She squeezed his strong, calloused hands. “The babies are safe. In the garden with Greer and Eufamie.”
“What then?” Jaw clenched and eyes flashing, he drew her closer. “Ye look shaken.”
Any other time, she would have teased him about never telling a woman such a thing, but not today. She knew she looked unraveled. “In Abby’s workroom, after she took care of my shoulder, I thought—.”
A shout cut her off.
“What the devil?” Grant charged back to the narrow strip of grass between the bell tower and the skirting wall.
“My Malcolm!” Abby rushed after him.
Too stunned to move, Lyla remained rooted to the spot. Malcolm lay on the ground, holding his head, surrounded by rubble. A flicker of movement paired with the grating sound of more stones crumbling pulled her gaze to the top of the bell tower. A shadowy silhouette, like a dark cloud or the blackness of sooty smoke, moved with intent and purpose in one of the arched openings surrounding the bell. The shelf of carefully shaped stones at the base of the arch shifted and wiggled free, then fell.
“Look out!” Lyla ran to the patch of grass, grabbed Grant’s sleeve and her sister’s skirts, and yanked them backward. “Get away! More is coming.”
All eyes lifted to the top of the tower. A collective gasp filled the air as more masonry broke free. Everyone scattered, and with Grant’s help, Malcolm rolled to safety. The chunks of granite crashed onto the new bench, splintering it into shards only fit for the fire.
“I am ending this!” Grant unsheathed his dagger, shouldered open the tower door, and disappeared inside.
Lyla chased after him. “Grant! No!” He could not do this. “You can’t fight this thing with a knife!”
“Get out, Lyla.” Crouched in readiness, he circled the bell rope while squinting upward. “It isna safe for ye. Now go!”
“I will not leave you in here to die. We fight this thing together. Understand?” She started up the wooden staircase leading to the bell.
Grant rushed after her, wrapped an arm around her waist, and lifted her off her feet. “Ye will leave here now. I will not have ye hurt.” With her tucked against his side, he carted her back down the steps and took her outside. After sheathing his dagger, he set her feet to the ground and took hold of her shoulders. “I cannot have ye hurt. Understand that, ye ken?”
The fierceness of his love for her shone in his eyes, but fear shadowed them, too. She felt his pleading in the way he squeezed her shoulders. “I can’t have you hurt either,” she said. “I needyouto understand that, too.” She clutched the throat of his léine in both hands. “You made me love you. Do not break my heart by sacrificing yourself because of misplaced guilt. Please.”
His eyes flexed to narrow slits, then relaxed. “Go to the bairns, m’love. Please.”
“Only if you will come with me.” She hiked her chin to the defiant angle she knew he hated. “If you go back in there, I will follow, and if you carry me back outside, I will follow you again.” She touched his face, rubbing her palm against the stubble of his jaw, the scratchiness she loved. “Please. I know you’re filled with bloodlust to protect us all, but you never rush into a battle without preparing first. Never.”
His frustration touched her soul and grabbed her heart. And his fear. The vulnerability he would show no one else made her eyes burn with tears she must never cry. His strength depended on her just as her strength depended on him. “We will do this together,” she whispered. “Together, we are stronger.”
He caught her to his chest and held her, burying his face in her hair. “I love ye, my own,” he rasped. “So much it sometimes pains me.”
She hugged him tighter. “Good. Because I love you the same.”
Ever so gently, he eased back and smiled down at her. “Let us check on Malcolm, then plan our battle, aye?”
“Aye.”
*
“We shouldha buriedher on hallowed ground.” Grant leveled the accusation at Father Rubric, furious that he had bent to the holy man’s edict.
“She took her own life.” The priest lifted a hand to stave off further argument. “Murderers, even those who murder themselves, are not to be buried in the kirkyard. Consecrated ground is for the honest and upright.”
“By that reasoning, every warrior in this keep, including m’self, willna be welcome in the kirkyard we’ve defended all our lives.”
“That is different. Ye fight for God, country, and yer clan. Ye kill for the right and the just, not because ye wish to, but because ye must.” The stern-faced man sat taller, refusing to back down.
“Me thinks yerself and God split hairs.” Grant shoved up from his seat, unable to sit any longer.
Father Rubric rested his folded hands on the table. “’Tis God’s word. Besides, the woman took her life going on four years ago. Why would her lost soul wait ’til now to make its presence known?”
“Where is her grave?” Lyla asked.
