Chapter Twenty-Two

It was five days since Delilah’s departure before the dark shape of a distant horse rider was visible on the thin trail over the hills. The early afternoon sun bathed the path in hues of red and orange, leaving the rider’s shadow long across the landscape.

Kaid’s pulse jumped to attention. He glanced at Claire, but did not share what he’d seen. Not yet.

He’d decided to occupy the girl’s time with education, and the little girl had a square of parchment in front of her with several rows of numbers running down the topmost portion.

She held the quill pinched between her fingers, her tongue pushed out between her lips, and carved a number onto the page. The tip of the quill had long since bent, but Claire had not seemed to notice.

Kaid knew if he told her about the rider now, she might never finish. Certainly, she would be too eager for word of Delilah.

No, it would be better to wait for the rider to come to him.

Kaid would spare her the wait he must endure.

He bent over Claire’s work and praised her. Happiness lit her face.

“My da was good with numbers.” Claire proudly squared her shoulders in the same manner as Delilah.

It was hard to concentrate on the story that followed when all Kaid could think of was news of Delilah.

A knock came at the door and Kaid’s heart hammered in his chest.

Lachlan entered the room, something long and awkwardly bundled in plaid in his arms. “Laird, I have yer father’s sword, as promised.”

Kaid thanked the warrior and hefted the sword’s proffered bulk. Claire looked up at him with her lips pursed. Kaid set the sword on the desk, away from Claire’s work.

He ruffled her hair. “Ye may ask after Lady Elizabeth, and then I want ye to go to the kitchens for a bit while I speak with Lachlan, aye?”

Claire slid obediently from the large chair and went to stand in front of the other man. The size difference between the massive warrior and the fragile child was like comparing a bear to a kitten.

“Lachlan, can ye tell me how Lady Elizabeth fares?” she asked in her fragile voice. The look on her face was so openly hopeful, it near tore into Kaid’s chest. “Does she miss me?”

Lachlan knelt in front of the girl and offered a kind smile. “She’s doing verra well and misses ye terribly.”

Claire beamed up at him with wide, unsuppressed joy and threw her arms around Lachlan’s neck. “Thank ye.”

Lachlan waited until she released him before he rose. Reassured “Elizabeth” was well, Claire strode toward the door, gave them both a shy wave, and slipped out.

Having the child leave the room was like walking from a beam of sunlight into the shadows. Lachlan’s smile melted from his face and was replaced by his more common stern expression.

The time for placating niceties was done.

Lachlan nodded to where the sword was wrapped still on the table. “It looked like yer da’s sword, but I wasna certain.”

Kaid carefully unwound the plaid from the sword to reveal the wide pommel lined with twisted leather and the ornate image of a bull’s head glaring stubbornly at him. The tension in his body washed away. “Aye, it’s my da’s blade.”

He stared down at it for a long moment and saw in his mind the countless times his father had brandished the blade. Something in Kaid’s chest flinched with a deep, unacknowledged hurt.

Kaid had stepped so quickly into the role of laird, and had been so overwhelmed by the loss of so many innocent villagers, he hadn’t allowed himself to truly grieve his father’s death.

The sorrow settled now across his shoulders, heavy and stifling.

He pressed the heels of his palms on either side of the desk’s surface. “And Lady Elizabeth?”

“I delivered her safely to MacKenzie who took her inside,” Lachlan answered. “I heard the servants talking. He intended to wed her the day after she arrived.”

A chill descended over Kaid’s entire body, like he’d been plunged into a loch midwinter. “Today,” he said.

Lachlan nodded. Exhaustion lined his young face, evidence he’d ridden most likely all day and night to arrive with the news. “Aye. It would appear he readily accepted yer offer of peace and is going along with everything as promised.”

Kaid pushed himself off the desk and clapped Lachlan on the shoulder. “Go get yerself some food and rest. Ye’ve done well.”

Without another word, Lachlan turned from the room and left Kaid plunged in a heavy press of silence.

Married.

The word echoed in Kaid’s head until it made his temples throb.

To refrain from marrying would alert MacKenzie to something amiss. Kaid knew Delilah’s determination to do what was necessary to ensure the success of their plan.

