Maids with Blades 2, page 96
They were at an impasse. She had Fergus’s brother—his companion-in-arms, his partner in crime—at her mercy. But Fergus held hostage the man who meant everything—the sun, the moon, the stars, the world—to her.
“Well, well,” he gloated at her hesitation. “It looks like I’ve found the chink in your armor as well, haven’t I?”
She sighed. He had.
And now she had no choice.
She couldn’t let Dougal die. She had to surrender.
Her shoulders slumped in frustration and defeat as she released Morris, who stumbled away from her, aggravated and humiliated.
Fergus pulled his blade back an inch, but he could still slay Dougal in a heartbeat. “Where does the passage lead?”
It was tempting to lie. But it would do no good. Closing her hands into fists of impotent rage, she muttered, “To the beach.”
Fergus pinned her with wolfish eyes. “That’s how Rivenloch got in,” he realized. “And ’tis the way ye planned to escape.”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.
Fergus slapped Dougal, trying to wake him. At Dougal’s groggy mumble, Fergus cracked him hard across the face. Dougal sat up at once, disoriented yet aware of the blade at his throat.
Meanwhile, Fergus called out to the laird, “Come along, Gaufrid. Stop groanin’ o’er your wee cut. We’ve got to go.” To Morris, he said, “Help me. He’s goin’ with us.”
“Why?” Feiyan demanded, her heart in her throat. “He’s of no use to you.”
“Maybe not, but he’s o’ use to ye,” Fergus said, “so if ye want to keep him alive, ye’d better not follow us.”
Feiyan didn’t trust him. Once they were safe, Fergus would most likely kill Dougal. After all, he was Gaufrid’s rival. But she was helpless to do anything except stand by and watch as they dragged Dougal down the steps.
When they faded from sight, descending into the darkness, she whipped around and rushed to the slumbering maidservant.
“Merraid,” she whispered, patting lightly at the lass’s cheeks. “Merraid. Wake up.”
When the maidservant roused, it was with a soft moan of pain. The lass touched her damaged nose, which looked slightly askew, then withdrew shaking fingers stained with blood.
“What happened?” she asked.
“How can I get down to the beach?” Feiyan asked.
Merraid nodded to indicate the passageway. “There.”
“Gaufrid and the Fortanachs just went that way with Dougal.”
“Dougal?” Her brows creased with worry.
Feiyan nodded. “Is there another way down?”
“’Tis a cliff,” Merraid said. “Ye can’t get down.”
Feiyan’s thrumming heart didn’t want to hear the word “can’t.” If she couldn’t find a way down, she’d make one. She retrieved her bloody bishou and wiped it on her skirts. There was no time to waste. She just needed to know one more thing.
“Where do you think they’ll go once they reach the beach?”
Before she could answer, Gellir burst suddenly into the buttery. His sword was drawn. His face was smudged with grime and sweat. His chest was heaving.
“Where are they?” he demanded. “Where are the Fortanachs? I saw them come in here after Merraid.”
“Gellir?” Merraid purred.
His gaze fell to the lass with the bright orange hair, sitting in a sad heap on the floor with a bloody nose. His jaw tensed and he fell to his knees before her.
“What happened?” he demanded, wavering awkwardly between compassion and outrage. “Did they do this? Are you all right?”
“You can chat later, Gellir,” Feiyan said. “Right now I need to know where they’re going.”
Merraid screwed up her forehead, thinking. “If I were them,” she finally replied, “I’d steal a boat.”
Feiyan nodded. “Right.” She considered several strategies. As always, stealth was her best option. “Give me your clothes,” she said to Gellir.
“What?”
“Quickly.”
“But…” The idea of undressing in front of Merraid clearly discomfited him.
“Please. Hurry.”
She began stripping down, and he reluctantly removed his clothing as well. Merraid averted her eyes, for the most part.
Then Feiyan donned his oversized garb, tucking her bishou into her belt. She grabbed a kitchen lad’s sooty cap from a hook on the wall. Tucking her braid inside, she shoved the cap down over her brow. Wiping more soot on her face, she looked askance at Gellir.
