Page 68 of Leila’s Legacy

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Niall’s anger wasn’t easily set aside, but he forced it from his mind. Leila needed him. Aye, she’d been saved and stood before him, breathing and glowing with the flush of life on her cheeks. But it didn’t mean she was safe, especially when she had just been brought back from the dead.

Leila watched him with a concerned expression pinching her brows. “I shouldn’t have told you.” There was a slight strain to her voice that bespoke of a pain she did not complain of, and it tugged at his chest. “I have never learned exactly what I should and should not share of my visions.”

“Nay, I needed to know.” He rose from the chair and took her hand in his. Her fingers were like ice.

She gasped and touched his forearm with her free hand. The skin there was shredded with claw marks that gauged angry red wounds from where his shirt had not covered his wrists.

“I’m sorry.” She looked up at him with tears in her eyes.

A familiar knot formed in his throat. Being safe in a comfortable, quiet moment brought the horror of what had happened rushing back.

“Ye were being killed, Leila.” His voice broke. “I was holding ye down and ye were fighting to live. Because that’s what ye do, lass. Ye’re a fighter. And I…” He looked away, ashamed of his tears. “I was killing ye.”

Leila touched his chin and turned his face back to her. “You saved Bonnie. They would have killed me anyway. And yet you still managed to save me. You pulled me from the water and you…” She shook her head. “I don’t even know what you did, but you saved me. And now here I am, in a cottage with you.”

He pulled her into his arms, reveling in the wonderful sweetness of her body against his.

She reached for his face and cradled it in her cold palms as she pressed her lips to his. “I love you,” she whispered. Her mouth found his and her tongue teased between his lips.

His body responded, immediately hot and hard to reclaim the woman he had thought he’d lost. “I love ye.” He pushed her gently away with a tight groan. “Which is why I’m going to tuck ye into that bed on yer own. Ye need to rest, aye?”

He took her hand and led her to the pallet where he tucked her beneath the many layers of furs. “I’ll be outside tending to the horse if ye need me.”

She nodded with a soft smile hovering on the corners of her lips. He’d never thought to see that expression again. He leaned over her and pressed a kiss to her hair and breathed her in. The subtle hint of rosemary still clung to her hair despite what she’d been through.

Once she was settled, he saw to his horse, placing the massive destrier in the small single stall attached to the side of the cottage. He removed the horse’s bridle and paused when the sleeve of his shirt fell back to reveal his gouged forearm.

Tears prickled in his eyes again, recalling that awful moment. Leila had fought like a warrior, her hits powerful enough to have most likely left bruises on his shins and arms. It had taken a considerable amount of effort to keep her under water. To kill her.

He scrubbed a palm over his face, but he couldn’t get the image out of his mind of her clawing at him, forced to such actions through the sheer will to survive. And he’d had to hold her down until that awful moment when the fight left her body. When he’d known she was dead.

Lord Armstrong had made him do that. Lord Armstrong, who had used Niall’s adolescent misconduct to kill his da and then twist events to bring Niall to his side.

He balled his hand into a fist, his pain and tears transforming into an emotion he could control: anger. One of rage and vengeance. With a snarl of intent, he slammed his hand into the wall of the stable. The destrier was bred for war and did little more than flick his ears back irritably at the audible smack of Niall’s fist connecting with the boards of the stall.

Lord Armstrong would pay for his crimes with his own life.

Leila was safe for now. That was all that mattered at the moment. Once Brodie and Bonnie arrived at the cottage, they would all venture to Werrick Castle where Niall hoped he could negotiate for the safekeeping of his friends.

In truth, Niall wished he could take Leila now, but the trek would be too cold on her battered body. She needed the time to rest and warm up. Once she was at Werrick, tucked securely behind the stone curtain walls of her home, then Niall would exact his revenge.

He willed his body to calm and lowered his aching hand. Vengeance would come later. Now was for finding supper and preparing a hot stew.

It was hours later when the stew was ready. It contained a bit of rabbit mixed in with some vegetables that had been brought to the cottage, along with the bedding and tinder, by one of Lady Davina’s discreet servants.

Niall had continued to add logs from the abundant pile to the fire, keeping it blazing until the cottage was hot enough to force him outside on occasion to cool off. He checked on Leila periodically as she slept, to ensure her chest still rose and fell with even breathing.

It pleased him to find her cheeks and lips were a bonny shade of rosy pink, no doubt set there by the roaring fire. He gazed at her for a long moment before waking her for food, cherishing that she was alive and there with him . The firelight caught her glossy dark hair and glowed golden over her skin. She looked so peaceful, so lovely.

He reached a hand out and caressed her cheek. She was warm under his touch and he thanked God for it.

“Mo chridhe,” he said softly.

She smiled and cupped his hand with hers, holding him to her.

“Ye feel much better,” Niall said. “Are ye hungry?”