Page 23 of Leila’s Legacy

7

The dim glow of early dawn limned the shutters and woke Niall. His body was cramped by the cold where he sat against the heavy iron bars of Lady Leila’s prison cell. He stretched out his legs with stiff knees and slowly got to his feet. His back popped in protest, even as he tried to stretch away the knots in his body.

A glance at the cell behind him confirmed Lady Leila was still sleeping. She lay in the rushes with her cloak tucked around her on both sides like a blanket. Niall used to do the same when he’d been a boy, stuffing the blanket under the weight of his body to keep any currents of cold air from seeping into the warmth of his bed.

The muted light coming into the room was enough to see her face, relaxed in slumber and beautiful. She looked fragile, innocent.

That last word tugged at his senses, pulling his gaze from her. He hated the confusion warring within him about her, how her noble birth and bonny face and bravery made him soft to a woman he would otherwise hate. A woman he should hate.

The journey for the priest to come from Edinburgh would take only a few more days. Niall was eager for his arrival, to hear the declaration from the man known for his ability to identify a witch. Then Niall would have his answer. Then there would be no confusion as to his feelings toward Lady Leila.

Niall strode away from the cell and caught the distinct sound of the keys clattering in the main prison door. He quickened his pace. No doubt it was one of his guards. But what if it was not?

The heavy iron-banded wooden door opened, and Brodie stepped in.

“I thought ye might have stayed.” Brodie grinned with his usual affability. Other clansmen and warriors thought less of him for his jovial nature, until they sparred with him. He was mayhap the only warrior faster than Alban. Mayhap the most dexterous warrior Niall had ever seen. So, he wore his smiles without care or concern for what any man thought of him. Niall had always respected him for that.

Niall lifted his shoulders. “I thought the villagers might try to get in.”

“Not on yer watch.” Brodie winked. “I came to relieve ye so ye can prepare for yer discussion with Lord Armstrong.”

Niall cast a dark look at the taller man. “Did he already request to see me?”

Brodie shook his head. “Nay, but he had that look about him. Ye know the one. The scowl like he’s had a bit of pottage gone bad.”

Niall’s mouth lifted at the corner at that. He knew exactly the look Brodie was talking about, where the lord’s whole face sagged down in a frown of extreme displeasure. Aye, there’d be a discussion later to be sure.

Niall had enough time to clean himself, don a fresh set of clothes and break his fast before Lord Armstrong summoned him. The earl was not sitting in the grandly carved chair at the dais when Niall entered the great hall, however. He was in front of the long head table, pacing with apparent agitation.

Niall squared his shoulders for a fight. He knew Lord Armstrong would be displeased but had not suspected it would be to this extent. The earl spun on Niall as he approached. “How dare ye disobey my orders?”

“I dinna disobey orders,” Niall replied casually. “Ye said for her to walk to the prison. She did.”

“Aye, with yer protection.” Lord Armstrong grasped the back of a wooden chair nearest him and hurled it to the ground, where it landed with a sharp crack. “Are ye sympathetic to witches now? Need I remind ye what a witch did to yer da?”

Niall had been prepared for the earl to throw this question, and yet it still knocked painfully at his chest. “She hasna been declared a witch by Father Gerard yet.”

“It doesna matter,” Lord Armstrong roared. The rage in his voice filled the great hall and echoed around them. “We only do that for the people, so they dinna rally like they did when we killed Lady Elliot.”

Niall didn’t even flinch. Something else was amiss with the Keeper of Liddesdale to inspire such wrath. “Ye value my judgment,” Niall said with confidence. “It’s why ye came to me—”

“I am still yer lord and will be obeyed.”

Niall folded his hands behind his back, unfazed. “Then I will offer an apology once she has been officially deemed a witch.” He was prodding the bear, but he could not allow Lady Leila to be put to death. Not without a final judgment. And even though Niall suspected Lady Leila of witchcraft, there was a part of him hoping she truly was not guilty.

Lord Armstrong sputtered and went a subtle shade of purple. “If ye believe her to be innocent, then I hold ye personally responsible for her and her well-being. That includes meeting with the Earl of Werrick.”

Niall drew up short. Suddenly Lord Armstrong’s displeasure made sense. “The Earl of Werrick is here?”

“Aye,” Lord Armstrong said sourly. “He’s demanding the release of his daughter.”

Niall ran a hand through his hair. This complicated matters. If nothing else, he assumed Lord Werrick would have sent a missive to demand a meeting with Lord Armstrong. But to come in person? Such an audience was not easily put off.

“He’s outside the castle gates.” Lord Armstrong nodded toward the door to the great hall in apparent dismissal.

Niall said nothing more and made his way from the great hall, through the bailey and to the castle gates. Lord Werrick sat on horseback with several of his guards surrounding him. Certainly not enough to attempt to sack the castle. The man had arrived to talk.

Niall ordered the portcullis raised and went out to meet the English earl. Lord Werrick dismounted from his steed and met Niall halfway. The older man’s face was lined with worry, his bright eyes sharp and assessing. “My daughter…?”