Would his suspicions be aroused when he realized that a night his wife had spent away from the Keep had been the very same one that his sister had vanished, never to be seen again?
She prayed he would, but she could not be sure that Isobel had not managed to convince him that up was down and left was right, given her penchant for twisting the truth.
Isobel’s men had driven her away from the tavern and to the woods that led away from the village, through which a river wound as far as she could see. Even in the midst of her grief and terror, she grounded herself with the thought of the soft, damp soil at the sides, the way that it would make for fertile ground for flowers to thrive come the Spring
Not that she would be there to see it. All at once, the man grasped her arm, dragging her to a sudden halt, and Isobel stepped forward holding a torch. It illuminated her features, which Innes had once thought so beautiful. Now, written with hatred, they were hideous to her, twisted into a mask of everything she loathed.
“Well, dear sister,” she almost laughed, her eyes glistening with satisfaction. “It rather looks like this is goodbye.”
She glanced at the river beside them, the water now glimmering with the reflection of her torch. A lump sprang into Innes’ throat, and she searched for the words to dissuade her, to seek freedom, to do anything other than meet her fate here at the hands of a woman who seemed to hate her so for something she could never have helped.
“You dinnae have to do this, Isobel,” she pleaded. “I’ll take my horse, I’ll go back to the Keep, and I willnae tell anyone about this.”
She snorted, clearly not believing a word that came out of her mouth.
“If I were to trust that, I’d be a fool,” she replied. “No, we’ll loose the horse, let it wander through the woods. By the time they find it, it will seem like ye fled from yer husband and then just… fell.”
She smiled, almost sweetly.
“If only you had kept to pressing yer flowers in the garden,” she continued. “Instead of taking what was never meant to be yours.”
Innes’ foot slipped slightly, the soft earth threatening to give way beneath her even where she stood. She craned her neck, wondering if there was any point in crying out, but she doubted it would have done much to change her predicament. One wrong move, and she would fall beneath the fearsome flow of the river.
By the sounds of the storm that was drawing in, the current would soon be strong enough that she would be swept halfway to the sea before anyone realized she was even missing. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, trying to bring to mind her husband, to think of Lachlan, in what she was sure would be her final moments.
His smile, his touch, his laugh, that he had chosen her, despite what Isobel told her…
Then, she felt the cold press of a blade against her cheek. Her lashes fluttered, and she found herself staring at one of the men, a grin on his face as he held a jagged, antler-handled knife to her cheek.
“A shame to ruin such a pretty thing,” he whispered, his lecherous words making her ill.
Her eyes fluttered shut, searching for some escape from this, something that would grant her mercy in the face of her death. Her mind flicked to an image of Lachlan, her last chance to muster something that would not terrify her. Even as the cold of the blade bit into her skin, she forced herself to focus on the memory of his smile, the way he made her feel. No matter what Isobel had told herself, she could not strip that from her.
She could not take away the love she had felt….
And then, like a crack of thunder through a clear sky, the sound of hooves filled the air. Her eyes flew open, and she turned just in time to see a horseman galloping towards themthrough the trees, head low, eyes focused on her, nothing but her.
Lachlan.
“Get away from her!” he yelled, hand flying for his sword as he thundered towards the man who had held the knife to her face.
Soon a second set of hooves thundered through the woods. Keith. More men flagged him, but a look from Lachlan had him stop on his trucks, ordering the other men to do so, too.
No, it was Lachlan’s fight. His redemption. His way of asking Innes’ forgiveness. However, if this heroic act cost him his life…
Innes’ assaulter faltered, staggering backwards, but Lachlan didn’t slow his steed; he reared the horse up on its hind legs, hooves flying through the air just a few inches from his face, and, in his panic, he lost his footing and tumbled into the frigid waters of the river below.
Innes was still frozen to the spot, so shocked by the sudden arrival of her husband that she could not help but wonder if it was nothing more than a fantasy on her part.
“What are you waiting for?” Isobel cried out, stabbing her finger towards Lachlan as he steadied his horse once more. “Deal with him!”
The other man drew his sword, but he’d hardly had time to expose the blade before Lachlan had thrust his own through the man’s chest. The sickening sound of metal slicing through flesh rose above the gargle of the river beside them, his companion already washed far downstream where nobody would find him.
Innes’ hand flew to her mouth. If there had been any doubt that this was real, it would have vanished the moment she had heard that. She could never have imagined something so brutal, but Lachlan? Lachlan was a warrior. And he was clearly willing to do whatever it took to ensure that his wife was safe.
He pulled his sword back, blood spraying the grass, and leapt from his horse. The metallic scent of gore filled the air, the rushing in Innes’ ears impossible to differentiate from the water behind her. Isobel’s eyes were wide, sliding back and forth as she searched for some way to rescue the situation before it spun entirely out of her control.
“Isobel,” Lachlan growled as he advanced upon her, sword still drawn.
