Ian followed the women down corridors he had not yet seen, all lit by the flickering light of a candle dancing a frenzy in their haste. Up several flights of stairs, through more corridors, until they arrived at a door Sylvi shoved open with savage anticipation.
Freezing night air rushed in and whisked out the candle flame, plunging them into darkness.
Ian knew without being told who the trap had been set for and why Sylvi was so eager to see for herself. The landing on the castle wall was wide enough to accommodate all five of them with ease.
All four of them.
Isabel apparently hadn’t bothered to join them. Of that, Ian was grateful.
Percy pushed a hand to his shoulder. “Be careful.” She dropped her hand quickly, as if touching him burned her, and pointed to the ground. Large cages lay open, their hungry metal mouths stretched wide, ready to snap closed on an unsuspecting victim.
Ian followed the line of them to the end, near a tower, where one cage was upright and locked with something in it.
Sylvi was already there, peering inside, her body tense. A long, drawn out silence filled the air.
“He’s dead,” she said at last, her voice was flat. She slapped her hand against the wall and gave a loud curse.
Ian made his way carefully around the traps to where Sylvi stood. Blood pooled on the ground, an eerie purple red in the darkness. A majority of the man’s body was in the cage, but a shoulder and an arm dangled out where it had closed over him.
Percy gave a sharp gasp. “It wasn’t supposed to kill him.” She shook her head. “No. No. How could this happen? How could he have died?” She edged closer, peered inside, and gave a strangled cry.
Her shoulders sagged forward and she backed away, still shaking her head. “The locking mechanism,” she said miserably. “It shouldn’t have gone through as blunt as it was, but it went so fast … ”
Ian stepped over the rope of the man’s grappling hook and studied the shadow of the body in the moonlight. Sure enough, a thick bar protruded from the man’s back, dripping with blood.
“Let’s get him out.” Liv pushed around Percy. “You probably don’t want to be here.” She said it in a gentle tone, which spoke of her affection for the other woman.
The man jerked, a reflex of the recent dead.
“I’m so sorry, Sylvi.” Percy’s voice trembled with tears. “I know what this m-meant to you.”
Sylvi’s jaw flexed. “It wasn’t your fault.” She put a gentle hand on Percy’s shoulder.
Tears shone on Percy’s cheeks.
“This was an accident,” Sylvi said. “I know you didn’t mean to kill him. I know how you feel about death.” She pulled Percy close and hugged her in the way a mother does a frightened child. “It’s all right.”
It was so tender and so gentle, Ian wondered if the darkness played tricks on him and only made him think the woman holding Percy was Sylvi.
A wild thought slid into Ian’s mind. What kind of mother would Sylvi be? She was stoic and tough, aye, but he hadn’t seen this softness in her before.
Sylvi released Percy and gently turned her toward the open doorway. “Go on inside. I’ll come speak to you when this is dealt with.”
The body jerked again.
Ian narrowed his eyes against the darkness. A river of blood from the man’s chest shimmered in the meager moonlight down his torso to where his hands were clasped near his belt.
Something hung from his fingertips. The length of his plaid had fallen over whatever it was, blocking it from view. A breath wheezed out from the man and he wrenched his arms up, exposing a crossbow aimed directly at Sylvi.
•••
Sylvi lay on her back, staring up at the star-speckled sky and a mad man.
Ian had lunged at her. Before she could fend him off, he slammed into her and took them both to the ground.
Her body remained still for a moment, frozen in shock, before pain flashed through her body. She shoved his chest, knocking him off her. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
He stumbled back, but maintained his footing. Sylvi sat up to find Liv drawing a hand back from the dead man.
“What is this?” Sylvi demanded. Her voice was hard and loud in the soft night.
“He wasn’t dead.” Liv held up a crossbow. “Ian saved your life.”
Ian shrugged. “Guess we’re even now, aye?”
An arrow jutted from the roof of the southeast tower, directly where her head had been. She stalked over to it and pulled it from where it had stuck fast between the shingles. A fine white strand clung to it like a length of cobweb. She plucked it free and examined it.
Her hair.
The bolt had come that close.
Her heart squeezed with the realization. Ian had saved her life.
“It appears we are even indeed.” She nodded her thanks to Ian and received a wink in return.
