Page 77 of Leila’s Legacy

“I’m only glad Lark wasn’t with you.” Bronson smirked as he mentioned his sister. “Ever since she’s started training with the arrow like Cat, she’s had quite the penchant for mischief.”

“Where does she get that from?” Ella teased her husband. “I believe it runs in the family.”

Bronson scoffed and then slid her a grin.

“The Armstrongs will be punished for what they’ve done to you,” Geordie vowed.

“We’ve already planned to go after them.” Cat curled an arm around her husband’s and pulled him close. Geordie glanced down at her and immediately the tension drained from his body.

“Then what else is amiss?” Bran asked, approaching Marin. “Why are ye crying, my love?”

A shared look passed around the room and flew over the understanding of the husbands.

“We need to prepare.” Leila made her way toward the door, knowing others would follow suit. “Time may be running out, depending on how eager Lord Armstrong is to exact his punishment.”

As anticipated, the room cleared, leaving only Marin and Bran in the sunny solar. Leila caught sight of them as she strode away, their hands touching, leaning together for the intimate conversation that would change their lives forever.

She didn’t need to see to know what would transpire on the other side of that door. She’d seen it already.

Their heads were close as Marin spoke words Leila could not hear. Bran raised his brows in question and tears fell from Marin’s eyes. He knelt before her, cradling her lower back with his powerful arms. His gaze wandered up, finding hers as she nodded. Then, he lowered his forehead to her stomach and wept.

Leila wiped a tear from her eye at her sister’s joy. Marin had been too long without a child of her own; her hope too bright to never be fulfilled. Mayhap someday, Leila would have such joy, and a life with Niall.

Her heart squeezed. First, they had to get to him in time. At least with the pestilence raging through Liddesdale, the clan’s forces were dwindled. That would be to her benefit.

She made her way to the armory to get a new belt and some daggers, while the rest of her family prepared for battle. She would bring Niall home to Werrick Castle safely with her, or she would die trying.

For no longer was she afraid of Death, but she was terrified of losing the man she loved.

Niall would die for the offense of killing Alban.

He wriggled his foot in his boot where he’d tucked a small dagger into the high edges. Were the leather not so fitted to his ankles, he might have lost it when the reivers attacked him.

They passed under the portcullis of Liddesdale Castle with Niall trussed up like a pig for market with his wrists bound. His head ached with every step of the horse’s hooves and one of his eyes had swollen nearly shut. The pressure of it was so great that he felt it might pop from its socket if he hung over the beast’s back a moment longer.

The horse riding alongside his carried the body of Alban. His arms hung limp over the steed’s belly, bouncing lifelessly with each jolting step.

At least Niall was in better health than Alban, small mercy though it might now be. The horse was pulled to a stop and Niall practically groaned with relief. Every part of his body throbbed.

Someone demanded Lord Armstrong be summoned at once.

Niall felt nothing at this. Not fear, not concern, not even rage. How could one waste energy on emotions when every damn part of them was alight with pain? But he should be feeling something, especially when he had sacrificed his life with Leila to be here.

Leila.

A twinge, sharper and deeper than anything physical, cut through his agony. Two reivers approached Alban and carefully pulled his corpse from the horse. Rough hands gripped Niall’s gambeson and tugged him backward, sending him crashing to the ground.

His body slammed onto the cobblestones with a force that made his teeth clack.

“What is the meaning of this?” Lord Armstrong’s voice filled the bailey and echoed off the stonework.

Every reiver in sight snapped upright. Niall pulled himself up to standing as the men all looked at one another, as though silently weighing who would be the person to deliver the news of Alban’s death.

Lord Armstrong’s cold gray gaze found Niall. “I see they’ve captured ye.” He tossed an irritated glance at his men. “Ye could have just brought him into the great hall. No need for me to be out in this cold to see a mere prisoner.” A fiercely cutting wind swept through the bailey and he nestled back deeper into his cloak.

“It isna merely a prisoner…” A tall man with dark red hair said. He rubbed at the back of his neck.

Lord Armstrong let his gaze slide down Niall with contempt. “I assure ye, he is.”