“We cannae have the wedding if ye daenae cross this bridge.”
It worked.
She peeked over the edge, her eyebrows knitted as if making calculations. Then, gingerly, she put one foot on the slate, followed by the other. Darragh felt his heart lurch in his throatwhen she wobbled. She spread out her arms, balancing herself. He tried to hide his panic by smiling encouragingly. If she fell, he would never make it in time to catch her. She refused to lift her eyes from her feet.
“Ye can do it,” he cheered.
It was easy to count her steps, as his heart had slowed to an almost death-inducing speed.
It took her twelve hesitant steps to reach the other side. His heart had beaten only twelve times in a quarter of an hour, and it was beginning to take a toll on him. He tried to stay calm, reassuring himself that the worst had passed and only magnificence lay ahead.
She reached out her hand to him, wanting him to help her down, when suddenly an arrow flew over his shoulder and hit the hill behind him.
He was quick to act. He grabbed her and crossed the incline. Behind the hill was a dilapidated stone fence. She would be safe there while he fended off the attacker. He used the trees as a cover until she was safely hidden away. The fence was still intact. It did not rise high, but was enough to shield someone with her height.
She was breathing hard and trembling, her hand covering her mouth to stifle any sound. Darragh unsheathed his sword in one swift motion. He liked the weight in his hand, but could not revel in it while Talia was in danger.
The attacker had intended to kill him with that shot. They were out in the open, and still he had missed. Darragh could only conclude that he was a poor shot.
He could stand there and draw out the man. Knowing his poor aim, he could also cross the distance and slay him before he could land any fatal blows.
But before he could rise, Talia gripped his arm. Realization hit him hard. Such a plan was for when he was fighting alone, not when he had someone else to protect.
He could wait and listen for his footsteps? The attacker would surely be tempted to close the distance if they didn’t come out of hiding soon. But they could be waiting forever. Who knows what plans the man had?
The longer they waited, the more vulnerable they were. No matter how bad a shot the attacker was, if he managed to ambush them at a close distance, he would make sure not to miss.
“Hold this.” Darragh retrieved a small knife from his boot and pressed it into Talia’s hand, closing her fingers around it when she looked up at him aghast. “I promise that ye willnae have to use it. Nay matter what, daenae give up yer position, do ye understand?”
She nodded.
Rising, he pressed the flat side of his sword to his forehead, which was the most vulnerable spot. His heart was shielded by his brooch; it would take the luck of Apollo himself to land an arrow there.
He moved away from Talia. The farther he was, the better he could conceal her. The attacker had to be the same person who had set the stables on fire. It was too much of a coincidence to be shot at twice in the week by two different people.
When he emerged from the copse, he saw the attacker, and his stomach sank in dread.
There he was, Ayaan Turnbull, the mastermind and traitor, standing in all his glory, a bow in his hand.
“Ye!” Darragh growled.
He should have known. There was only one true enemy he had, and that was the man who had left his castle with a scowl and eyes that promised revenge.
He had to bait him. Once he took the shot, it would be his chance to strike before the man could reload. Darragh crossed the bridge.
“Why are ye doing this?” He did not have to yell for his voice to reach him.
“Ye and yer cousin took Talia from me! Where is she?!”
Any intelligent archer knew to keep their distance, but Turnbull was anything but intelligent. He drew nearer, giving Darragh an upper hand he was ready to seize. At this point, Darragh could run him through and be done with it.
“Ye are sick, Turnbull. She was never yers, to begin with.”
Turnbull pulled back the bowstring. Any more and that thing would snap. “Ye fool, I have loved her all these years, groomed her to be a perfect wife, and ye rejected me proposal just like Jonathan, whom I thought I could trust. Ye’re the only one who stands in the way of our love now. With ye gone, she will be mine.”
26
Madness was stealthy in its ability to hide under seemingly flawless logic. It was sly in the way it could lie in wait in the most unexpected places. In the most unexpected persons.
