Murdock had already spotted him, was already moving through the crowd with that predatory grace.
Leona felt her stomach drop. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
She pushed through the gathering crowd, needing to be closer, needing to hear whatever news had driven a guard to ride so hard in the dark.
By the time she reached them, Murdock was gripping the guard’s shoulder. “What happened? What’s wrong?”
The guard’s eyes darted to Leona, then back to Murdock. He hesitated, clearly uncertain whether to speak in front of her.
“Say it,” Murdock commanded. “Whatever it is, say it now.”
The guard swallowed hard. “A messenger came to the castle. From Clan Gilmore. He carried a letter addressed to the council.” He pulled a folded parchment from his tunic, the wax seal already broken. “Ragnall Gilmore has sent word that yer betrothal is fake.”
The world tilted beneath Leona’s feet.
“What?” Murdock’s voice was deadly quiet.
“He claims Lady Leona is promised to him, that she’s his betrothed. He says that she’s a liar and a traitor who’s deceived ye.” The guard’s hands shook as he held out the letter. “He demands that she return within a week, or he’ll consider it an act of war.”
Silence fell over the square. Those close enough to have heard gasped, whispers spreading through the crowd like wildfire.
Leona felt dozens of eyes turn toward her, felt the weight of their judgment, their suspicion. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps.
This was it. The end of the fragile peace she’d found here. The end of feeling safe, feeling wanted, feeling like she might finally have a place to belong.
“That’s why his men were here,” she whispered, the pieces falling into place with sickening clarity. “They were deliverin' the message. Comin' to see if it was true.”
And Murdock had killed them. Had spilled blood to protect her, and now his reward was the threat of war.
Murdock took the letter, his jaw clenched so tight she could see the muscle jumping beneath his skin. He scanned its contents, and with each line, his expression grew darker.
“This is…” He looked up at her, and the carefully blank mask he wore told her everything she needed to know.
He was calculating. Weighing. Deciding whether she was worth a war.
And why would she be? They barely knew each other. This betrothal was fake, just a convenience. He had his clan to think of, his daughter, his people. She was nothing compared to them.
“Thank ye for bringin' this to me attention,” Murdock said to the guard, his voice giving nothing away. “Return to the castle. Tell the council I’ll address this matter in the mornin'.”
The guard bowed and departed, leaving them standing in the center of the square, with the entire village watching.
Leona forced herself to straighten her spine, to lift her chin despite the humiliation burning through her. She wouldn’t cower. Wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing her break.
“Thank ye,” she said quietly, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. “For yer help, me Laird. For the protection ye’ve given me these past days. But ye daenae have to do anything more.”
Murdock’s eyes snapped to hers.
“I’ll go,” she continued, each word like glass in her throat. “I’ll return to Ragnall. I willnae bring a war to people who’ve been kind to me. Who’ve welcomed me into their homes and their hearts. They daenae deserve to suffer because of me troubles.”
“Leona,” Murdock started, but she shook her head.
“Please. I want to go back to the castle.” The words came out more forceful than she had intended. She couldn’t do this here, couldn’t have this conversation with everyone watching. “Now.”
Something flickered in his expression, too quick to read. Hurt, perhaps. Or relief that she was making this easy for him.
He nodded once, sharp and final. “As ye wish.”
The ride back to Ainsley Castle was the longest of Leona’s life.