He nodded in approval. “Good. But what am I to wear?”
“You’re not coming.”
“The hell I’m not.”
“I need you to stay here. Look after Merraid.”
Gellir was a good lad. He wouldn’t let his disappointment show. Not when a wide-eyed lass was depending on him.
“Fine then,” he said. “Go to the south wall. Most of the fighting’s at the north end.”
She left, pulling her cap down to conceal the vengeance brewing in her eyes.
As it turned out, scaling down a cliff wall was not the same as clambering through the branches of a forest. Feiyan’s heart pounded as she searched for footing on the slippery rocks, wet with sea spray. Once she skidded down the steep face several feet, muddying Gellir’s clothes and scraping her palms. She lost her grip several times. Each time she was certain she would fall and dash her head on the stones a hundred feet below.
But her fear for Dougal outweighed her fear of falling. Eventually, despite the mist obscuring the sand below, the gulls’ startling squeals as they swooped past, and the muscle-straining, nerve-rattling climb that seemed to have no end, she found her footing on the solid ground of the beach.
Praying she’d arrived before the Fortanachs, she shuffled through the sandy rubble, heading north along the cliff.
Half a dozen fishing boats slumbered together on the shore, waiting for high tide and their masters to pull them into the firth. Feiyan chose the nearest one, untied it from its moorings, and began to drag it across the sand. When she was halfway to the water’s edge, she stopped and waited, tugging her cap down over eyes that restlessly scanned the beach for intruders.
She didn’t have to wait long. The Fortanachs’ quibbling voices announced their presence well before they materialized in the mist. Fergus was still prodding Dougal along at the point of a sword. Gaufrid hobbled along in pain. From snippets of their conversation, she learned that Morris was skipping ahead to look for suitable transportation.
Keeping her head low and schooling her voice to a low, gravely tone, she called out to Morris. “Mornin’!” she grunted as he approached.
“Is that your boat?” he asked.
“Aye.”
“We’re goin’ to need it.”
It was tempting to simply hand it over. After all, that was her plan. The boat was bait. If she gave them the easy means to escape, they might release their hostage.
But surrendering it so eagerly might seem suspicious.
So instead she grunted, “B’longs t’ me.”
“I don’t care if it belongs to Lucifer himself,” Morris ground out. “I’m takin’ it.”
“How much’ll ye give me for it?” Feiyan grumbled.
“What?” Morris exploded. “I’m givin’ ye naught, ye—”
“What’s the trouble now?” Fergus asked. He sounded irritated, as if Dougal had fought him every step of the way, which pleased her immensely.
“Stupid piker wants to be paid,” Morris said.
“Oh, he does, does he? We’ll see about that.” Fergus waved Gaufrid forward. To her satisfaction, the laird looked wan and agonized as he gripped the place where she’d wounded him. “Do ye know who this is?”
Feiyan glanced over, feigned a gasp of surprise, and gave Gaufrid a deep bow. “M’laird!” Pretending to be flustered, she handed the rope to the boat to Morris. Then she rushed forward with a bowed head as if to pay her respects.
But instead of kissing Gaufrid’s hand, she whipped out her bishou and held it against his ribs. This time, if the worst happened, she didn’t intend to miss.
Gaufrid raked in a ragged breath when he saw the familiar blade and paled when he saw her familiar face.
“Shite!” Morris exclaimed. “How did ye…how did she…?”
“Let Dougal go,” she said calmly, “or I’ll finish what I started.”
“Feiyan, nay!” Dougal called out. “Put it down.”
Feiyan thinned her lips. Of course he would say that. He didn’t think she should risk her life for him. And he didn’t believe her capable of following through on her threat.
He was wrong on both counts.
“Please, Feiyan,” he begged. “Save yourself.”
Fergus smirked. “Och aye, Feiyan, please save yourself,” he mocked. “And whate’er ye do, don’t let harm come to my dear brother Gaufrid.”
