by Elle Clouse
A hand rested on his shoulder. “I’ll take care of her.” Brogan. Lachlan had completely forgotten that he had remained when so many had fled.
With a tremendous effort, he reverted back to his human form. Once he had returned to normal, Brogan handed him a coil of rope pilfered from the curtains and motioned toward Ian. “You take care of him.”
Ian had backed into a corner after his failed attempt to harm Lachlan. His crazed expression from moments before had faded. He didn’t look as though he would be any more trouble, but Lachlan bound his hands all the same. The courts could decide what to do with him.
“And Ayden?” Lachlan turned to where he’d left his brother, but he was gone. A trail of blood snaked from the center of the room to the far wall.
There Ayden stood upright, braced against the window. In one hand he held a candle, outstretched to a smoldering curtain. As Lachlan watched, the flames grew.
“It’s too late.” Ayden’s chest heaved in an attempt at laughter. “Nothing can stop it now. I’ve made sure of it.” He coughed.
Lachlan looked around. The other curtains were burning as well, thick smoke pouring into the air. Ayden must have been setting fire to everything he could while Ian released the chandelier. “Let me help you, brother.” The heat from the curtains was fierce, but Lachlan inched forward anyway. He could reach him
“So you can throw me in the dungeons to rot? I’d rather die.” Ayden moved the candle to his other hand and ignited the curtain on his other side. “Enjoy the finale, dear brother. If I were you, I’d run.”
The flames blazed; the heat was ferocious, but Ayden didn’t seem to notice it. His face was slick with sweat and his chest heaved, but his expression was one of triumph.
Lachlan stared at him.
“We’ve got to get out of here.” Turlach set his hand on Lachlan’s shoulder. He shed his own cloak and laid it on Lachlan’s bare shoulders, then gestured to Kiera. “Can you carry her?”
Lachlan gave his brother one last look, then stepped back. Ayden had chosen his fate.
Kiera’s breathing was regular, but the burning fabrics were billowing a lot of smoke into the air. Soon it would be nearly impossible to breathe. He scooped her up in his arms. “Brogan, Turlach, with me. And bring Ian!”
They ran toward the door, Brogan dragging Ian along at the end of the rope. The hall beyond was empty.
“Turlach, find Connor and try to do some damage control,” Lachlan ordered. “Then meet me in the servants’ quarters.” Turlach nodded and ran down the hall.
Lachlan had chosen the servants’ quarters to rendezvous in case of utter disaster. No one would look for him there, and he could find clothes in the laundry. Brogan followed him, silent and grim the whole way. They did not see another soul as they moved through the bowels of the castle.
Even the servants’ areas were deserted. The mess hall and laundry were also empty, and they reached the dormitory without trouble. There, Lachlan lay Kiera down on one of the cots and, as Brogan forced Ian onto a stool, he returned to the laundry to search for his clothing on the drying racks. After donning something suitable, he returned his attention to Kiera.
Brogan had moved to her side and was checking her over. “She doesn’t appear to have any broken bones,” he said. “But she took quite a blow to the head. I need some bandages and fresh water.”
“There you are,” Connor said from a doorway. Turlach entered behind him. “The fire is raging out of control. I think that we should evacuate the castle.”
“I don’t think we can move Kiera,” Brogan protested as he searched for bandages and water. Lachlan agreed. He didn’t want Kiera moved until she was seen by a proper physician.
“Turlach is right,” Ian said from his corner. Everyone turned and looked at him. “Ayden’s backup plan. He planned to burn the place down. He hid caskets of black powder at key structural points in the castle.”
As soon as Ian finished speaking, there was a small explosion, and the castle shook.
“Right then, let’s go.” Connor hitched a thumb out the doorway.
Lachlan nodded.
“Take her to the inn,” Brogan said. “We can help make sure people get out.” Lachlan began to protest, but Brogan shook his head. “I’ve walked these halls a million times since I got here, planning escapes. Ian will tell me where the casks are, won’t you?”
