A soft meow made her turn.
Nyx emerged from under the bed, yellow eyes glowing in the lamplight, her black fur bristling with agitation. The cat always knew when something was wrong.
“Come on, girl,” Leona whispered, scooping up the feline and tucking her into a satchel. “We’re leaving.”
Nyx settled into the bag with surprising compliance, as if she too understood the urgency.
Using the servants’ passages again, Leona made her way through the castle’s hidden veins. She moved carefully now, listening at each corner for sounds of pursuit. But the passages were silent, forgotten by everyone except her and a handful of servants who’d served her father faithfully.
Rufus’s room was in the east tower, far enough from the main keep that she prayed the chaos hadn’t reached him yet. She emerged from a hidden panel in the hallway and moved quickly to his door.
It was already cracked open, and she could see him inside, his ear pressed to the wood, his young face pale with fear. His red hair stuck up at odd angles, as if he’d been running his hands through it.
“Leona?” He spun around as she entered, relief softening his features. “What’s happenin'? I heard the bells and people shoutin', and I thought?—”
“We’re leavin',” she cut in. Her voice came out harsher than she had intended, but there was no time for gentleness. “Right now. Get yer warmest clothes and anything ye cannae live without.”
“But where…” Rufus’s voice cracked. “Where are we goin'?”
“I’ll explain on the way.” Leona grabbed his traveling cloak from the peg by the door and thrust it at him. “Move, Rufus. We daenae have much time.”
For a moment, he just stared at her, and she saw the conflict in his expression. The desire to demand answers. To assert himself as the man he was trying to become. But then he looked at her face, at whatever he saw there, and simply nodded.
“Aye. Give me a moment.”
He moved quickly, stuffing clothes and a few precious belongings into a pack. A wooden sword their father had carved for him when he was seven, a book of Highland tales, and his belt knife.
They slipped back into the passages, moving like ghosts through the castle’s skeleton. Nyx’s head poked out of the satchel, her ears twitching at every sound. The alarm bells had stopped, but voices still echoed through the halls, distant and muffled by stone.
In the lower levels, near the stables, they encountered two guards.
Leona’s heart stopped, her hand flying to the dirk at her belt. But as the men’s faces came into view in the torchlight, she recognized them. Duncan and Gregor. Both grizzled veterans who’d served her father since before she was born.
Duncan’s weathered face contorted with sadness as he took in their traveling cloaks, their packs, the desperate look in Leona’s eyes. He shook his head slowly.
“We heard what happened, me Lady,” he said quietly, his voice rough with emotion. “The whole castle’s heard by now. Keith’s dead, and his brother has sworn to finish what he started.”
“Duncan, I…” Leona’s throat tightened.
“Ye daenae need to explain, lass.” Duncan glanced at Gregor, who nodded. “There are others still loyal to yer faither’s memory. Men who remember what this clan was like before the Gilmores poisoned it with their ambition.”
“We’ve prepared horses for ye,” Gregor added, gesturing toward the stable door. “Provisions, too. Food, water, blankets. Enough to get ye far from here.”
“Go quickly,” Duncan urged. “Before Ragnall organizes a proper search. He’s half-mad with grief right now, but he’ll remember ye soon enough.”
Leona grasped his weathered hand in both of hers. “Thank ye, Duncan. I’ll never forget this. Either of ye.”
“Just stay alive, lass.” Duncan’s eyes were bright with unshed tears. “And come back when the boy’s old enough to claim what’s his. This clan needs a true Gilmore, nae Keith’s mad brother.”
Minutes later, Leona and Rufus were galloping into the night, the horses’ hooves muffled by moss and heather. Nyx was tucked securely in Leona’s saddlebag, only her head visible as shesurveyed their escape with feline disapproval, her yellow eyes glowing in the darkness.
Behind them, torches flared to life along the castle walls. Voices shouted commands. Leona could hear Ragnall’s bellow even from this distance, could imagine him organizing men, horses, a proper pursuit.
But by the time they mounted up, she and Rufus were already gone, swallowed by the darkness and the wild Highland landscape.
The moon was barely a sliver, hidden behind clouds, and the terrain was treacherous. But Leona knew these hills and valleys. Her father had taken her riding since she was old enough to straddle a horse.
They rode hard for an hour before Rufus finally spoke, his voice tight with fear and confusion. “Leona, where are we goin'?”
