Page 27 of Leila’s Legacy

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Niall took his time walking through the muddy streets on his way back to the prison. He hadn’t meant to listen to the conversation between Lord Werrick and Lady Leila, but it had been impossible given their proximity. Leaving would have been equally as impossible. The second his back was turned, the earl could have slipped Lady Leila a dagger and Niall knew all too well what the lady could do with weapons.

He stopped before the banded gaol door and dragged out the process of selecting the door’s key from the wide ring on his belt. Lady Leila was not the true blood daughter of Lord Werrick, though it was clear that he cared for her as if she was his.

Niall slipped the key into the lock and paused, clenching his back teeth against the stirring in his chest. He was well-acquainted with the pain of feeling undeserving of love and how deep it could furrow into one’s soul.

His own father had given him love and understanding, no matter how often Niall in his youth had floundered on the right path. But rather than encouraging him to be good, to make his father proud, it had twisted into his gut and left him agitated with guilt.

It appeared Lady Leila, despite the pride she wore like a crown, the possession of her powerful confidence and the control she held over her person—she was just like him. She felt guilty for a love she did not deem herself worthy of receiving.

Niall unlocked the door to the prison, slipped inside and locked it behind him once more. Brodie stood in the small guard room and nodded in greeting. Even his usual grin had faded in light of what he had most likely overheard of the conversation between father and daughter.

“Get a gambeson and helm for Lady Leila,” Niall instructed. “We need to move her and I’ll no’ have the village people recognizing her.”

Brodie immediately set to the task without question, as had the staff within the castle as they went about clearing out one of the rooms to make way for Lady Leila. Lord Armstrong had not been in the castle to consult and the matter of moving Lady Leila was most urgent. With Lord Werrick now possessing the knowledge of where his daughter was located, they had to remove her with haste.

Niall strode down the prison hall and into the room containing Lady Leila’s cell. She appeared to have recovered from her broken composure, her face no longer red from her tears and her back once more straight and proud. Her unfocused stare at the ground, however, bespoke of her despair.

“Lady Leila.” He spoke softly, but she started at the sound. “We must move ye to the castle.”

She tensed, no doubt anticipating she would be led through the village again.

“I’m having one of my men bring a gambeson and helm,” he explained. “It will mask yer identity. Then ye’ll walk to the castle with me, aye?”

Her brows drew together with the understanding she would not be put on display before the villagers once more.

“If ye try to run from me, or attack me in any way,” he cautioned, “I will kill ye.”

Her mouth lifted in a small smile that teetered on amusement. “I do not doubt that.”

Brodie appeared at that moment with the items Niall had requested. “I tried to find the smallest ones I could.” The dark-haired reiver hesitated before leaving and slid a worried glance at Lady Leila. Apparently, Niall was not the only one concerned for her.

Why could the witch of Werrick Castle not be a crone? Someone toughened by age and made bitter by a hard life, an old hag who spat and cursed at them. Why did the witch have to be a petite woman who had grown up as an earl’s daughter? Why did she have to arouse this fierce need to protect her?

Niall handed the gambeson to Lady Leila through the bars. “Put it on.”

She stepped closer to accept the offering and took it with her long, graceful fingers. But she did not immediately step back and don it. Instead, she looked up at him, hitting him with the full force of those lovely blue eyes, in which an entire world of depth and mystery was held. “Why are you so kind to me?”

“I was just asking myself the same thing.” He smirked.

“You needn’t be.” She hadn’t said it with malice. Nay, the words came out gently, more like a plea than hurled in spite.

He shouldn’t be, he amended in his own mind.

She pulled the gambeson to her and proceeded to remove her cloak to put it on over her shirt. While she did this, Niall opened the door to her cell and handed her the helm. The band of metal running down its center to protect the nose of the wearer would aid in hiding her identity.

She accepted it from him, but this time did not meet his gaze. Her brows pinched, her look pained for only a second and was gone, replaced by her lifted chin and her usual show of strength.

But it had been there, that crack, that glimpse of her hurt.

“This way.” He led her from the cell. She followed without protest.

Before they exited the building, Niall instructed Brodie to reclaim the ruined kirtle from Lady Leila’s cell and have it sent to the castle. If nothing else, it would be one less thing Lord Armstrong would be displeased about in this whole mess. Mayhap the thing could be laundered clean once more.

Niall pushed open the heavily banded door to the village prison and strode out. Except this time, Lady Leila hesitated before following.

“Guards dinna pause in doorways,” he whispered in reminder.