Brogan raised his fist, but Ian didn’t need much convincing. “I placed most of them. I will tell you where they are.”
Connor and Turlach nodded.
“We will wait for you,” Lachlan promised and took his bride-to-be out the service entrance into the courtyard.
Chapter 18
“Kiera.”
Kiera opened her eyes. Once again, she was in another strange place.
“We are at the inn,” a familiar voice said. Kiera turned and saw Brogan sitting at her bedside. She tried to push herself upright. “Don’t try to sit up. You’ve had quite the adventure; you need more rest.”
She rubbed her head and winced as she discovered a tender area near the back of her skull. “What happened?” she croaked.
“A chandelier,” Brogan said. “You pushed Lachlan out of the way. Don’t you remember?”
The pounding in her head made it hard to focus on anything. “No.” The entire coronation was a blur. “How long have I been unconscious?”
“Only a couple hours. The physician said you should get plenty of rest but should be well enough in time.” He paused. “It’s a shame about the castle, though.”
“What happened to the castle?” Now that he’d said that, she vaguely recalled something about smoke. “Is everyone all right?”
“Oh yeah, everyone is fine,” Brogan said with a smile. “We got everyone out with minor injuries. Except for Ayden, of course. He refused rescue.” He shrugged.
Kiera remembered the pistol then. Ayden had pushed his way onto the dais and brandished the weapon at her in an attempt to make Lachlan suffer. She remembered the hatred in his expression as he’d threatened her. She remembered the snarl that had escaped Lachlan’s lips and how Ayden had not looked the least surprised.
“Lachlan,” she breathed. “He’s a...” The scene flashed through her mind. She closed her eyes. It didn’t go away.
Brogan said, “I saw it too. Melchir called him a wolfkin. He said that it was rumored to run in the Canis family for generations.”
Brogan’s explanation didn’t help. Kiera remembered it all now. The wolf had killed her father. Now that her mother’s spell was gone, she could recall the details. She had been there. She fought back more tears. “Brogan,” she said, her voice not much more than a whisper, “has Lachlan been here to see me?”
“Yes. But the physician sent him away until you were awake again. The only reason I am here is because I am your closest kin. Melchir and Ardhor haven’t been confirmed as your relations yet. He’s due back at any moment, actually.”
“And Ian and Ayden?” She already knew the answer but wanted to confirm they were gone.
“Ayden is dead. There was also enough evidence in his quarters to confirm all our suspicions. Even after the fire destroyed most of it. Ian is in custody and cooperating.”
“How bad was the fire?”
He grimaced. “Pretty bad. They destroyed the entire east wing. The bucket brigade kept it from spreading to the rest of the castle. It would have been much worse if Ian hadn’t told us where the casks of black powder had been placed.”
“The sulfur and the saltpeter.” The only ingredient missing was the charcoal. Ayden had made the black powder himself. “I was right, then. Ian and Ayden were planning something.”
Ian. She snorted, thinking it odd that Ian would help them. The snort only made her head hurt more and brought her back to reality.
“I’m engaged to the wolf,” Kiera mumbled, “who killed my father.”
Brogan said nothing, but the expression on his face conveyed that was as much news to him and it was
to her. “Are you sure? Lachlan only harmed Ian and Ayden because they were trying to harm you. Everyone else made it past him unscathed. He wasn’t blindly maiming.”
The knock at the door caught them both by surprise.
“That will be Lachlan,” Brogan whispered. “Do you want me to let him in?”
She didn’t, but she owed him more than a cold shoulder right now. She nodded. Brogan opened the door, and Lachlan entered. Despite the way his large shoulders filled up the doorframe, he looked smaller than usual, shrunken with anxiety.
“I’ll be right outside,” Brogan said and closed the door behind him.