There would be nothing Donnan could do to stop it, nor Leasa—nor even Delilah herself.

There was nothing Kaid could do, but stand in agitated helplessness and wait.

He found his gaze wandering toward the open window. The sun had eased higher between the hills.

It would be noon soon.

And perhaps by then, Delilah would be married.

He realized his mistake then. Being two days away from her left time crushing against him. He’d been so damn worried about ruining the fragile thread of peace between himself and MacKenzie, he’d remained home.

He never should have tasked Donnan to go with the ladies. It should have been Kaid. He charged out the door and called to Lachlan. The weary man swayed back to regard him with bloodshot eyes.

Kaid caught up to him and clapped him on the back. “I’ll be gone several days and need ye to mind things here in my absence.”

Lachlan, ever the willing servant who had minded things not only in Kaid’s previous absence, but in his father’s as well, gave a dutiful nod. “But after I’ve slept, aye?”

Relief eased the churning tightness inside Kaid and he laughed. “Aye, after ye’ve slept.”

Then he made his way down to the kitchens to where he’d sent Claire, to tell her he’d be gone a few days—and that he’d be home soon. He couldn’t tell her he intended to bring back Delilah, but by God, he would not return without her.

• • •

There was only so long one could continue to feign sleep.

The anxious pucker of Leasa’s brow told Delilah she’d already pushed far beyond the limit.

Leasa knelt by the bed. “My lady, Laird MacKenzie wishes to see you. He’s…not happy.” Her hair was down and twisted over her right shoulder.

While becoming, the hairstyle was not one she’d ever seen Leasa wear before.

“Your hair looks lovely,” Delilah offered.

Leasa’s cheeks went red, but rather than meet Delilah’s face with her bright, cheerful gaze, the maid glanced away and murmured her thanks.

Delilah’s stomach twisted. Something was amiss.

“Are you ill?” Delilah searched the woman’s face. She did not appear pale. In fact, she was rather flushed.

True, Delilah was faking to avoid the precipitous wedding, but perhaps Leasa actually was sick after the time she’d spent wandering the dark, chilly floor of the castle.

Leasa shook her head with her jaw tucked against the length of her hair.

A tremor rippled down Delilah’s back. “Leasa—” Before the maid could stop her, Delilah reached out and pulled Leasa’s hair back from her face.

Leasa gasped and tried to pull away, but not quickly enough.

Delilah saw the flash of bruised skin, the line of Leasa’s jaw reddened across her cheek and already darkening at the center.

Outrage flashed through Delilah and she flew from the bed. “Did he hit you?” she demanded.

Leasa stumbled in her haste to pull herself back. “He…was just angry.” She crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly looking miserable. “It happens.”

“No.” Delilah shoved her arms into the stiff sleeves of a dressing gown. “It does not happen.”

“No,” Leasa gasped. “My lady—don’t.”

But Delilah was already storming her way to where she knew MacKenzie’s solar to be. Without bothering to knock, she let the force of her rage and anger slam through the door.

MacKenzie stood beside his desk where a tall, thin man with gray hair was bent over a book. Both men jerked their heads up, like two puppets whose cords had been tugged in unison.

MacKenzie glared at Delilah and closed the book the other man had been studying. “Leave me, Duncan.”

The old man nodded once and quit the room with all the decorum of a skulking alley cat.

“I’m glad to see ye’re recovered.” MacKenzie gave her a grin so hard and so collected, it made her want to slap it off his face. “Though I dinna think yer dressing clothes will be a sufficient wedding gown.”

Delilah didn’t dare to step closer to him. Not when everything in her had to fight the urge to strike him, to show him how a woman could hit.

“You struck my maid,” she bit out.

“She was being insolent.” He took three purposeful strides toward her, halving the distance between them. “And now ye’re being insolent.” He considered her a moment. “Perhaps I should strike ye.”

“And perhaps I should strike you.” Delilah spat the words and had to imagine physically pushing down her anger in order to keep a handle on her temper.

MacKenzie laughed—a cold, brittle sound. “I know ye haven’t the strength to hit a man like me.”

He walked the last few steps toward her and the floorboards beneath him gave a long, tired groan. “Why were ye in the garden last night?”