Then, with a shocking play that took her completely by surprise, Fergus gave Gaufrid a hard shove forward, impaling him on her blade.
Chapter 36
Dougal was stunned.
What had just happened?
In the space of that horrible instant—where his brother and laird was alive one moment and dead the next—emotions raced through his head. Disbelief. Shock. Horror. Dread. Relief. Sorrow. Anger. Malice. And ultimately fear.
Feiyan.
He had to save Feiyan.
If Fergus could so easily kill his closest companion, the man he’d sworn to protect, what would he do to her?
“Nay!” he bellowed, wrenching away from Fergus’s blade, anything to distract the brute from the precious lass within his reach.
But Fergus wasn’t interested in Feiyan.
He wanted Dougal.
With a vindictive snarl, he lashed out with the shoudao.
The blade caressed Dougal’s flank with sharp steel, slicing into his flesh as if it were butter. Dougal didn’t even feel it at first.
Feiyan screamed. That didn’t seem real either. He’d never heard Feiyan scream before. Even facing the outlaws in the forest, she’d never cried out.
As Fergus turned away, a searing pain swept down Dougal’s side, and a wet warmth trickled down his abdomen.
The world slowed, and he suddenly felt like he was slogging through a bog.
He wanted to move. Wanted to go to Feiyan.
But his legs were weighted. His arms were as heavy as anvils.
Feiyan cast aside Gaufrid’s limp body, revealing her beautiful face. Her silky hair was tucked into a cap, and her rosy cheeks were smudged with soot. But she was still his Feiyan. Still the woman he had dreamed of wedding.
That wouldn’t happen now.
He was a dead man.
But he could still save her.
If he could live long enough.
She looked distressed. Her brows were furrowed. Her eyes were wide. Her mouth was open in a silent cry.
He tried to give her a reassuring smile. But he couldn’t. And he couldn’t get to her.
Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw Fergus and Morris frantically moving the boat toward the firth. Dragging it across the sand.
They were fleeing.
Of course they were.
They had only ever been interested in their own fortunes. They’d sunk their claws into mac Darragh—befriending Gaufrid, replacing the army, impoverishing the clan—solely for their own benefit.
Having failed, they were fleeing, Leaving a trial of blood and devastation in their wake.
Then he saw the others. Hordes of villagers armed with axes and scythes charged onto the beach, spilling out toward the firth. With fierce cries of “Mac Darragh!” they chased after the escaping villains.
They were mac Darragh folk. Crofters, merchants, maids, youths. People he knew and loved. His heart swelled with pride. They had come to defend the clan.
Shadows began creeping in at the sides of his vision. He tried to blink them away. He refused to close his eyes until he was sure Feiyan was safe.
She came to him then, just as his legs collapsed beneath him and he sank onto his knees in the sand.
The Fortanachs were far away now. Out of the villagers’ reach. But that was good. They were too busy escaping to hurt anyone. If they were wise, they would never return again.
Feiyan wrapped her arms around him. Her eyes filled with tears of despair.
But Dougal was beyond sorrow. The danger had passed. Feiyan was safe. She would live. Numb relief slowly filled his veins.
He tried to raise his hand. To brush the locks of hair back from her worried eyes. But he hadn’t the strength to even lift a finger.
She slipped behind him, easing him onto his back, cradling his shoulders on her lap.
The sky was clearing now, turning a shade of blue-gray that matched her wet eyes. He felt a warm drop on his hand that couldn’t be rain.
He licked his lips. They were dry. But he had to speak to Feiyan. She looked so aggrieved. He had to tell her it would be all right.
He wouldn’t be there to share the future with her.
But he wanted to tell her that she had a long and happy life ahead of her.
He wanted to remind her that Rivenloch had shown up in force to defend her, proving she was anything but invisible.
He wanted to tell her that her efforts had surely saved his clan from destruction, and they would be forever grateful.
And he wanted to assure the bright and beautiful lass that she would one day find a husband who would love and honor her as much as…
Nay, he thought. No one would love Feiyan as much as he did.
