimes,” she stumbled on, “given judgment and punished, but not at your own hand.”
His mouth flattened in displeasure at the idea. “Parliament is in chaos at the moment. Some have sided with Balliol. I suspect that most, including Archibald Douglas, the current Guardian of Scotland, are still loyal to David and support his claim to the throne. Yet they willnae go out on a limb to say so for the time being. No’ until the turmoil settles and a clear, realistic challenge to Balliol’s reign can form.”
“But that will happen eventually, will it not?” she asked. “You aren’t giving up on the loyalist cause. Surely there are others like you.”
He hesitated, casting her a measuring look before he spoke again. “There is another reason. Something I havenae explained to ye yet.”
Apprehension coiled like a snake in her stomach, but she nodded for him to go on.
“After the Battle of Dupplin Moor, ye remember I was taken prisoner?”
“Aye.”
“I was thrown in a cell with three others, all Highlanders loyal to David. We were left in Scone’s dungeon for a fortnight with little more than a few crusts of bread and the water we could lick from the dripping stones.”
Despite the warmth and safety surrounding her, Ailsa shuddered. From the grim set of his mouth, she suspected he was shielding her from the worst of it, too.
“It gave us a great deal of time to talk,” he continued flatly. “We made a vow to each other—that if any one of us managed to survive that hell-pit, we would see vengeance extracted from all those responsible for the devastation against our country and people, from the lowest foot soldier to Balliol himself. Including yer brother.”
He paused, sifting his words out from the memories for a moment.
“We werenae meant to live, of course. The morning after Balliol crowned himself King, we were taken from our cell to be hanged. We were marched past the gallows in Scone’s courtyard to ensure that we saw our brethren dying. And we were supposed to swing outside the palace walls so that all who passed would ken what happened to those who stood against Balliol.”
“You never explained before how you survived,” she whispered.
He stroked her bare shoulder and down her back reassuringly. A rueful grimace tugged at his mouth.
“Fool’s luck, I suppose. Lightning struck the tree we were to hang from, and all hell broke loose. I was already swinging in my noose, but the others…”
He fixed her with a fierce stare. “They saved my life. They could have fled once they were free themselves, but they didnae. Instead, they fought off Balliol’s guards and kept me alive. Only then did we all flee together.”
Absently, he brought a hand to his throat and rubbed the skin there, as if he could still feel the noose around his neck.
“Once we were safely away, we renewed our promise to each other. We pledged to rain hellfire and retribution down on all those who’d helped Balliol steal the throne.” He snorted softly. “As if we were the four horsemen of the apocalypse.”
He lifted his gaze to her. His eyes burned with blue fire. “And I personally vowed to hunt yer brother to the ends of the earth if need be to make him pay for his part in all this.”
After a long moment, he released her from his piercing stare, and she exhaled a breath she didn’t know she was holding.
“So ye see, I dinnae just seek revenge for my own satisfaction. I owe those three men my life. We are brothers now, if no’ by blood, then by circumstance. I promised them I would see this through myself. I cannae go back on my word, nor let them down—no’ when so many have already died because of Murray’s treachery.”
“I don’t know the answer,” she said, blinking back the sting of tears.
He gentled his gaze on her, brushing her cheek with his thumb. “Mayhap there isnae one.”
A glance at the shuttered window seemed to confirm something for him. “It is hours still until daybreak, and naught to do but wait. Mayhap the answer will come before then.”
She knew he was being kind, if not truthful. They were good and stuck between granite and steel, with neither bending nor giving. She could see no path out of the bind. What would the rising of the sun bring? Would he agree to set aside his vendetta, or would he continue on until there was naught left of him but the drive for revenge?
He must have read her worries on her face, for he brushed a kiss to her lips, startling her out of her tormented thoughts.
“All I ken is, we are here now, together.” He kissed her again, and this time it was deliberate and slow. “Ye are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever beheld, Ailsa,” he murmured against her lips. “Ye have become verra…precious to me.”
Her heart stuttered against her ribs. Nay, it wasn’t a declaration of love, but nor was she ready to give him such an avowal, either. Yet it seemed he was joining her out on a limb in admitting that something grew between them, some trust and affection that hadn’t existed even a sennight ago.
This time, when his lips met hers, there was naught gentle in their kiss. Need roared to life within her like a flame doused in whisky. He angled his head so that their mouths could fuse together in a scorching embrace.
On a panting breath, he pulled himself away.
“I am a selfish bastard,” he muttered. “I want ye—need to be inside ye. Now. But ye will be sore…”
Tingling awareness rippled over her body at the thought of what was to come. Aye, she was tender in a few new places, but it was naught compared to the heights of pleasure they’d reached earlier.
“I don’t care,” she replied, leaving no room in her tone for argument. “I want you, too.”
Apparently, that was all he needed to hear, for with a growl, he pounced on her, pushing her back onto the mattress. She gulped a surprised laugh. A heartbeat later when his mouth lowered to her bare skin once more, there was no breath left for aught but cries of pleasure.