Delilah’s body was alight with the flood of energy and the thrumming pound of her heartbeat, the kind of surge a body gives before a good, ugly fight. It might have been due to him questioning her about the night before, which she’d known would come, or it might have been due to how badly she truly wanted to hit him.

“I sent my maid for food, as I went to bed hungry.” She left the implication of his rudeness hanging in the air.

He gave an indifferent shrug. “Ye could use without an extra meal or two, but that doesna explain why ye were in the garden.”

Delilah cheeks flamed, and she hated the obviousness of her reaction. “My maid did not come back quickly, and I feared she may have gotten turned around, as we’re in a new place. I went to find her.”

His brow rose with exaggerated impatience. “In the garden.”

“I thought I saw something.” It was a flimsy excuse, but it was all she had.

“And did ye?”

There was a large crack running up through the center of the hearth and Delilah’s gaze continued to seek it out the way one’s tongue wanders toward a split lip.

“Did ye see something?” he asked again.

“Did you kill Torra?” Delilah hurled the question at him. It was not diplomatic in the least, but perhaps it would offset his dogged determination to get a clear answer from her when she had none to give.

She did not expect his icy smile to widen, though perhaps she ought to have.

“Torra.” MacKenzie nodded as one does when recalling a fond memory. “I’ve no’ heard her name in years.”

The last word left Delilah’s skin prickling with fear.

“Did you kill her?” she whispered.

He took one more step toward her and stood so close she could punch him. “Ye could say that.” There was an exotic scent to him, some foreign perfume. An expensive one.

All the hope pushing her through the awfulness of the ordeal at Edirdovar Castle, and the difficulty of being away from Kaid and Claire—it all crumbled into dust.

“Go to yer room.” MacKenzie’s gaze scraped over her, abrasive with scrutiny. “Get some sleep and get yerself cleaned up. I’ll no’ wed ye looking like a beggar.”

Delilah turned to go when he reached out and grabbed her arm in a hard grip. She spun toward him and suppressed the urge to drive her elbow into his perfect nose.

He grinned. “I’m going to break ye, Elizabeth. And I’m going to enjoy it.”

Delilah jerked her arm free and left the room before she gave in to the temptation to kill him.

• • •

Delilah regretted having not killed MacKenzie.

She paced her large chamber while Leasa assembled a meager bag of their most precious belongings.

It had been Leasa who had kept Delilah from killing MacKenzie. The guards, who seemed more plentiful by day than they had been by night, would have retaliated for their master’s murder by seeing both Delilah and Leasa dead.

And while the sacrifice would have rid the world of MacKenzie’s cruelty and freed the MacLeod clan to live in peace, Delilah could not allow herself to so endanger Leasa. Not after all the maid had been through.

But without Leasa there, Delilah would be free to kill MacKenzie.

It would be a worthy sacrifice, and she knew she could get another chance.

Her heartbeat quickened with the possibility.

Leasa could leave once the household quieted, something that wouldn’t happen any time soon given the amount of bustling activity echoing from below. But soon all would quiet, and Delilah could pick the flimsy lock and let her maid escape to Donnan.

Delilah would stay, feigning ignorance at her maid’s disappearance. Then, when MacKenzie demanded answers…Her fingers slid over the metal of her blade before letting the edge carefully scrape along her fingertips. Yes, she could still kill him.

And she would.

Footsteps sounded in the hall, near her door.

Leasa slid Delilah a frightened look.

“Hide the bag,” Delilah whispered.

Leasa quickly complied and shoved the bundle into a corner behind the large bed. No sooner had she done so, the clatter of a key seeking purchase in the lock sounded and the great wooden door flew open.

MacKenzie strode in, followed by several guards.

Ten. There were ten guards.

Too many for Delilah to take on herself without risking Leasa.

“It would appear ye’ve lied to me.” MacKenzie motioned toward them, and the guards rushed forward.

Large hands clamped around Delilah’s shoulders. “What is the meaning of this?” she demanded with all the outrage of an offended noble.

“Ye’ve deceived me—and I know this because Lady Elizabeth Seymour just arrived an hour ago.”