Page 57 of Leila’s Legacy

“Nay,” Leila cried. “Niall, please! Don’t do this. I saw your father.”

“His father is dead,” Alban growled and thrust his blade at Niall. Leila took that exact moment to flick a dagger free from her belt and send it hurtling through the air toward Alban. One of his guards threw up a targe, blocking her attack.

“It was from the past,” Leila said desperately. “A vision—”

Hands grasped her, so many hands. Too many to count. They pulled at her, tugging her away from Niall, dragging her from him. Fingers clasped firmly over her mouth, sealing her words within so she couldn’t speak.

She tossed her head, but the grip did not abate. She gnashed her teeth, but the man kept his hand cupped in such a way that she could not catch his skin. She writhed and thrashed and screamed as well as she was able, but the restraining hands did not release her.

“Leila,” Niall cried.

“Take her to the dungeon,” a low, familiar voice said.

Shivers rippled over her skin. Lord Armstrong had arrived.

Niall didn’t know what Lord Armstrong had done to his father. What he might end up doing to Niall. She screamed as loud as she could, but every word of her warning was muffled by the hand in front of her mouth.

Lord Armstrong did not so much as look in Leila’s direction. Instead, he kept his focus on Niall. “I would like to speak with ye in my solar.”

“No more out of ye,” a guard growled into Leila’s ear.

Something hard thwacked into her head. Pain sent stars winking around her, followed by a terrible dizziness. She closed her eyes against it. Darkness filled her vision. Darkness with a glowing white skeleton in the distance, grinning at her, as Death laughed and laughed and laughed.

The white dots on her shoulder burned with an intensity that brought her to awareness once more.

Niall.

Her heart stung at the thought of him. Would Lord Armstrong kill him?

Her brave Lion, who would have fought them all to the death if he could. He had risked everything to save her: his position, his reputation. Possibly his life.

The guards jostled her as they carried her through the streets with her feet dragging behind her through the mud. They made a considerable amount of noise, but no one emerged from the shuttered cottages. Mayhap they remained inside out of fear of what the night air might do to their health in such stricken times. Mayhap it was the bitter cold that kept them nestled in the warmth of their beds. Regardless, Leila was grateful they did not come out to bear witness to her being humiliated once more before them, for this time they might see her tears.

She said nothing as she was drawn toward the castle, as the mud at her feet became cold, unyielding cobbles. The weight of her belt was gone, and she knew without looking down that it had been stripped away when she’d been taken.

They brought her to the dank, chilly dungeon below the castle and threw her unceremoniously into a cell. What had been hope only an hour ago now faded like a curl of cold ash in her chest. What would they do with Niall? Would they kill him as they’d killed his father and then place the blame upon her?

The blood iced in her veins.

She’d had no visions of Niall drowning her since they had confessed their love. If this was how the future had changed, she did not want it. Better she die than they both did. Better he kill her than his death be laid at her feet.

She closed her eyes and begged for a vision to come to her. Of her father, who she had hoped to see once more, to confirm his survival of the pestilence. Of Niall and another moment of shared passion and love. Of any of her sisters, who she had dared hope to see again one day. But no visions clouded her vision. There was only the darkness of the dungeon cell pressing in on her. Emotion clogged the back of her throat for everything she had lost.

She no longer felt like a warrior. Nay, she was once again a prisoner, and she was defeated.

Niall had to be hauled to the solar, for he certainly did not go of his own volition. The lock clicked in the door behind him, but he still had half a mind to ram into it to see if he could break through. Despite the shackles that bound his wrists together, he would find a way to escape, to get to Leila.

What would they do to her?

“Ye’re bewitched.” Lord Armstrong scowled at him from the chair beside the fire. The large hearth had been carved with ornate monsters threading through one another as they reached out with clawed hands. It gave the impression of making the earl appear to be the very devil himself. And mayhap he was.

“I’m no’ bewitched,” Niall protested. “What ye’re doing is wrong. If ye condemn her to die, ye’re killing an innocent woman.”

“Cease this nonsense.” Lord Armstrong spoke with such vehemence that spittle erupted from his mouth and glowed in the firelight. “I’ve no’ ever known ye to go against me. This isna ye. This isna how ye behave.”

“Ye’ve never gone so far against morality before. Ye’re wrong in this. She isna responsible for the pestilence and has only ever sought to heal those around her who are ill. She is a good woman and I willna stand by as ye defame her and kill her.”

“The people need a witch.” Lord Armstrong’s lips curled as he pushed himself up from the large chair. “They’ve found one. Her hold on ye is proof enough.” He considered Niall and studiously tilted his head. “I know of a way to be rid of the enchantment.”