Lachlan sat in the chair Brogan had just vacated. His demeanor was different. Before, he would have taken her hand and tried to soothe her pain away. Now he was aloof. He probably already knew what she was thinking. He reached out to touch her hair, then stopped himself. “I wanted to tell you,” he began, “that I shouldn’t have kept the knowledge of my disease from you. I thought it strange you hadn’t mentioned it until Melchir told me about the spell. I’m so sorry.”
His shoulders dropped as he spoke, his gaze cast down, but Kiera couldn’t see past his apology at the moment. She just saw a monster who had lied to her and taken away the most important man in her life.
“I need time to cope,” she said, surprised that she could formulate words so well. Her emotions were so raw she could barely define them.
“I know,” he said. “You need to grieve.” He stood to leave but paused at the door. “I love you, Kiera. I will do whatever you need me to do so you can get through this. All you have to do is ask.”
He let himself out, but even after he had gone Brogan didn’t reenter the room. Kiera was glad for the privacy because the tears came then. They made her head hurt more, but she would rather focus on the pounding in her head than the aching in her heart. She had known she wouldn’t make it through this endeavor unscathed, but she had never dreamed she’d have so much heartache.
“THIS IS WHERE WE HAVE to stay?” Erann complained as the cabin finally came into view. Brogan could understand her trepidation, but they really had no choice at the moment. The A-frame house had belonged to Kiera’s father and mother, and now that they were both gone, it was legally Kiera’s property. Neither Brogan nor Kiera could abide living off Lachlan’s charity when nothing was certain between the two lovers.
“It just requires a little work.” He knew Phelan would be up to the challenge, but Erann and Brigid both looked disgusted. They had made it very clear they did not want to leave the comfort of the inn.
Kiera was unusually quiet, and if she heard the bickering about her childhood home, she choose to ignore it. Her gaze was directed toward the small cabin, but Brogan doubted she actually saw it. The place was in a state of disrepair. The roof needed to be rethatched, the brush trimmed back, and a few shutters rehung. At least the door was still closed and the glass windowpanes intact, which was a good sign.
“Ladies,” Brogan said, addressing Erann and Brigid, “go see if that well is still good.” He pointed off to the side of the clearing, at a pile of stones that resembled an old well. Fresh water would be a necessity. The two women grumbled but did as directed.
Brogan, Kiera, and Phelan approached the door and found it locked. Knowing that Kiera didn’t have the key, Brogan reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a few tools. Considering their ragtag group, no one batted an eye.
After a few moments, they had the lock picked, and the door opened upon a dark room. The air was a little musty from being closed up for years, but all was silent within. Well-carved chairs and benches surround the hearth. A long dining table ran along the far wall, and a kitchen with sink and pantry was nestled in a corner. A curved staircase climbed up another wall and disappeared into darkness. Kiera had a comfortable life before her father died.
Kiera went to the windows and threw them open one by one, letting light flood into the space. She looked about her old home, then sighed.
“Phelan, check the chimney,” Brogan said. “Make sure we don’t have anything nested there, then build a fire.” Phelan nodded and seemed thankful to have a task at last. Kiera’s mood had put everyone in a melancholy state.
“Do you need to sit down for a bit?” Brogan asked Kiera, who had returned to staring off into the distance again. She blinked and turned to him.
“No,” she said at last. “I will find what linens were left and get them laundered. There is a stream nearby.”
“Take Erann and Brigid with you.” Kiera nodded and started up the stairs. He heard her move about the upper level, opening shutters and spilling light into the main room. The house was much larger than it looked.
“Will she be all right?” Phelan asked when Kiera disappeared into one of the rooms.
Brogan settled for a shrug. “She has a lot to deal with right now.”
Phelan made a noise. “Yeah, what with her betrothed being a wolf and all.”
“He’s still going to be king,” Brogan snapped. “And is still a good man. Magic has been known to do worse to good people.” The sneer dropped from Phelan’s face. Cursed or not, Brogan couldn’t abide anyone talking down to Lachlan. He had been nothing but generous and kind to them all, even after learning that they had tried to swindle the kingdom.