He wanted to tell her all that.
All he could manage was three weakly whispered words.
“I loved ye.”
Loved? Loved?
The possibility of losing Dougal had left Feiyan crippled by hopelessness. Mired in misery deeper than any loch, she had succumbed to despondency, sinking into an abyss of anguish.
But that word—loved, not love—was like a slap in the face, awakening her to reality. For Dougal, dying was not just a possibility. It was a certainty. And the thought that he would surrender so easily dissolved her grief like the sun burned away the mist, turning it from weak despair to fiery resolve.
The Fortanachs might be getting away with murdering Laird Gaufrid. She didn’t give a fig about that. But she’d be damned if she’d let Dougal die.
“Don’t you leave me,” she said. “Don’t even think about it.”
His eyes were dimming even as she spoke the words. She shook him back to life.
Her throat clogged with tears as she lectured him with an unshakable confidence that was as full of pretense as her disguises.
“I didn’t follow you all the way from the border—scrambling through the trees, sleeping on the cold ground, battling outlaws—just to lose you on a Westland beach.”
She clenched her trembling jaw.
“I didn’t risk my honor and my name and my neck just so you could slip away.”
She sniffed back a sob.
“I didn’t give up my mask and my virginity and my…my heart, just so you could break your vow.”
He started to fade again, and she shook him once more.
“Listen, mac Darragh. You promised to marry me,” she told him, “and you’re bloody well going to keep that promise. Do you hear me? Do you hear me?”
She wasn’t sure he did. His eyes glazed over, and he sank into darkness.
For Gellir, confined to the buttery, it was torture not knowing what was happening outside. Chivalry demanded he look after the wee lass with the broken nose. But he wasn’t a physician. All he could do was comfort the maid with words of reassurance.
Even that was humiliating, considering he was clad in next to nothing. While his cousins battled the foes outside, he was stuck here, placating an innocent lass whose gaze kept straying to his linen braies.
He cleared his throat. “My brother Brand once broke his nose.”
“He did?” Her eyes dipped to his bare chest.
“Aye,” he said, casually crossing his arms to block her view. “And he’s still the comeliest of all of the Cameliard brothers.”
“How could anyone be as comely as ye?” she gushed.
He glanced at her in surprise.
She blushed and clapped a hand over her mouth. Clearly she hadn’t meant to speak that thought aloud. “I mean…” she said through her fingers, but she couldn’t figure out how to finish the sentence.
He frowned. He knew what she meant. She was blinded by affection. He’d stayed with her in her time of need. And now she saw him as her handsome hero.
She was wrong. He might do the noble thing when it was required. But he was no one’s knight in shining armor. Bloody hell, he wasn’t even wearing armor. Pesky Feiyan had left him with little more than his undergarments. Thank God no one in the clan could see him now.
An instant after he sent up that thanks, his cousin Hallie burst into the buttery like a snowstorm, trailed by her husband Colban and his friend Morgan. Their faces were covered with the sweat of battle. Their swords were flecked with blood.
Gellir immediately covered his manly bits with his hands, emitting a very unmanly gasp. “’Tisn’t what you think,” he tried to explain, suddenly aware of what it looked like.
But they didn’t seem the least bit interested in what he was or wasn’t doing with the redheaded lass with the bloody nose.
“Where are those fiends?” Hallie bit out. “That pair of gutless savages. I saw them come in here.”
“Who?”
“Those two conniving Highland knaves,” she muttered, making Gellir wonder if she’d temporarily forgotten she was married to a Highlander.
“Fergus and Morris,” Colban said.
“The Fortanach brothers?” Merraid asked.
Hallie curled her lip. “Whatever they’re calling themselves, they’re bloody swine. Did they escape through the passage?” She was aware of the secret stairs since Rivenloch had made use of them last night.
Merraid nodded.
Gellir, leaping at the chance to lend aid, replied, “But they said they’d kill Dougal if anyone followed them.”
