Broken Wishes, page 12
She had to do something, but what? She peeked out from beside the tree. Two guards held Lyall by the arms. Gavran still sat, bound, on the ground next to the stream where he’d been before she left, his hands tied. Her shoulders slumped. At least he was still alive.
Her bow and arrows hung from her saddle. If she could get to them, she’d have some leverage at least.
She slipped slowly from behind the elm and edged along the clearing, testing each step before she placed her full weight. One snapped branch could be all it took to give her away.
The guard hauled Lyall closer to Hugh.
Lyall had lost his glasses somewhere. “On whose authority are you holding me?” Lyall’s voice was more forceful than she’d ever heard it before. “I have permission from Lord MacDonald and Lord MacKinnon to travel freely anywhere on their half of the isle.”
Hugh drew a sgian from his belt. The sunlight through the branches glinted off its edge. “You’re in the company of a criminal.”
Liar! Ceana wanted to shout. She bit down hard on her lip and kept moving instead. Gavran hadn’t even been accused of anything. She was the only one who’d been hauled before Lord MacDonald because two men mistakenly thought she’d started a fire.
Not that she should have expected Hugh to care about the truth.
Hugh shifted his grip on the sgian. The move wasn’t necessarily threatening. More like he was getting a better grip. “He doesn’t travel alone. Tell me where the girl is, and I’ll let you go.”
A few more feet and she’d be there. She’d also be directly in Hugh’s line of sight. Hopefully Lyall and the guard’s bodies, along with her horse’s flank, would hide her.
Was she an eejit for thinking she could do any good? It’d still be three to one, with Lyall unarmed and Gavran bound. She wouldn’t be able to draw and shoot fast enough to take down all three before they reached her. She glanced up at the branches above her. She’d need the high ground to even have a chance of making her threat count.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Lyall’s tone was so calm it was almost convincing. “This man is my patient. I’ve had to restrain him for his own good. His condition causes unpredictable muscle spasms.”
Ceana reached the horses and sent up a prayer. Her hands shook, and the ties slipped from her fingers. She couldn’t afford to panic now. She imagined her heart slowing in her chest. The shaking in her fingers eased. The bow and dorlochis of arrows came free.
She eased backward again one step at a time.
“This man is a known traitor and MacLeod sympathizer. I banished him from MacDonald lands on pain of death.”
Ceana tripped and caught herself on a trunk, barely avoiding crashing down. Cold swept through her body, followed by a rush of heat. Hugh couldn’t possibly mean what that sounded like. They hadn’t been evicted from MacDonald lands on pain of death. Hugh had tossed them from Duntulm Castle, nothing more. When she’d been brought back by the men who thought she’d maliciously started a fire, the result had been a sentence of two weeks in the dungeons. Without evidence, Hugh hadn’t been able to force Ihon’s hand to anything more severe, not even the stocks.
But Ihon had been there to stop him. Here, with only two guards who were likely on Hugh’s payroll, Hugh could make up any story that suited him.
“If you tell me where the girl is”—Hugh’s voice had moved away from where she’d heard it before—“I’ll spare your life. Otherwise, I’ll have to execute you along with this traitor as a conspirator.”
A shiver ran down her spine. She had to get up a tree where she’d be able to see what was happening. A tree that they couldn’t easily climb up after her to pull her down.
A young oak stood by the edge of the clearing. Its first branch would require her to jump slightly, but it was thin enough that it likely wouldn’t support the weight of a man in armor who tried to follow. None of them looked to have bows, only swords and knives. If she could get up, they wouldn’t be able to get her down without cutting the tree out from under her.
She looped the bow and dorlochis strap over her shoulder, leaped, grabbed the branch, and pulled herself up, careful not to tangle her skirts. She scrambled up to a higher branch and turned to face the clearing.
Lyall struggled against his guards, kicking at them, twisting to try to break free. “You can’t do this. He’s no criminal.” His words were nearly a scream.
