Page 22 of Leila’s Legacy

Niall pushed a bowl of water and linen through the small opening meant for food. “Clean up.” He turned to go, to give her some privacy in the barred cell. “I’ll give ye some time.”

“Wait.”

He paused.

“I need you to please undo this kirtle.” Her voice was gentle, timid. As if she did not wish to ask for his assistance in her changing of clothing again. Only this time, rather than putting her gown on, he would be assisting her in taking it off.

Heart pounding, blood racing, he returned to the small cell and reached through the bars at the lacings she’d put toward him. With shaking hands, he slid the silky ties free, revealing her flawless back one precious inch at a time.

Once the twin dimples at the base of her spine were visible, he spun away and quit the room abruptly. He did not stop until he was at the prison’s center. Even there, guilt nipped at him. A hollow sensation in his gut told him she was a witch despite her claims she was not. Why else would she remain silent? Why would she not answer his questions?

The plinking of water echoed off the cold stone walls of the prison and Niall went still as another trickling sound teased at his senses. Lady Leila was washing herself, or at least as best one could in a prison cell with an ewer of cold water.

His cheeks burned at the thought of her naked within that cell, imagining what went past that slender, smooth back. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall as another splash of water came from the rear of the prison. Mayhap she was pouring it over herself, letting it sluice down her naked body, her skin prickled with gooseflesh against the cold, her nipples hard, pink points. How he would love to draw one between his lips and warm them with his tongue and mouth.

His cock swelled with the enticing idea and dragged his mind further into the fantasy. He could run his hands up the insides of her slender thighs to where they met, where she would be slick with desire.

Nay.

Niall snapped his eyes open and stared hard at the bare white-washed walls in front of him. His breathing came hard and his body burned with the aftereffects of his imagination. He pressed the flat of his palms to the cold wall and tried to calm his racing blood. Why did this woman have such a strong effect on him?

He waited for his lust to ebb before returning to her cell. She had changed into her trews once more and had her cloak wrapped snuggly around her. The blue kirtle had been neatly folded beside a pile of wet rushes near the back of her cell where she had apparently dressed. Her skin was rosy from scrubbing where she could and even her hair was wet as though she’d attempted to wash it as well.

“Yer hair willna dry quickly.” He handed her a crust of bread and bit of cheese.

She accepted the food with a nod of thanks. “Why do they call you the Lion?” she asked before taking a small bite of the bread.

Niall settled in his chair beside her cell once more. “I’m as fierce as I am loyal. A lion guarding his pride, his land from all threats.”

She considered him for a long moment with her lips pressed to one another, as though holding back a thought. He lifted a brow.

“Were you always so loyal?” she asked the question carefully.

“Nay.” He watched her carefully. “But ye already knew that, dinna ye?”

She turned her attention to her food and did not reply to his question. Aye, she knew it already.

“I used to be wild,” he admitted. “I reived from lands on both sides of the border. I was dishonest and held loyalty to no man.”

She broke off a piece of bread and slowly brought it to her mouth without looking at him. Oh, aye, she knew all this already.

He continued regardless. “My da was an honest man and always tried to make me realize the wrongs of my actions. I dinna care. One day, I held a Scotsman for ransom for a bit of coin. And my da was furious with me.”

More than furious. He’d been disappointed. Niall could recall all too well the heaviness to his father’s expression, the sadness in his eyes. It had wounded Niall to the core to see his da look upon him with such displeasure. But he didn’t tell Lady Leila that now. He would never tell any soul of how he’d felt that day.

“He died that afternoon.” Niall kept his tone flat to keep from letting his emotions show.

“How did he die?” Lady Leila asked. Again, her words came with slow care, as though she already knew the answer.

“He was cursed by the wife of the man I was holding for ransom.” Anger and hatred loosed from a walled-up dam and swept over Niall. “She was a witch who cast a spell on him. He was dead by noon. Two things changed for me that day. The first being that I stopped my foolish, youthful ways of lying and stealing. I became honest, like him.” Someone Niall’s da would be proud of.

Niall looked pointedly at Lady Leila, although he was reminding himself as much as he was informing her. “The second being my hatred for witches.”