Page 56 of Leila’s Legacy

18

Leila had long since learned not to fight her visions. For whether she wanted them or not, by will or by force, they came.

“Leila,” Niall’s voice came from the distance of another world, but she did not respond. She could not.

The tallow candle flickering on the table was little more than a nub of fat set within a greasy puddle. Oily black smoke coiled up from the flame and clogged the air with its foul odor. A man sat in a single chair by the hearth where a meager fire struggled to come to life.

The door creaked open behind Leila and the man got to his feet. He was short, his hair dark and shaggy where it fell over his eyes. He bowed with reverence. “My lord.”

Lord Armstrong swept into the cottage and cast a disdainful look about. The silver streaks were gone from his red hair and the lines of time on his face had smoothed. He was a young man once more, his shoulders square with arrogant youth and limitless vitality. “Ye know why I’m here, Fingal.”

The other man, Fingal, nodded. “Renault the Honorable has gone too far with his righteousness, aye?”

Lord Armstrong gave a grunt of assent. “Lady Elliot may provide us with a way to free ourselves of his burden, the withered old slut.”

“The one who threatened Renault when his lad held her husband for ransom?”

“No’ threatened.” Lord Armstrong’s mouth curled into a smile. “Cursed.”

Fingal’s dull eyes did not brighten with understanding even as Leila pieced together what would come next.

“Poison the bastard and lay the blame at Lady Elliot’s feet.” Lord Armstrong lifted a white handkerchief to the underside of his nose and narrowed his eyes at the offensive tallow candle. “Then we will be free of him, and the old woman can be drowned as a witch. We’ll be done with both of them.”

Fingal’s mouth opened as he bobbed his head. “A bonny idea, my lord. A bonny idea.” He pursed his lips. “The people like Renault, though.”

“They willna know we ordered his death,” Lord Armstrong said with barely tethered patience. “And his son is of age to take his father’s place. The lad’s no’ as good as his da, but there’s goodness in him yet, or so the people say.” He lifted his shoulders in a shrug that indicated he didn’t care one way or the other. “He’ll be malleable and no’ as obnoxiously righteous as his da.”

“I’ll see to the poison, my lord.” Fingal bowed.

Lord Armstrong lowered the handkerchief, grinning. “And I’ll see to Niall.”

Leila sucked in a sharp gasp. A hand went around her face, smothering her in the darkness. A man’s body was at her back, locking her against him. She shook her head aggressively and drew an arm back. The hand loosened.

“Be silent,” Niall whispered.

The strong torso at her back was familiar now, as was the scent of cedar and leather. Footsteps sounded outside, along with the call of orders, as Lord Armstrong’s guards searched for them.

Leila took off her helm and twisted to better look at Niall. He tensed his hold on her in warning.

“Niall,” she breathed. “I have to—”

The door rattled. Her heart jolted.

She clenched her teeth to keep from speaking. She had to tell Niall about what she’d seen of his father, of Lord Armstrong. But to speak now would give away their position.

Her mind reeled with what she had learned, or she would have protested as he eased her around behind him, putting himself in front of her. A splintering crack shattered the silence around them as the door flew inward and a cluster of guards ran in.

“Niall,” Leila said. “Your father—”

“There they are,” a man shouted over her. “Get the witch.”

Niall loomed up over the man and raised his sword.

Alban ran in front of his guard and blocked the blow. “I wouldna do that if I were ye, Lion.” He smirked. “Or mayhap I should let ye. If any men are killed, she will die this night.”

“Ye mean to kill her anyway.” Niall lunged at Alban and swung his blade.

Alban blocked the blow and called out to his men.