Page 61 of Leila’s Legacy

“You have been charged and found guilty of witchcraft,” Lord Armstrong continued. “And ye will die a witch’s death in the Hermitage Waters.” He stepped back to reveal Niall’s form standing behind him, head cast down.

Lord Armstrong addressed the villagers. “The Lion will see to her death. Through him, we will clear the land of pestilence.”

The villagers cried out their gratitude, their voices warbling in a pitch that bespoke of mourning and desperation. Niall did not step forward. He did, however, look up and meet her gaze. A span of distance separated them, but it didn’t matter, that stare pierced her straight to her very core, giving her strength, even as it broke her down.

“Niall,” she mouthed.

He winced and his mouth formed her name in return.

Lord Armstrong gestured to Niall to walk. “Let justice be served.”

But Niall did not walk, not until the girl issued a quiet whimper, one Leila barely caught. Brodie stepped toward the child and halted. For his part, Niall glanced at the girl, squared his shoulders and strode forward.

Leila’s stomach twisted with understanding, for the girl’s identity was apparent. That was how they intended to convince Niall to kill her; through Brodie’s young sister. Did their sins know no bounds?

And yet, it served to ease the burden of what she knew was to come. Niall did not do this because his affections had shifted. He did it because he had no choice.

Leila had briefly considered shouting out the vision she had seen of Lord Armstrong before her death. Now, she realized that would be impossible. She could not have the earl retaliate with threats on the child.

Leila’s death would not stop the great pestilence; it would not cure the ill or raise the dead. Her death, however, would save the life of a little girl.

Niall strode toward her, his gait slow where once it had been purposeful, hesitant where once it had been confident. Her heart clutched mid-beat as he approached. She took in every detail of him, drinking him in, memorizing him.

He did not look at her when he finally stopped before her. His hazel eyes scanned the hills in the distance, then the sky above, as his jaw locked into a hard line.

“Niall.” Leila’s voice caught on his name and she could say no more.

Finally, his gaze settled on hers, red-rimmed and glossy with unshed tears. “Mo chridhe.”