Chapter Twenty-One
Domnall watched the steady rise and fall of Ailsa’s slim back. She slept like a wee bairn, on her stomach, with her arms tucked under her. Her golden hair splayed around her, partially covering her angelic features.
His heart gave a lurch that was different from the warm desire that coursed through him even now. It seemed he would never have enough of her, even after they’d satiated their lust less than an hour before. And the twisting, throbbing sensation in his chest…
He needed to do something, busy himself, else he would fall to pondering what this new feeling meant.
With care, he eased himself up from the bed. When he was sure he hadn’t disturbed her with his movement, he padded softly about the room, collecting his discarded clothing. Once he was dressed, he peered out a crack in the shutters.
A brilliant dawn was breaking. The storm had blown away, leaving a crystalline blue sky overhead. The rays of the cresting sun cast a dazzling glow over the fresh snow piled deep in the village streets below. It was like a hundred thousand shards of glass were all catching the light at once.
Ailsa truly must be changing him, her warmth and benevolence rubbing off, for despite himself, he spared a thought for his blasted horse. Fern—aye, he’d taken to calling the hell-beast Ailsa’s adorable name, if only in the privacy of his own thoughts—would need looking in on.
Mayhap the innkeeper, who seemed an at
tentive type, judging by the tidy, clean room, had already tended to the horse. Domnall could ask, for he wanted to have a hot meal to break Ailsa’s fast waiting before she awoke anyway.
As quietly as possible, he slipped from their chamber and made his way down the stairs to the common room. Just as he’d expected, the innkeeper was already up and working. The portly man was scrubbing down one of the tables in front of the large hearth.
When he noticed Domnall approaching, he straightened, then dipped his head in respect.
“I trust ye found yer accommodations pleasing, milord?” he asked. “Everything to yer satisfaction?”
Was it Domnall’s imagination, or did the man’s voice hitch with innuendo? It mattered naught what he thought of Domnall and Ailsa, but still, some noble impulse made Domnall want to protect Ailsa’s reputation from damage.
“Aye, everything was fine,” he said gruffly instead. “I’d like a meal brought up.”
The innkeeper’s eyes brightened at the opportunity to serve. “I have a hearty porridge on the fire in the back, milord,” he said, waving toward the other end of the common room, where Domnall assumed the kitchens lay. “Plus cream, fresh this morn. And if ye think the lady would enjoy it, a jar of preserves from this summer’s berries.”
An image of Ailsa, naked in bed, lifting a spoonful of cream and berries to her rosebud mouth, flashed through Domnall’s mind. He nearly had to grab hold of a nearby chair to keep his knees from buckling.
“Aye, aye,” he muttered, his tongue suddenly thick. It wasn’t the only part of him rapidly becoming encumbered. “That will do well. Thank ye.”
The innkeeper turned to see to his task, but Domnall remembered the other reason he’d come down.
“And my horse? Has he been given more hay?”
“Och, of course, milord. I checked on the animals no’ a quarter of an hour ago. All is well with yer beast.”
As the innkeeper bustled around to another table, he continued to chatter. “I must say, it was a Devil of a task, though.”
“The animal wasnae difficult with ye, was he?” Domnall asked quickly.
“Och, nay, no’ in the least! Gentle as a lamb, that horse is.”
Domnall scowled and muttered a curse about the damn beast’s temperamental nature—at least toward him, if no one else—but the innkeeper didn’t notice.
“Nay, I only meant getting to the stables. I’d reckon there’s nigh on a foot of snow piled in the streets! Quite the storm, was it no’? I must say, ye were wise to get yerself and yer lady—and that sweet horse, too—out of it, milord. Excellent decision, given the conditions. Much wiser than the man who rode through town no’ long before ye. I’m sure he’s frozen solid in some snowbank or other, just kicking himself for no’ stopping for the night and—”
“What?” Domnall snapped.
He’d been letting the innkeeper’s steady stream of words wash over him, waiting for the man to take a breath so that he could excuse himself and return to bed with Ailsa. But some instinct rang out in warning at the man’s last words.
The innkeeper blinked at Domnall’s harsh interruption. “Er, I beg yer pardon, milord?”
An ominous chill swept through Domnall’s chest. “What were ye saying about a man riding through no’ long before we arrived?”
The innkeeper mopped his bald pate nervously, as if he were afraid to have unwittingly displeased his patron.
“Another came barreling through town only a wee while before ye arrived, milord. As the Sleeping Swan is on the main road, I could hear him galloping by even before I popped out to see if he might like a room.”
“This man—was he alone?”
“Aye, milord. A single rider. Fair haired, I believe, though he went by so fast, I wouldnae put much stock in that.”
Domnall’s stomach curdled. The innkeeper was being modest. Domnall had no doubt in the man’s skill at observation.
“And how far ahead of our arrival did he pass?” he asked through gritted teeth.
“No more than a quarter hour, I’m sure.” The innkeeper watched Domnall uncertainly. “I hope I havenae done aught to upset ye, milord.”
