A man lay dead on the ground, a pool of blood spreading around him as a grisly ink spill poured over the ground in the night. A sword hung loosely from the hands of Eithne’s sister, covered in that same blood. Two soldiers had Myrna while a third was kneeling by the body, unsuccessfully checking for signs of life.
The last of the soldiers were out cold on the ground, but Eithne could see his chest fluttering. A rock lay a little away from his head, a little blood matting that as well. It was a grisly scene. Eithne expected bile to rise in her throat, but instead, she just stared, feeling almost nothing at all.
The soldier who had been with Eithne demanded, “What in the name of the wee men is going on here?!”
The man kneeling next to the body stood, fury in his eyes. “She murdered him!”
“Myrna did?” Eithne asked, dazed. She glanced down at the body again, and now it was apparent that her cousin, the traitor, now lay dead.
Me uncle now has nae sons. He’s alone. Is this his punishment? Is it nae too much?
“I did,” Myrna said. Her voice wasn’t frightened anymore. It was cold, hard – terrifying. “He and his wee friend there decided they’d sample the goods since Rory doesnae have any use for me. I hit the first with a rock and took his sword, and then I ran it through Walter before these men had a clue what was happening.”
“And now ye’ll die, too,” the angry soldier snarled and launched himself forward.
“Wait!” Eithne cried. She grabbed at the belt of the soldier next to her, managing successfully to take his dirk and hold it up, sharp blade shining. The soldier flinched, obviously moving away from an attack.
But ye arenae me target.
She held the dirk to her own throat. “Let her go,” she said.
“She’s bluffing,” one of the soldiers growled. “She thinks we’re all like Jonah Reilly, threatened into this. We arenae, girlie. We’re just loyal to our Laird. I dinnae ken if they had a concept of loyalty in Kinnear, but this is what it looks like.”
Myrna met Eithne’s eyes. A look of understanding passed between them. Myrna understood the message that Eithne was trying to send; Rory wanted Eithne alive. If they hurt her sister, she’d take herself out of the equation.
“She’s not,” Myrna said quietly. “She’d rather die and see ye all killed than live after ye’ve hurt me.”
“It’s up to ye,” Eithne said sharply. “Let her go, or face Rory with me body.”
She tried not to let her hand tremble as she held the point of the dirk at her throat. If she had to do it, she would, and with no hesitation whatsoever.
The soldiers stood as if frozen, then one of Myrna’s captors scowled.
Eithne tightened her grip on her knife. It would be painful. It might be messy. But at least now she’d go as a free woman.
“Tie them to that tree,” the soldier who’d been with Eithne grunted. “Move the body. Check that idiot’s head. I’m gonnae get some more firewood.”
Eithne dropped the dagger with a clatter, the relief pounding through her veins so strong that she almost fell over with it. But she kept her expression neutral as the men dragged her and Myrna to a tree and bound them to it, painfully tightening their bonds to prevent even the slightest chance of escape.
“Ye got lucky,” one of them hissed at the two girls. “But yer luck will run out.”
“I hope ye’re there when it does,” Eithne said, in a voice as sweet as poison.
When the men had all left to go back to their camp tasks, leaving the sisters alone, Myrna began to cry. It was uncomfortable, but Eithne was able to embrace her sister.
“I…I killed him,” Myrna gasped. “I really did, I—I didnae even ken what I was doing. Me own cousin, Eithne, and he’s dead because of me.”
“Nay, he’s dead because of himself,” Eithne said firmly. “Yer only crime was defending yerself against a few monsters. Dinnae feel guilty. Our cousin Walter was gone long before ye killed this monster left behind.”
“How many more?” Myrna asked tearfully. “How many more lives are gonnae be lost because of Rory MacDuff’s mad crusade? How many of his own men will he sacrifice before we’re free of him for good?”
Eithne was silent for a long, long time. She watched as Walter’s body was taken off somewhere into the woods. She wasn’t sure if they’d bury it or just leave it for the creatures of the forest. The unconscious man was blearily awake, and another soldier was helping him bind his head.
A little later, the firewood soldier returned. A roaring fire was set up in the middle of the clearing, and the five living men gathered around it for warmth. They unpacked bedrolls, arranging them conspicuously to avoid the bloodstain they’d hastily covered in leaves. They cooked their supplies over the fire, eating together, offering nothing to the girls except a sip of water – presumably to keep them alive.
Then, one by one, the soldiers fell asleep.
They look warm and comfortable for willing companions to a monster.
