Page 83 of Leila’s Legacy

Lord Armstrong pushed himself to his feet. She should run. But her head spun with dizziness, lack of air.

God save her, she was dying all over again.

Death would claim his victim yet.

Armstrong lifted his cudgel, eyes wild. She lunged at him with the last of her strength, crashing into his gambeson. The hardened fabric was like a wall against her shoulder and face, but he fell forward over her with a savage cry.

He landed on his side on the ground with a wet gurgle. Curious though the sound was, she could not look now. She braced herself on her knees and willed herself to calm, to carefully breathe, slow and steady.

More air entered her body this time and the panic began to ebb. The fogging of her mind cleared, and she finally looked down at where Lord Armstrong lay, not moving, eyes vacant as they stared at nothing. A line of blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth and trailed a crooked path over his grizzled jaw to the dark cobblestones below.

“That was for my da.” Niall limped over, wincing with each step on his injured leg. “And for the woman I love.”

A dagger jutted from behind the earl’s neck, having plunged through his throat.

“Your leg,” Leila said.

“Ach, it was wounded when I killed Alban and this bastard hit the exact spot of the injury.” Niall nudged Lord Armstrong’s corpse with the toe of his bad leg.

“What in all of England are you still doing here?” an aristocratic English voice intoned.

Leila turned to see her family coming toward them. Bronson sheathed his blade. “You should have been gone already.”

“Is it over?” Leila asked, her voice hoarse from the blow she’d received from that wicked club.

Ella regarded Lord Armstrong lying dead in the mud. “I’d say it is.”

“Ach, the guards went running off no’ long after we were into it.” James grinned.

“Why are you still here?” Anice pressed. “Come, Lamb, we must leave this place.”

Leila did not need to be asked twice. She gripped Niall’s hand and together, they hastened to the horses. Within minutes, they were mounted and fleeing the town of Liddesdale, hopefully to never see it again, as they rode once more to Werrick Castle. With the man she loved.

The ride to Werrick Castle was far more painful than Niall wanted to admit. His face ached a bit, aye, as well as the blow to his back by Armstrong’s damn club.

It was his leg that burned like the fires of hell, though. The wound had been sore well before Armstrong hit it again. He kept his face impassive, however, not wanting Leila to see.

And she would have seen had he shown it, as she continued to pass glances in his direction through the duration of their trek over the English border. At long last, they came to the castle and were quickly escorted into the bailey by a troop of servants.

Niall leapt from his horse and couldn’t still the grunt of pain as he landed. Leila cast him a suspicious glance.

“I’d like to take you to Isla,” Leila said. “And I won’t hear any argument about it.”

“Is this the one who uses piss in all her remedies?” Niall asked. While he’d never met Isla, he felt as though he knew her from the stories Leila had told him in the conversations that they had shared over suppers together in her tower chamber prison.

Leila grinned and pulled him with her. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t use any in yours.”

“I’m fine, lass,” he reassured her.

“Then why are you limping?” She lifted her brows.

After such an observation, there was hardly any protest he could offer, especially since he lacked the ability to not limp. He knew. He’d tried it. Damn leg.

He was led into Werrick Castle and saw it exactly as she’d described it. Fresh rushes lent a sweet scent to the air, even in winter. Gold and silver gilt tapestries lined the walls and took the edge off the chill. Servants bustled about this way and that.

Being here, where she had lived her life, seeing what she had described to him in such perfect detail, gave him the feeling as if it was not just her who had come home, but that he had finally too. It was an odd sensation and not an unpleasant one, especially as he realized he had not felt like he had a home since his father’s death.

She led him through a complicated maze of halls to where the healer of the castle kept a neat room at the ready. Small vials were neatly lined up on top of a cabinet with many drawers. The room smelled clean and of dried herbs. Like Leila.