The man was impossible.
“The prisoner is still alive then?” Sylvi asked Liv.
The other woman tossed the crossbow on the ground, where it landed with a solid clatter. “Long enough to fire at you. Looks like that was the last of what he had in him.” She pried open the cage, and its great metallic squeal filled the otherwise silent night. The man’s body held for a moment before sliding off the locking mechanism and landing at Liv’s feet in a bloody pile.
Sylvi stared at the body in revulsion. “Long enough to try to kill again. No doubt one of Reginald’s men. All those bastards do is kill.”
She grabbed a handful of his léine and flipped him so he lay on his back. His body was still warm beneath the fabric, and the scent of blood swam around her.
Revulsion threatened to shudder through her, but she pushed her disgust away for the weakness it was. Death always reminded her of her family, of the finality of loss. It was indeed fortunate she did not deal with bodies often.
“Do you know him?” She looked pointedly at Ian.
He knelt beside the body and pulled away a length of dark hair, which had fallen over the man’s face. “Aye. And so do ye. It’s Gregor.”
She jerked her attention to the waxy face, studying it with renewed interest. Ian was right. It was Gregor who lay still at her feet. Regret slashed through her. She had wanted it to be her blade to take his life, not the mistake of a locking mechanism.
“We need to get him inside,” Sylvi said. “Perhaps he has something on him we can use to determine where they are hiding.”
Liv turned away from where she’d been scouting over the wall. “There aren’t more below from what I can see. He must be the only one.”
Disappointment edged into Sylvi’s heart. She hadn’t expected the men to all come together. But it would have been so easy if they had.
She bent and grabbed the body’s feet. “They will once he does not arrive.”
Ian took the dead man’s wrists in his hands, and together they hauled away the body of the man whose mistake had saved Sylvi’s life. The man she had meant to kill.
•••
Gregor’s body had contained nothing helpful.
Sylvi quietly closed the door to Percy’s room and stood for a long moment in the hallway. Percy had been upset at the impact her trap had had on the man, but then she always had been sensitive.
The hallway was dark and cold.
Sylvi was alone.
Her throat tensed in an unexpected knot she could not swallow away.
Gregor’s death had upset her as well. Because she felt nothing. For years she had dreamt of his voice, his hand on her shoulders, his blade at her neck. For years she’d wanted to see him dead.
But his death had been an accident, not fueled by the force of her vengeance. She didn’t get to tell him who she was or see the expression on his face.
She’d whispered it into his ear while he lay stiffly on the floor, but it was not the same. The lack of satisfaction settled in her heart and left it hollow, left her hollow.
She swallowed hard again, but the ache in the back of her throat would not dissipate.
Ian.
Her mind screamed his name. Because of the need to find out any additional information he might have, of course. For no other reason.
She walked briskly. Her footsteps rang out on the naked stonework around her, reminding her how very alone she was.
Her steps hastened toward Ian’s room.
So alone.
She wanted one of his foolish jests to lure a smile to her lips, and his strong arms around her, offering her support he knew she didn’t need.
Didn’t she though?
She wrapped her own arms around herself and squeezed. Thin muscle against thin muscle. No warmth.
No comfort.
But she didn’t seek him for comfort, she reminded herself. She sought him for answers. After all, she’d gone this many years without a man to offer consolation.
Answers—she was going to see him for answers.
She rounded the corner of the hall to his room and stopped.
Isabel stood at his partially open door in a white gown so thin, her flesh was visible beneath. Her hair blazed in the darkness like a vibrant ruby. She did not look behind her when she slipped inside and closed the door.
Sylvi’s heart sucked down into her gut. The lock turned with a heavy click, and she flinched.
She jerked herself against the wall, under a blanket of shadows, lest someone see her and assume her foolish intent.
The tightening of her throat further increased until she wanted nothing more than to scream. To throw her head back and scream and scream and scream until her throat went raw.
Instead she lifted her head and dropped her arms from where they hugged her body for warmth. She spun on her heel and made her way back to her own room. It was a good thing she had been going to his room with the purpose of gleaning information and that she had not truly sought comfort.
She swallowed around the swollen ache in her throat and wished she could make it go away.
If she had gone to Ian for anything more, something of a more personal nature, this slap of rejection might have actually stung.