Deirdre. Jeannie let out a breath she had not realized she held. The Dowager Avrie stiffened at the sight of her grandsons, and Danny, very close to Jeannie’s side, pressed the blade tighter against the old woman’s throat.
“Ask,” Jeannie bade Danny. “Ask if he lives.”
Instead, Danny called, “We have a captive, as you can see, and wish to trade.”
“Grandmother!” called one of the Avries—Trent, Jeannie thought.
Stuart Avrie stepped forward from the small throng, and Deirdre with him. Jeannie tried desperately to count heads in order to weigh their chances. Seven people she could see; no doubt others lurked, unseen. Avrie would send men—probably guards—to surround them.
No matter. Right now Jeannie needed to know only whether Finnan still occupied her world.
Stuart and Deirdre conferred hastily, heads together, and Jeannie felt a flare of satisfaction. They had not expected this. Their quarry caught, they believed themselves in an unassailable position.
“Send out your prisoner,” Danny called, “and we will release ours. Quickly now—’twould be the easiest thing in the world to kill her.”
“Do not listen to him, Stuart,” the Dowager cried in a surprisingly strong voice. “I am ready to die so you may legally claim what we are owed.”
Desperate sweat broke out all over Jeannie’s body. She increased her hold on the old woman—one arm across the bony torso, one hand clutching the woman’s wrists—and felt the Dowager tremble.
“Does he live yet?” she called, and Danny twitched violently. He had made Jeannie promise to let him do all the negotiating. The promise had not endured in the face of her fear.
“Ah, so it is the dutiful widow,” Stuart said cuttingly. “What is your stake in all of this? What will you gain by dying here today?”
“His freedom.”
Shockingly, Deirdre Avrie began to laugh. Her mirth tumbled into the morning, brittle and far too bright. “Ah, so my brother’s charm works still! Foolish woman, do you not know Finnan’s interest has only ever centered around himself? He merely projects an aura of genuine worth. My father believed in it—aye, and my mother also. And now you? Have you bought into his lies, as well?”
“He owns my loyalty,” Jeannie answered. And her heart.
“Ah, and so the three of you—ragged remnants of his adoring many—come here, do you, to succor him?” A terrible smile twisted Deirdre’s lips. “How very touching.”
“Just haul him out here,” Danny sounded shaken, “and let this be done.”
“Done?” Stuart Avrie rejoined. “This will not be done until the blood of the bastard in there”—he jerked his head at the ruin at his back—“wets these stones.”
Jeannie nearly fell down, so great was her relief. He lived. They had not slain him during the endless, terrible night.
“Do no’ be a fool, man,” Danny called to Stuart. “Do you want to see your grandmother dead?”
Again Stuart and Deirdre conferred. Jeannie adjusted her grip on her captive; the old woman turned her head and looked into Jeannie’s face.
“There is something you do not know,” she said in a low voice. “My grandsons’ cause is just. They have a right to this place, as much right as Finnan MacAllister.” She gave a tight smile, and her eyes grew frenetic. “My son Gregor, you see, was no Avrie but a MacAllister born. Finnan’s grandfather and I were lovers. Och, do no’ look so shocked. ’Twas never that weak milksop wife of his he loved, but me. And he promised Gregor would have a fair share of all he owned. He lied, but Gregor’s sons will have it now, even if it costs my life.”
Cousins. They were all cousins. Jeannie’s throat went dry, making it difficult to speak. “Then convince them to let Finnan go and talk it out amongst you. They have no choice but to make this exchange.”
Stuart and Deirdre seemed to arrive at the same conclusion. Concern marked Stuart’s handsome face; Deirdre’s looked dark with anger. Trent stepped up, arguing hard in his brother’s ear. Jeannie’s poor, abused heart rose on a wave of genuine hope. Of course they would not take a chance with the old woman’s life. They could do nothing but release Finnan. She need only find a means to get him safe away, after.
“Very well,” Stuart called, and the Dowager Avrie jerked again, violently, in Jeannie’s hands.
“Nay, Grandson—do not! Fight, fight for the land, for what is yours by birthright. Fight to the end and avenge your father!”
Without warning, the old woman leaped forward, tearing herself from Jeannie’s grip and into the blade Danny held against her throat. It happened so swiftly Jeannie could barely react; before she grasped what happened, the Dowager’s warm blood streamed down over her hands.
Someone screamed; it took Jeannie an instant to realize the sound came from Aggie. The Dowager sagged in Jeannie’s arms even as the life passed from her frail body. The onlookers bellowed—all but Deirdre, who smiled the sort of smile that might grace the countenance of the devil’s wife.
The bright morning wavered around Jeannie. She released the Dowager’s corpse, which slid into a heap at her feet. For an instant she feared she must tumble down also, impaled on the sharp blade of despair.
Only one sound broke the horrified silence. “Seize them,” Deirdre said.
