“You tried to kill me once and failed,” she taunted Daniel, hoping to keep his attention focused on her. “I’m not convinced you’ll do any better with repeated effort.”
He walked toward her, slow and light-footed like a Highland wildcat stalking a rabbit. The sword in his hand remained low to the ground, but Isabail wasn’t fooled. His grip on the hilt was unwavering.
He intended to gut her.
Praying that Aiden would reach them before Daniel slid the blade between her ribs, Isabail slowly retreated. The cliff was behind her, some twenty paces away. Plenty of space for Aiden to make his move.
“It seems that when your mouth opens, only lies come out,” she said. “Since justice for John was clearly not what you sought, why take the necklace? Why risk all this for a pretty bauble?”
He said nothing, just continued toward her, one relentless step after another.
“Tell me why my brother died, Daniel.”
That sank through his icy facade. He paused. “I told you. It was an accident. But in the end, he died for a good cause—the triumph of right over wrong. Justice has been a long time coming, but itwillsee the light of day.”
His response was too vague and unsatisfying. Isabail needed more. When she had believed John the victim of a thief and a traitor, his death had been understandable. Not easy to accept, but understandable. Now that Daniel had confessed to the crime, there was only confusion and a horrible sense of waste. “How do you accidentally poison someone, Daniel?”
But the answers she sought were not to be had. His brief moment of introspection passed like a cloud over the moon. Lips clamped tight, his purposeful stride resumed. With his eyes locked on her chest as if he was imagining just where he would place the tip of his blade, he came at her.
* * *
Aiden jogged into the trees, his fist tight around the hilt of his sword. He’d nearly lost Isabail once to de Lourdes’s blade; he wouldn’t allow it to happen again. The wretch would die before harming her. He scanned the trees for some sign of Isabail. The bright winter moon filtered down through the barren branches, creating a patchwork of dark and light. He caught a glimpse of pale blue gown, and his heart leapt. She was alive. De Lourdes was harder to see, but Aiden eventually spotted his outline in the dimness. The miserable cur was relentlessly pressing her toward the cliffs.
Slipping silently through the trees, Aiden drew closer.
As he listened to the strange conversation between the two, he frowned.
Until the moment the necklace was mentioned, Aiden had assumed de Lourdes was a thief of opportunity—that he’d stolen the necklace and the crown because he could. Not because that had been his aim all long. Which spoke volumes about how disturbed Aiden had been by Isabail’s near death—he had not thought to question the cur’s goal.
But de Lourdes hadn’t entered the MacCurran camp to rescue Isabail—he’d come for the necklace. The same necklace that lay at the root of all Aiden’s recent troubles, the same necklace that eventually led back to the man in black.
By God.
De Lourdes knew the identity of the man in black. He had to. If Aiden but questioned him, he would have all the answers he sought. Dunstoras would be saved, and his clan could return to their home. All he had to do was wring the truth from de Lourdes’s lips.
Right after he rescued Isabail.
With his gaze locked on de Lourdes, he stepped around a patch of winter-dried bilberry—and very nearly trod upon a sleeping black grouse. The startled bird took flight, veering west in a madly beating flurry of wings. Aiden recovered quickly and raced for Isabail. But he was a moment too late.
De Lourdes reached her first. He wrapped an arm around her throat and swiveled. His sword flashed in the moonlight, now accurately pointed at Aiden. “Step any closer and I’ll kill her.”
Aiden continued forward, closing the gap to ten paces. To have a hope of disarming the cur, he had to be within striking distance.
De Lourdes shuffled back, dragging Isabail with him. “Stay back, I say.”
The sword was pointed at Aiden and not Isabail, so Aiden ignored him. Eight paces. “Harm her and you’ll die a very painful death.”
De Lourdes retreated farther, a scowl upon his face.
Aiden followed. The edge of the cliff was only a few feet behind them. Was de Lourdes aware? “Let her go and you can live.”
Isabail was clawing at her captor’s arm, but her efforts did not register on de Lourdes’s face. The man’s attention was completely focused on Aiden. He waved his sword. “Do you think me a fool? The only way you’d allow me to live would be if I betrayed the one I live for.”
De Lourdes took another step back.
Aiden’s heart thumped heavily in his chest. “Let her go and we’ll talk, nothing more.”
“There’s naught to be said,” the other man said, taking a firm step back. His voice was dark and crisp, the sound of utter conviction. The edge of the cliff lay immediately behind him, and his purpose suddenly became clear.
