Ivor dared to get a little closer, his eyes squinting in the dark as he tried to see where the men were headed. His idea was then confirmed as they stopped at a seemingly inconspicuous space in the imposing dark stone wall.
“Stop!” someone cried out. Ivor started, moving back into the shadows, as a young man brandishing a sword ran out. It was the Laird’s other son, Gregor. The heir.
“Gregor,” Walter said coldly. “Dinnae do this.”
Gregor moved in front of the wall. “Yedinnae do this. Ye ken it’s wrong. Those girls came here to get our protection. They’re family. Are we to betray them?”
“Move,” Walter insisted. “Gregor, move out of the way.”
“Walter, please,” the other man begged. “I ken ye’re a good man. I ken ye dinnae want to hurt them. Please dinnae make me fight ye.”
“Last chance, Gregor,” Walter said. “Dinnae test me.”
Gregor stood defiantly, holding his sword before him. “You wouldnae kill yer own brother,” he said.
“Nay,” Walter agreed. He looked away, nodding to one of the men. “But they would.”
It happened so fast that Ivor had to bite his own cheek to stop himself from crying out. One of MacDuff’s soldiers darted past Walter, running his sword right through Gregor’s throat. The Laird’s son died with a look of surprise and confusion on his face. The blade came out, and he fell to the ground, his eyes still open.
“I warned ye,” Walter said quietly. His voice was raw. “Ye made yer choice, brother.”
He glanced away from the body. “Come, men. It’s time.”
Walter walked forward, placing his hand on the stone. A groove appeared, and with a little effort and help from the men, they cleared a doorway. One by one, the soldiers disappeared inside. Ivor didn’t even hesitate, darting after them.
Inside, the passageway was almost pitch black. Still, Ivor was well-used to listening to the slight sounds of men’s footsteps when he was following people. They reached a staircase, tight and twisting. Ivor followed only a few steps behind the men, staying as quiet as he possibly could. The stairs twisted up and up, around and around the narrow tower in a tight spiral.
Ivor was just beginning to think that there was no end to this when he heard voices ahead.
“I ken ye’re a smart lad, Jonah…” a woman’s voice said, so strikingly familiar that it almost stopped Ivor’s heart then and there. Eithne, his darling, brave Eithne, calmly trying to talk someone down.
So, Jonah wasnae to be trusted the whole time. I feel a fool.
But while he listened, it sounded as though the younger man was slowly starting to come around. He couldn’t make out all of the words, but whatever Eithne was saying, it seemed to be working.
“Witch,” one of the men in front of Ivor snarled. “We need to attack. Now.”
As if the words rallied them, the men all charged forward as one, bursting through the doorway ahead of them. Ivor heard the girls scream, and he longed to help, but he knew he’d do better if he stayed back and watched and got a handle on the situation.
When Ivor was absolutely sure that nobody was looking, he peered through a hole in the tapestry that had settled once again before the door. He had a decent enough view of the room to be horrified by what he saw. Eithne and Myrna both stood there, held by Walter and one of Rory’s soldiers. Both women had knives held to their throats. Another man held Jonah back by the arm. The lad looked struck with guilt and indecision, but when Myrna tried to meet his eyes, he looked away.
Ivor ground his teeth. Everything in him wanted to charge in there and grab the girls. He’d kill every one of those men without a hint of sorrow if it meant their lives or Eithne’s. But she’d taught him patience and kindness, just in the way she lived. Murdering his way through these men wouldn’t help. Information was the only way to save her now.
The real door to the room opened, and a figure entered, though Ivor couldn’t see who it was. However, when he spoke, a cold chill ran down Ivor’s back, like someone had doused his spine with iced water.
“I’m sorry it had to end this way,” said Laird MacDonnell in a voice that sounded genuinely sad. “Siobhan…she was always the strong one. And yet, I was the man. I was the one who had to inherit the Lairdship. And Rory MacDuff took her from me.”
“Uncle,” Myrna gasped, tears running down her face. “Uncle, ye did this? Ye—”
“He gave me these rooms,” Jonah said stiffly. “Once he kent how close we were getting. I was always meant to draw ye both here. He’s been working with MacDuff from the beginning. I dinnae ken what he’s got on him.”
“Me clan is all I have left,” their uncle explained. “Walter, take that knife from yer cousin’s throat. We’ll give them over with dignity. Eithne, look at me.”
Eithne refused to move. Ivor could see the stubborn set to her jaw. He couldn’t help but feel proud of her; even in this most impossible of situations, his beloved Eithne stayed strong.
“I dinnae want ye hurt,” the Laird went on. “I ken that’s hard to believe, but I truly dinnae. But MacDuff threatened me – he threatened me people. I’ve seen him slaughter his own men without a thought. What patience would he have for me innocent peasants and workers?”
Walter snorted. “Ye’re weak, Faither. Ye should have fought him.”
