Caird did not glance at the doors suddenly opening. He’d tried counting the homes as he killed the soldiers. With his wounds, and Mairead’s vulnerability, he couldn’t fight them.
Every ounce of honour demanded he fight and kill this man. To end this. But he could never risk Mairead. Caird glanced at Mairead; her eyes were wide with fear and confusion. It was a look he never wanted to see.
‘You don’t appear to be puzzled, Colquhoun. You probably guessed my power was more. I am everywhere and where you’d least expect me. You are wise enough to guess my power goes beyond this tiny village. Taking me as a prisoner would never be an option. But I’m sure you’re relieved we are no longer at an impasse.’
Caird didn’t reply.
The Englishman gave an almost imperceptible shrug. ‘I know I am,’ he continued almost glibly. ‘Truly, if you knew how much trouble I have gone to in order to secure the dagger with its treasure again, you’d appreciate my deserving them both.’
He held out his palm to Mairead. ‘Now, I will have that jewel and let them kill you both.’
Dread held Caird still even as every instinct in him roared to slash the Englishman into pieces. ‘These are not men to fight for you.’ Caird did not lower his sword, or his gaze, which took in the village. ‘These are not soldiers.’
The Englishman’s brow lifted. ‘Yet they will kill you if you kill me.’
Caird had no doubt. They were bribed Scots. His heart broke for them, for every Scotsmen, who had lost hope. Hundreds of villages like this covered his precious homeland. He had no doubt this man, or his soldiers, had infected every one of them.
For the first time, he felt some of that hopelessness possess him, too. Then he saw Mairead take a step closer, saw her pull the horse closer as well. She was planning their escape and he felt awe.
The Englishman might have an entire village at his command but he had Mairead. As long as there was breath in his body, he would get them out of here.
Mairead, the Englishman and Caird stood in some nightmare triangle. She held the horse’s reins, but knew it was useless to run. They might have escaped if it had been just the Englishman, but they were surrounded by villagers.
She looked at every single person. They weren’t foes or friends. They were afraid, and so was she. But she was also very, very angry. This madman would never let them go. She welcomed the hornets’ stings inside her.
‘Help us!’ she cried, her voice echoing as if the village was empty. ‘We’re like you. On the other side of his sword! Like. You!’
The Englishman didn’t thrust a blade now, and her brother wasn’t collapsing to the ground, but she felt just as helpless, just as powerless.
Her nightmare. Not over and so much worse.
Desperation tore through Mairead, a longing so deep and jagged, it ripped free. It should have hurt, but the hornets made her too crazed to feel.
Pacing, ignoring Caird’s wariness and the Englishman’s amusement, she kept her eyes on the villagers. She wanted them to look in her eyes and see her desperation, her helplessness and her grief. Everything.
She also demanded they see her anger, her rage and her blinding desire for this nightmare to be done.
Everything!
She wanted this over. From the sickening despair she’d felt when her brother confessed what he’d done to the fatal knowledge he’d gambled away their home. The laird would banish them to a war-torn country with nowhere safe to go. She refused for it to happen.
These villagers thought to fight? She would fight twice as hard. Her brother had paid with his life; she’d paid with her fear, and kidnapping and weeks of desperation. She was owed.
With wide movements, she took another step. She didn’t care that the Englishman and Caird watched her anger. She didn’t care if she looked more maddened than the madman!
‘Are you just going to stand there?’ she called. ‘Watch his sword slice into our hearts? Murder us until we nae longer breathe?’
The elation of finding the jewelled dagger, the spiralling hope then horror as she watched her brother die. His eyes widening in pain before growing distant and shutting for ever. Terrified, but determined to retrieve the dagger, only to enter Caird’s room instead.
Another step. Uneven surface. She looked down to see her left foot on a thrown blade. She didn’t care if her feet took her directly in the path of a sword pointed to her. As long as she held one as well.
She heard voices then, Caird’s, the Englishman’s, but they were distant, too far away to make any difference. She grabbed the blade.
The cold blade’s power felt wonderful.
She smiled, and knew there was a fierce light in her eyes. Raising the blade over her head, she cried, ‘Are you going to follow his orders? How does your Scottish blood flow? For truth or lies? For your families or for this Englishman?’
Remaining still, the villagers stared. She wouldn’t let them see her eyes close never to be opened again. Not if she could help it.
She swung to face Caird and the Englishman. They had shifted. Now, they stood in a crooked triangle, with her at the head. Her dagger pointed at them both.
With an intelligent light in his bulging eyes, the Englishman looked almost gleeful. It didn’t matter. She knew she was more crazed than him and she relished it.
Caird was speaking his words again. Over and over until they resembled: ‘Doona, they’ll kill you, doona, they’ll kill you, they’ll kill you.’
Trying to make her see reason, Colquhoun? Didn’t he know? She’d been born making mistakes. All of it was her fault...and his. Caird, who had thrown a dagger at her, touched her, kidnapped her, kissed her, called her names, apologised, made her care for him.
Caring for this man, knowing there couldn’t be more, shredded her soul. He faced their enemies and risked his life. He could die right in front of her. Just like her brother.
The hornets flared and stung inside her. It was a mistake; she didn’t care for him. She couldn’t care for anyone any more. Not her family, her brother, Caird.
She. Was. Done.
‘You are wrong, Englishman,’ she said. ‘I’ll not be giving you the dagger and jewel.’
Grinning now, the Englishman slipped a hidden blade out of his belt. It was so small, it would only hurt Caird, but it was sharp enough to kill her. She had no skill.
The crooked triangle put Caird too far away. He couldn’t stop them without hurting her and she was counting on his hesitation to save his life.
‘These people owe me a debt. They will kill you, my dear,’ the Englishman answered.
Caird could take the horse and flee before the villagers could react.
‘They may owe you a debt, but by killing my brother, you owed me first,’ she replied.
She was swift. The Englishman was swifter. Caird charged.
But not before the blade cut near her heart and the Englishman gave a harsh cry of pain. Not before she felt the strike of a fist against her temple and heard Caird’s bellow.
Only then did darkness claim her.