“Nay,” Domnall heard himself reply. “I only wonder—did ye see which way the man rode?”
“Of course. He was headed due north. I noted it because the only thing within a day’s ride in that direction is Saorsa Falls. A body could take shelter behind the falls, but it was bitterly cold last eve, and no doubt an unpleasant way to pass the night. I would have warned him had he slowed, but—”
Domnall didn’t bother waiting for the innkeeper to finish speaking, for he had already sprang into motion. The inn’s door was swinging closed behind him as the man called after him about whether Domnall still wanted to break his fast. Domnall barely heard him over the roaring of blood in his ears.
He plowed through the snow and to the stables, uncaring of the cold. His whole body nigh vibrated with the need to act.
When he charged into the stables, Fern started in his stall at the far end. The horse tossed his head as Domnall barreled toward him and threw the saddle onto his back.
It had to be Murray. No one else would have been riding in that bloody snowstorm, headed in the same direction through the same small village, and at nearly the exact same moment as Domnall and Ailsa.
Ailsa.
His hand froze on Fern’s bridle. She was still sleeping upstairs like an angel, ignorant of the fact that everything was about to come crashing to pieces.
Damn it all to hell and back. Could he truly leave her here? It was far safer than the alehouse in Strathyre. She could remain closed away in her room until he returned.
But would she still be there, waiting for him, when this was all said and done? Could she ever forgive him for what he was about to do?
Yet if he didn’t act now, could he ever forgive himself?
He’d lost nearly everything already. His clan. Bhaltair. The loyalist army. All he had left was his word. And even that would be gone if he broke his promise to MacLeod, MacNeal, and MacKinnon.
Even before their pledge of vengeance, his father had taught him to always stand against evil, to fight for those who could not. It was what made him a leader—not just a Laird, which was a title that could be bestowed or taken away, but a man of honor.
Murray needed to be stopped. And Domnall was the one to stop him.
The decision made, he threw open Fern’s stall door and hoisted himself into the saddle. Yet even as he urged the horse out of the stall, his heart screamed at him to dismount, return upstairs, take Ailsa into his arms and never let her go.
She is the best thing that has ever happened to me. The realization hit him with the clarity of a rung bell. If he rode away, he just might lose her forever.
A frustrated roar burst from his lungs, making Fern skitter sideways and flatten his ears.
Curse it to the Devil! She was right—he was consigning his soul to hell. But not because he was going after Murray. Nay, because he was turning his back on an angel.
If he hesitated another moment, he would never be able to do what was necessary—for all of Scotland. Grasping desperately for the cold detachment that had carried him this far, he dug his heels into Fern’s flanks.
But instead of surging forward, the damned beast reared up, nearly unseating Domnall. He clung tight with his thighs, barely managing to stay in the saddle. Once Fern’s hooves hit the ground, Domnall tried again, tapping sharper with his heels this time. Fern snorted and stamped, but at last he trod toward the stable doors.
Yet as soon as they had crossed through the doors and into the snow, Fern jerked against the reins, attempting to turn back. Domnall tightened his grip, yanking the horse’s head back around and pointing northward.
Fecking horse.
It seemed even the blasted beast would stand against him in this.
Taking a firm clasp of the reins, Domnall drove his heels in hard. At last, Fern obeyed, albeit with a disgruntled bray. The ho
rse’s powerful strides took him through the snow as if it were naught more than the fluff of a thistle.
Domnall lowered his head over the animal’s neck, refusing to look back.
At last, Murray would be his.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ailsa stretched and yawned, feeling like a contented cat in a pool of sunlight. Burrowed under the blankets, she was cozy warm and deliciously sated from Domnall’s attentions.
She peeked over her shoulder with a shy smile, but to her surprise, the bed beside her was empty. In fact, the whole room was empty.
She sat up, pulling the coverlet around her naked torso. Domnall’s clothes were gone, too.
With a snort, she chided her silliness. Of course his clothes were gone—otherwise he’d be marching about completely bare, wherever he’d slipped off to.
Ailsa sighed, flopping back onto the mattress. She grinned like a fool at the inn’s rafters, her thoughts swirling with heated memories from the night before.
Domnall had been equal parts tender and fierce, gentle and wild. He’d driven her over the brink of ecstasy twice more, and tumbled after her with barely-contained ferocity.
She’d never known such raw, untamed passion existed. And yet even in the quiet moments, when the fires of desire had banked, he’d held her like she was made of the most precious stained glass. Like he would never let her go.
Like he loved her.
Despite the fact that she was alone, a modest flush rippled over her skin. What would they say to each other when he returned from whatever he was about? Would they speak of feelings, or had they only shared physical pleasure last eve?
Nay, she knew it was more than that. She’d caught a glimpse of vivid emotion shining behind his eyes more than once. And she’d felt it in his reverent touch.
The longer she waited, the tauter her nerves pulled. When he returned, would she blubber like a love-sick puppy? Would she make a fool of herself by committing some faux pas, uneducated in these intimate matters as she was?