Her blood turned to stone and threatened to topple her from the tree. Her gaze snapped to Gavran.
Hugh straddled him on the ground. One of Gavran’s eyes was red and slightly swollen, as if Hugh had punched him. Gavran’s bound hands were up, fighting Hugh for control of the sgian. Blood that could have belonged to either of them ran down from their clasped hands.
Ceana bit back a curse. Hugh meant to kill him. Right here.
He wouldn’t let Lyall live, either, no matter what he’d claimed. He couldn’t have a witness contradicting his story. Perhaps he wouldn’t even tell Lord MacDonald that he’d found them. He’d simply bury their bodies in the woods, and no one would know what happened to them.
She nocked an arrow and sighted along the shaft. Could she hit his arm? Give Gavran an advantage? If she aimed for his arm, though, she could as easily hit Gavran. One shift of Hugh’s weight and Gavran would be the one whose body came into the path of the arrow.
Her breathing went shallow. She’d need to aim for Hugh’s body, then. He was angled slightly toward her. His chest was the biggest target.
Only then, she might kill him instead of wounding him. Her arrow could pierce his heart or his lung.
Time slowed strangely, as if everyone was barely moving. She’d hunted squirrels and rabbits, even the occasional goose. Transferring those skills to shooting the nuckalevee had seemed so natural and easy. But this was different. This was a man.
An evil man. A man who was willing to evict an orphaned child. A man who’d plotted to kill Salome and whose existence was a threat to Salome’s unborn child. A man who was trying to kill Gavran.
Not a good man, as Lyall had said about Lord MacKinnon, but certainly a great one.
Lord MacDonald’s heir. One of the greatest men on the isle. A man whose death might draw the banshee.
She drew a breath deep into her belly. Exhaled. Pulled back and let the arrow fly.
It slammed into Hugh’s throat, high of her target, with a meaty thwack.
Hugh toppled sideways, toward the edge of the water. Gavran rolled with him, as if he’d had such a tight hold on Hugh’s hands that Hugh’s weight pulled him sideways. Hugh made an awful gurgling noise, then went silent.
One of the guards struggling with Lyall dropped his grasp on Lyall’s arm and spun in her direction.
They could likely overwhelm them in a fight now, but the banshee would be here any second. The guards needed to be gone before then. They’d miss their chance if they were fighting Hugh’s lackeys when the banshee showed up.
“Leave.” Her voice sounded squeaky and high-pitched to her own ears, but if the guards’ open-mouthed expression was anything to go by, it didn’t sound weak to them. “Otherwise, you’re next.”
The guard who’d dropped Lyall’s arm sprinted from the clearing. She nocked another arrow and trained it on the second guard. Her hands shook. She’d never be able to shoot him without risking Lyall. She wouldn’t be able to shoot him regardless.
The second guard backed up a step, glanced between the three of them, and then followed on the heels of the first.
Air rushed from her lungs, and she rested her cheek against the rough bark of the tree’s trunk. The distinctive sound of her arrow sinking into Hugh’s flesh played in her mind, and the back of her throat turned hot.
What had she done?
The world around her wavered. She’d killed him. Had she killed him?
She half fell, half climbed down the tree. Sometime after the second guard ran, she must have dropped her bow and the dorlochis of arrows because they weren’t in her hands anymore.
She stumbled into the clearing and towards where Lyall and Gavran leaned over Hugh. “Is he…?”
Lyall looked back over his shoulder and nodded. “We can’t stay here. They’ll be back with more guards.”
Her legs swayed strangely. She should sit, shouldn’t she? Nay, the banshee would be arriving any time now. She had to be able to get between her and the water. They wouldn’t get another chance. “We can’t leave until she comes.”
Lyall washed his hands in the stream, Hugh’s blood swirling away like it’d never been there. The blood wouldn’t wash away from her hands so easily.
Lyall wiped his clean hands on his trews. “Until who comes? Lady MacDonald won’t ride out here. They’ll be carrying the story of murder and treachery.”
