Page 58 of Leila’s Legacy

Something gleamed in his eyes and slithered like ice down Niall’s spine. He shivered despite the heat from the wicked-looking hearth.

The earl approached and clapped Niall on the shoulder, the way he used to do with camaraderie. Now, however, the gesture pinned Niall in place, leaving him fixed beneath the malicious glint of the older man’s stare.

“Ye’ll be the one to kill her.” Lord Armstrong nodded to himself. “Aye, ye’ll be the one to drown the witch.”

“Nay.” Even as Niall said it, chills ran over his skin. It was as Leila had envisioned. His pulse quickened.

“Oh, aye.” The skin around Lord Armstrong’s eyes tightened, so the murky blue within faded to narrowed slits in the candlelight. “Ye will.”

“Ye canna force me to kill her.” Niall’s head swirled. “I’ll no’ do it.”

Lord Armstrong finally released his grip on Niall’s shoulder. “Which is exactly what a bewitched man would say. The people will see it in how much ye care for her. ’Tis why I must compel ye to do the right thing.”

Niall tensed. After all, what could possibly be worse than killing Leila?

“Ye convinced yer man Brodie to help ye.” The earl wagged a finger at him. “The young man thought he was helping ye, but I saw through his deception.” He strode casually to the locked door and spoke loudly against it. “Did ye get her?”

“Brodie wasna part of it.” Niall clenched his hand into a fist.

“Aye,” a man replied from the other side.

The lock clattered and the door swung open.

“I know ye’re lying,” Lord Armstrong replied coolly. “I know it isna yer fault, that ye were bewitched and that Brodie is loyal.”

A man shoved a girl with long black hair into the solar. She staggered and nearly tripped. She scuttled into the room and pushed her back against the wall, large blue eyes darting about wildly. She was a small thing with stick-thin wrists and ankles jutting from her chemise, a girl of no more than seven summers.

Disgust roiled through Niall.

“Do ye know who this is?” Lord Armstrong asked.

“What am I doing here?” The girl glanced between Niall and Lord Armstrong.

Niall knew exactly who the child was. He’d recognize little Bonnie anywhere, especially when Brodie doted so much on his little sister.

“What are ye doing with her?” Niall demanded. “She’s a child.”

“She’s incentive.” Lord Armstrong turned a hard gaze on Niall. “If ye dinna drown the witch, we’ll drown this girl, then we’ll drown yer witch. Either way, she’ll be dead and ye’ll be free of her spell. Once ’tis done, ye’ll thank me.”

“This is madness.” Niall edged closer to Bonnie. Even with his wrists bound in the iron bands, he would do what he could to protect her. “Dinna hurt her.”

Lord Armstrong called for his guards. “Ye’ll be the one to decide if the lass gets hurt,” he said as the clansmen took the wee girl away.

Though tears filled her eyes and her lower lip trembled, the brave child kept her head lifted and her back straight. It was enough to make Niall’s throat go tight.

“Ye’ll be locked in a chamber tonight and will make yer decision tomorrow.” Lord Armstrong waved several of his men over. They took Niall by the chained arms and jerked him toward the door.

“Tomorrow?” Niall asked, incredulous.

Lord Armstrong grinned. “When the witch dies.”

The guards dragged Niall through the castle to one of the smaller rooms set aside for minor guests where he was shoved inside with the door securely locked behind him.

There, in the absence of sound, totally alone, the severity of his situation crushed in on him. If he did not kill Leila, then Bonnie and Leila would both die.

His chest constricted with a pain so visceral, he had not felt its kind since the death of his father.

Leila had seen him killing her; she had known all along. And he’d been too damned foolish to listen.

He inhaled deeply and the air dragged like fire through his lungs. How could he kill her? His beautiful Leila, so strong and full of life. His love.

A rattle of keys sounded in his door, the movements slow and quiet. The lock clicked and the door creaked open. Except it was no clansman who entered, or even a servant come to bring him fare. Nay, the woman who stood before him in a fine kirtle and a fire lit in her eyes was none other than Lady Davina.