Page 21 of Leila’s Legacy

“’Tis not their fault.”

He continued to hold the shield, pausing only to shove a man back with it. “They want to kill ye.”

“They’re scared.” The truth of it worked itself through her mind, even as she spoke. If nothing else, having the Lion at her side helped her thoroughly rationalize the situation. “Everyone is dying: friends, neighbors, children. They’re frightened and they have been told I am the one who caused it.”

“And is it true?” He did not lower his shield even as he asked.

“It is not,” she said. “But they do not know that, and neither do you.”

“Ye’ve no’ been declared a witch yet. I’ll no’ let them kill ye until ye have been.” He nodded. “For now, ye’ll be locked in the prison to await Father Gerard. When he arrives from Edinburgh, he’ll pass his judgment.”

Bile rose in Leila’s throat. She had heard of the ways they found witches guilty, with trials no person could possibly survive.

The prison loomed before them and a wall of guards pushed the crowd back as Leila was led to the massive iron door. The Lion unlocked it with a key from the ring at his belt and led her in while the crowd roared in protest behind them.

At least behind the locked gates of the prison, she would be safe.

For now.

Niall had always put a considerable amount of trust into the strength of the well-built prison at the village’s center. At least before a hoard of frenzied villagers tugged at the bars at its front gate.

They wanted Lady Leila. Noble birth or not, they wanted her dead.

He had unbound her hands and locked her in her cell but remained outside the iron bars in the event the villagers broke through. She was a pathetic sight, especially for an earl’s daughter. Mud spattered her face and neck; the blue gown was no longer so fine as it hung heavy and wet with filth. However, never once did she complain or rail against her containment or the people who put her there.

Nay, she remained in the center of the whitewashed room with her arms folded firmly across her chest.

He hated that her bravery tugged at a deep place within his heart, that even filthy and sodden, she was still beautiful.

The crowd had settled after an hour or so, but still Niall did not relinquish his post.

“You needn’t wait here with me,” Lady Leila said softly in that lovely throaty voice of hers.

“They may come for ye still.” Niall shrugged as if his attention to a prisoner was not atypical. “Especially if I leave.”

“You didn’t have to protect me when I was walked through the village.” She shivered and hugged herself tighter, though he didn’t know if it was from the perceptive chill in the room or the memory of what Lord Armstrong had made her do. “I thank you.”

“They may have killed ye and ye’ve no’ stood trial yet.” Niall pushed himself out of his chair beside the cell as Brodie appeared with Leila’s clothing.

He pushed the dark hair from his eyes and handed Niall Leila’s clothing from the dungeon. “I made certain Lord Armstrong dinna see me.”

Niall nodded in understanding and appreciation. Lord Armstrong’s displeasure at what he’d done for Leila had been palpable. The Keeper of Liddesdale had let his gaze linger on Niall before he’d left, the almost imperceptible narrowing indicative of a stern discussion at a later date.

Not that it would have altered Niall’s decision to protect Lady Leila from the crowd’s wrath.

He took the bundle, as well as the sack of food Brodie had brought, and turned to Lady Leila. Her gaze fell on her clothing.

Brodie’s footsteps fell away in the distance and a quiet settled over the prison once more. Niall hesitated outside Lady Leila’s cell. “What did ye mean when ye said ’tis ye’?”

Her wide blue-eyed stare slowly lifted to study him before sliding away. Doubtless, she thought he intended to hold her clothes ransom for the answer to his question. It was in the back of his mind to do so. But he found himself dreading the answer.

A shiver went down his spine this time. Not with the cold, but with the knowing. She was a witch. And yet, he wanted her to be otherwise.

“We were told ye warned yer people of the upcoming pestilence,” Niall continued. “Is that true?”

Her silence answered him once more and a hard ball of ice tightened in Niall’s gut. He thrust her clothing through the iron bars, extending his hand toward her.

She started and slowly reached for her clothes, as though she thought he might pull them away. Only when she had them in her possession did she offer a soft word of thanks.