Phelan went back to inspecting the chimney while Brogan busied himself with the thatched roof. To his surprise, it did not need to be reworked at all. He spotted a few trouble areas, which he quickly fixed, but it looked to be no worse for wear, considering all the years that had passed.
By the time evening fell, they had the cabin aired out, the space dusted and cleaned, and a large fire in the hearth that heated both levels. There were enough rooms for Brigid and Erann to share one room, Phelan and Brogan another, and Kiera to have one to herself. They made a stew out of dried jerky and vegetables and drank black tea around the hearth. It was almost pleasant.
“I THINK THAT YOUR MOTHER may have magicked this place,” Brogan said one evening as Kiera sat near the hearth. The others were nowhere to be seen, and Kiera was enjoying the silence. “Nothing breaks or gets truly soiled or filthy. It’s quite odd, actually.”
Kiera had noticed that too but hadn’t wanted to mention it to anyone. They would have started to act weird at the knowledge that they were living in an enchanted place. Even if the enchantments were against filth. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she did,” Kiera said. “She did magic her own daughter, so why not her own home? She never did like housework anyway; maybe she was trying to avoid that.”
Brogan laughed. “Maybe. But if so, she never magicked her way out of her chores when living with my dad.”
“No, she didn’t...” The memory of her mother doing housework was as vivid as the day she’d witnessed it. It was nice to recall things when she wanted to. The longer she stayed in her old home, the more memories came back.
Brogan had let her sulk in her room for a whole week before she started to seek out interaction with the troupe. If they wanted to talk about Lachlan, they wisely kept their mouths shut. Brogan may have put the fear of the gods in them about asking her since she wasn’t sure how she would react to an inquiry.
“I think with the right stores we could easily winter here,” Brogan was saying. “The stable apparently didn’t get any sort of protection spell, so we’ve had to rebuild most of it, but we could get a goat or a cow for milk. It could be fairly comfortable. Better than that winter in Helm’s Gate.”
Kiera remembered that winter and how her uncle had lost a toe or two to frostbite. She had spent many nights shivering herself to sleep that winter beside her mother. She was glad she never had to endure that again. “We used to have sheep. Maybe I can find some wool or spun yarn and make up some mittens? You know, to keep busy.” She hadn’t knitted in years, not since leaving this place. It would be a challenge to remember and something to keep her mind off Lachlan. He invaded her thoughts often and unbidden.
Many nights the memory of
the day her father died played out in her mind. Each time, she wanted to warn her father or tell Lachlan not to go into the library. Each time, Ayden laughed as if he were insane as he held the door closed while Lachlan pleaded to be let out.
Brogan had started to rummage through baskets and cabinets, probably looking for yarn as she’d suggested.
“My mother would have kept it in her room,” Kiera muttered and headed up the stairs to search the contents of her parents’ room. Brogan followed. Kiera hoped that they didn’t walk in on anything they didn’t want to see.
The room, thankfully, was empty, and the two set about looking for yarn. She wasn’t certain why Brogan was so interested in helping her keep busy, but his company was nice regardless. She started with the dresser, and Brogan threw open the built-in cabinets along the far wall to search through the contents.
Most of her mother’s personal belongings had been taken with them when they fled the house. She found some odds and ends: a thimble and some buttons, a comb with a few broken teeth, an apron with a set-in stain.
When Kiera turned, she noticed that Brogan had stopped and was holding up a letter. His eyes lit across the words quickly. She marched over and snatched it from his hands.
“I thought that you couldn’t read,” she accused.
“You assumed,” he replied smugly. “I never corrected you. People believe what they want to believe, so I let them.”
He was right; she had assumed. But for him to keep a secret for years was either harmful or miraculous. Possibly both.
Kiera turned her attention to the letter, as crisp and clear as the day it was written thanks to a preservation spell. It was in her mother’s handwriting.
If you are reading this, then it’s time to set the record straight. Prince Lachlan was set up by his own brother Prince Ayden to murder the royal scribe, Tomas Clark. You will find the evidence that you need enclosed.