“Not Lady MacDonald.” Gavran flopped down onto his backside, his legs stretched out in front of him. He rested his still-bound, blood-covered hands in his lap. “The banshee.”
Lyall’s gaze bounced to Hugh’s body and away again. “Aye. I suppose so.”
He backed slowly away from the water and over to the horses. He started checking their ties.
The stream was shallow, but it was running water. Salome said that’s what they’d need. And there couldn’t be another source closer. One of Hugh’s feet broke the surface.
“Shouldn’t she have come by now?” Gavran’s voice was soft and shook on the end.
She forced her gaze away from the shoe and onto Gavran’s face. The eye where Hugh had hit him had swollen almost shut. “She’ll be here. It’ll be like the nuckalevee. We’ll blink and she’ll be here. Any moment now.”
CHAPTER 15
Lyall paced in front of them. “We can’t wait any longer. They’ve easily had time to return to Duntulm Castle by now.”
Ceana forced her gaze away from the stream and onto Lyall. It was like pulling out a tooth to take her eyes off where the banshee was supposed to be.
Lyall had spoken sense. Waiting any longer meant they could be caught by whatever force returned from the castle. She was a murderer now. But if they left, she’d have to admit that the banshee wasn’t coming. As long as she still sat here, she could still pretend. A child’s game of make-believe.
Gavran shifted closer to her. “We’ll stay here, but you should go, Lyall. The people on these lands need their physician.”
True enough. Lyall didn’t need to stay. This hadn’t been his battle to begin with. He stood to gain nothing from waiting around for a banshee who clearly wasn’t coming. From waiting around even if the banshee was coming. “Gavran’s right. You’ve done more for us already than we deserved.”
Lyall stopped in front of them. His glasses sat crooked on his nose, bent when the guards had knocked them from his face. “Are you certain? Lady MacDonald asked me to provide whatever aid you needed. She said you’d earned all our loyalty.”
Ceana’s throat tightened. Salome was lost to her now. Those guards would call her out as a murderer should she ever dare to set foot within the castle walls.
Pressure built behind her eyes, and she clenched her teeth. Wasn’t it enough that she was losing Gavran? She had to lose her only other friend in the world at the same time?
This must be what Job felt like when his children perished and he cried out to God for an explanation. What he felt like when he demanded to know the reason for his suffering.
But Job’s suffering hadn’t been meaningless. God was working a greater purpose that Job couldn’t see.
Was she merely standing in the middle of her suffering now, unable to see past her own pain, like Job? Or had she brought this all on herself? Job had been innocent. It didn’t seem like she was. Not with Gavran wasting away beside her and Hugh dead by the water’s edge. Did she even have the right to ask for compassion from the Lord with all she’d done, both during and since the wishes?
She licked her dry lips. “I’m certain. Go.”
Lyall pushed at his glasses, but they fell back to their awkward angle as soon as his hand left their wire rim. He nodded slowly and turned away.
Ceana moved toward Gavran until their arms touched. There wasn’t anything left to say.
Not unless she wanted to tell him how much she loved him. How much she’d always loved him. How much she always would love him.
But she couldn’t say any of that. It wouldn’t help him in any way, and it’d only hurt her, because any response he made wouldn’t be given freely. Anything he said now would be born of the nuckalevee venom and the influence her emotions had on him.
She slid her palm between his two bound hands instead and watched the water part over and around the rocks in the stream.
Lyall mounted his horse and rode off, leaving them theirs, likely in the hope that they’d still change their minds. At least with Hugh gone, if they were taken in as criminals, she could plead for Gavran’s innocence. He hadn’t harmed anyone. He should be allowed to live his final days free and at peace.
And once he was gone, she wouldn’t care if she had to spend the rest of her days in a dungeon or if they hung her for her crime.
Gavran rubbed his fingers up and down along hers. “She’s not coming.”
She couldn’t say it. Wouldn’t agree with him. Wouldn’t admit he was going to die. “We don’t know that.”
