However, Armstrong was made of sterner stuff, and he laughed as he motioned Kincaid to lay Eliza on the muddy ground. He did so, and in less than a second he had a knife at Eliza’s throat.
“It’s over, my Laird,” he said scornfully in his high-pitched, crackling voice, spitting on the ground. He nodded towards Eliza. “This one dies and so do you, you Sassenach mongrel!”
Duncan had once told Eliza just how much he hated this man, but that hatred was now multiplied tenfold. “If you touch Eliza with that blade, your life is over,” he growled.
“And who is going to end it?” Armstrong asked scornfully. Beside him, Kincaid grinned and waved his sword. “There are two of us, and we have your lady love here. What are you going to do now?”
Duncan took a step forward. He knew that he could take them on with a pocket knife and finish off both of them, since neither of them was the kind of trained soldier that he was. However, Armstrong’s knife was so close to Eliza’s throat that he needed to move it only a fraction of an inch to murder her.
At that moment, however, the horse who had been standing a few yards away from the carriage let out another shrill neigh, having been startled by an animal.
Without thinking, Kincaid looked around and let his sword hand fall to his side. He turned his head back a moment later, but a split second was long enough for Duncan to close the distance between them, charge forward and drive his sword with all his considerable strength into Kincaid’s heart. He died without a murmur.
Armstrong, seeing his cohort’s bloody end, froze for a second. He raised the knife to swipe it across Eliza’s throat, but the blade of Duncan’s sword pierced his shoulder and he let go of her, exposing his chest. The last thing he saw before his life ended was the blazing rage in Duncan Sinclair’s amber eyes as he plunged the blade into his heart.
Duncan felt a surge of savage satisfaction as he saw the life draining out of the body of his most hated enemy—the man who had killed his cousin, the traitor in his midst—but he had no time to gloat. Eliza was lying on the ground beside the still-twitching corpse, and Duncan lifted her up and carried her away so thatshe would not be contaminated by the blood which was pooling on the ground around it.
He climbed inside the carriage and sat on one of the seats, then drew her limp form onto his lap. She was as pale as milk, and her lips had a bluish tinge. He had seen dead bodies who looked like this, but Eliza could not be dead. He could not, would not believe it.
Duncan placed his fingertips on her heart, dreading what he would find, but he was almost overwhelmed with relief when he felt a heartbeat—not strong, a little unsteady, but definitely there. She was alive.
“Thank god,” he breathed. “Stay with me, Eliza. Don’t leave me now.”
Then he smelled it, a sweet, heavy aroma that struck terror into his heart; the smell of poison. He could not identify which one, but the common ones were all equally toxic.
Then he remembered something. In his haste to leave the castle, he had forgotten to take the antidote with him. It was still in its case in the underground room, and he had been so consumed by his need to find and rescue Eliza that retrieving it had been the last thing on his mind.
Duncan’s heart seemed to drop into his stomach before he remembered that he had supplied Eliza with a bottle of her own that she was meant to always keep with her. Would she still have it, though? Or could she, too, have forgotten it or dropped it?
Frantically, Duncan searched through her cloak, her jacket, her shirt—damn! Why did women have to wear so many layers of clothing? He was about to give up when his searching fingers found a tiny pocket sewn into the seam of her skirt. He withdrew the phial of the antidote that he had given to Eliza as a precaution, hoping against hope that she would never have to use it.
Eliza’s breathing had slowed and become shallower, and her face was now a greyish white as she lay limply in his arms.
“Don’t leave me, Eliza,” Duncan begged. “I can’t live without you. Hold on, lass.” He tilted her chin up and poured the liquid into her mouth, drip by tiny drip, until the bottle was half-empty. He paused for a moment and watched her face for any sign that she had heard him, but there was none. Her eyes were still closed, her face still white, her expression still blank.
Duncan patiently resumed his task, but his heart was sinking. Eliza showed no sign that the antidote was having any effect at all, and Duncan prepared himself for the worst.
Then suddenly, Eliza took in a long, shuddering breath and her eyes fluttered open. They were glazed and unfocused, but she was conscious, and Duncan almost wept for joy. He had begun to give up hope, but hope was never dead, and had come back to strengthen him again. Eliza would live. He knew it because his determination would not let her die.
“Eliza,” he breathed. “Thank heavens! I thought you had left me… never frighten me like that again.”
Eliza made no answer, but the corners of her lips twitched, and Duncan gathered her into his arms, holding her soft body against his own, almost weeping with relief.
After a moment, he lifted her up and looked at the carriage. It would be a more comfortable ride for her, but its wheels were sunk into the mud, and it would take ages to dig them out. Besides, the horse was unhitched. He had no idea why, but no doubt it was for some nefarious reason, he thought.
He managed to mount the horse by standing on the carriage floor and somehow managing to lift them both on at the same time.
Duncan took one last look at the corpses of Kincaid and Armstrong as they rode past them to make absolutely sure they were dead, but there was no doubt about it. Both were lying inpools of blood and their lips were blue. Each of their eyes were wide open and staring at the sky, unblinking and motionless, and there were no signs of breathing.
The world will be better off without you,he thought furiously. He hated the fact that he had ended two lives, but he had acted out of necessity, not spite. It had to be done.
He looked closely at Eliza as they began their journey, noticing that some colour had crept back into her cheeks and lips. It was a good sign.
They rode on as fast as Duncan dared without running the risk of pitching them both into the mud. The distance to the castle was less than a mile, but he felt as though it were a hundred.
As he looked at Eliza, he remembered the first time he had seen her and looked into her defiant dark eyes. Even before their father had made the sisters embarrass themselves in front of him to impress him, he had known which one he would choose. And he had not regretted it for a moment, since he could no longer imagine life without her.
It had become infinitely more eventful—not always in a good way—and yet, he would not change a thing.