Gavran tugged her hands slightly. She looked at him.
His eyes were the blue of the lochs, his pupils a normal size. “She’s not coming. I think we got it wrong again.”
Had Hugh’s beating addled his brain? “That’s not possible. We know the banshee comes out for grief. That has to be what she feeds on.”
“Aye, grief. I’ve been feeling your grief over my death like a physical thing. It sits on my chest until I’m not sure my lungs will gather in air.” Gavran pulled their entwined hands into his chest, over his heart. “But did you feel any grief when Hugh died? Did anyone?”
Ceana shifted her gaze to the side, in the opposite direction from Hugh. So they needed a good lord or his heir to die? She certainly wasn’t killing Lord MacDonald. “We’d need to leave Skye to find a decent lord near death already. There’s not time.”
Gavran brought her hand up to his lips and kissed her fingertips. Ripples shot up her arm and into her stomach. “We allowed tradition to blind us about where the most grief would lie. Think on it. I’d grieve far less for Lady MacDonald than I would for you. We don’t grieve for those who lord it over us. We grieve for those we love.”
The ripples turned to an ache—good at first, like when she’d smiled for so long her cheeks could stand no more, and then withering away and leaving only pain in its place.
Gavran had near enough said he loved her, but nothing he felt, nothing he did, could be trusted. The nuckalevee’s poison coursed through his veins and made him impressionable to every emotion and desire around him. Especially hers. If he thought he loved her now, it was only because she loved him. She mistook her love for him as love he held for her.
She had to stay focused or her heart might never recover, even if Gavran—by some miracle—did.
A miracle. Lyall’s words about the ailing little boy he’d tended before they left for Dun Ringall came flooding back to her. The woman’s desperate attempt to cling to hope. The deep fear in her eyes.
If that little boy still lived, there’d be no greater moment of grief than at his passing. Losing a child was losing part of your future, all the years together that you thought you’d have. That realization that you’d face every trouble that could come with joy as long as you still had them. It was feeling like you’d failed them somehow because you were supposed to take care of them. It was a grief so deep and nuanced that there was no bottom. You capped the well so that you wouldn’t fall in every time you passed by, but you couldn’t drain its depths no matter how much time passed.
Aye, that was the kind of grief a monster like the banshee would feed on like a delicacy.
She rose to her feet, dragging Gavran with her. They might already be too late, but they had to try. “Come on. We need to reach the little boy we visited while he still lives. Lyall said he didn’t have long.”
CHAPTER 16
The woman’s neatly tended garden had more weeds in it than when they’d left five days before, shooting up around the turnips, cabbages, and potato sprouts. A sign of her grief at the passing of her child already, or a sign that she was spending all her time trying to save him? Ceana stooped on her way by and pulled a few of the bigger ones out for the woman.
Gavran knocked on the door. She’d had to untie his hands, so as not to scare the woman when they asked after her son. Gavran had promised to tell her if he needed to be bound again. Hopefully he’d be able to keep that promise through the fog of the nuckalevee venom.
The woman opened the door. Her face was haggard, like clothes hanging off a body that’d lost too much weight too fast.
She blinked at them, then her expression lifted. She leaned around Gavran. “Has the physician returned? Is he here?”
Ceana licked her lips. The boy clearly still lived, then. That was all they really needed to know. They could camp by the stream and wait. Lyall had said it’d be a miracle if he survived even this long.
But it’d be better if they got an idea of how long he might have left. She couldn’t leave Gavran on watch and trust that he wouldn’t do something reckless while she slept. If the boy looked like he might last another day, she could tie Gavran to a tree and catch a few hours of rest before she needed to be ready for the banshee’s arrival.
She stepped up next to Gavran. “He’s not here. He sent us to check on you and your boy.”
The woman’s shoulders slumped. “Come through, then.” She stepped back out of the doorway. “I’m called Elspeth. My grandson is Arran.”
