Page 59 of Bewitching her Highland Savior

CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN

Muriel had fallen into a restless slumber. She kept waking up, looking for Liam in the darkness, until she realized he was no longer there. When she opened her eyes and didn't see him, she was met with disappointment and sorrow that clawed through her throat and left her breathless.

When she opened her eyes the next time, it was because of sounds that had crept into her dreams but that she couldn't place. Something sounded like it was going on in the courtyard below, but she didn't have time to get up and check before she noticed a figure standing over her bed. At first, her heart skipped a beat as she thought that Liam had come to her but the soft light from the candles on her dresser was enough for her to see that the figure looked nothing like Liam – too short and narrow to be him.

Muriel blinked the sleep out of her eyes and recognised the person in front of her as her stepmother.

“Lady Hextilda,” she said; sitting up on her bed. “What are ye doin’ here? Is somethin’ wrong? What is all that commotion?”

Hextilda remained silent. Her expression was blank, unreadable – her steel grey eyes betraying nothing but the coldness Muriel had grown accustomed to. She towered over the bed, tall and slender, her dark hair pinned back despite the late hour. Muriel leaned back instinctively, her stomach twisting in a knot. She'd never trusted her stepmother, and this unexpected visit to her chambers in the middle of the night was suspicious.

“There was a fire,” Hextilda said and that spurred Muriel to action. She jumped out of the bed and hurried to her window; looking at the people below who were trying to put the fire out. They were all running around the courtyard, guards and servants alike, carrying bucket after bucket of water as they tried to keep the fire from spreading. “Dinnae fash. The guards will take care of it.”

Muriel’s breath was cut short at the sight. It reminded her of the night when the assassin had tried to kill her and Liam by setting their shelter on fire, the ceiling almost crumbling on top of them before they could get out. She gripped the windowsill, knuckles turning bone-white from the force and breathed steadily to slow her racing heart.

The fire was still far away from the main building. She wouldn’t have to go through the same thing as that night. The keep was full of people who could help.

The haziness in her vision subsided slowly and so did the numbness in her legs. She was grateful for it. There was no need for panic.

“Should we nae leave the keep?” Muriel asked. “Shouldnae everyone leave the keep?”

Surely, it would be safer if everyone who wasn’t needed to put out the fire made it as far as possible from the keep, somewhere where they would be protected if the fire spread. Hextilda, on the other hand, remained silent once more, and when Muriel turned to face her, she appeared to be in no hurry to leave.

“What… what is it?” Muriel asked, trying to get something – anything out of her stepmother. Hextilda’s strange behavior made Muriel take a step back but she didn’t realize how close she was to the wall, her back colliding with it. Hextilda had always kept her thoughts to herself but now Muriel couldn’t even begin to guess what was going on in her head.

“I’ve had it with ye,” Hextilda said; her tone cold as ice. She was standing directly in front of Muriel, blocking her path, and she couldn't move without stepping on her. A chill ran down her spine as Hextilda’s blank expression changed into one of fury, lips curling and eyes narrowing dangerously. “I’ve tried time and time again to rid meself of ye but ye always somehow manage to come out of it alive. It’s because of that lad, is it nae? But he’s nae here noo to save ye.”

Muriel couldn't understand what Hextilda was saying at first. She couldn't remember the last time she tried to kill her, despite her best efforts to torture her. But then she remembered all the assassins who had followed her and the threat of more to come.

“That was ye?” she asked; eyes wide in horror. “Ye sent all those men to kill me?”

For all her cruelty, Muriel had never thought that Hextilda would try to take her life. The shock left her speechless, her mind struggling to come up with something to say. The panic that she had tried so hard to subdue earlier returned and she felt nauseous – the mere sight of Hextilda making her heart beat like a drum.

Hextilda was blocking her way. There was no telling what she'd do if Muriel tried to move past her, and the thought paralyzed her, even though her knees still trembled and numbness spread across her body.

Is this it? Is this how I will die?

No, that couldn’t be. Surely, Hextilda wouldn’t try to kill her by herself. She wasn’t so reckless. It was a small comfort but it helped Muriel calm herself, her breath steadying.

“Aye. Of course it was me,” Hextilda said. “If ye had stayed in Edinburgh, I wouldnae have touched ye but ever since yer faither decided that ye were to marry Laird Macleod, I had to do somethin’ about it.”

“Why?” Muriel asked. She pressed herself harder against the wall, looking for an escape she couldn’t find. “What is it to ye who I marry?”

“Me daughter should be the one to marry Laird Macleod, nae ye,” Hextilda spat. “But yer faither always favoured ye.”

“Of course he did, I’m his bairn,” Muriel pointed out. “Why would he favour yer daughter over me?”

“I didnae ask him to favour her,” Hextilda said. “I only asked him to treat ye as equals but she was never an equal to ye. He never tried to find a husband for her. And as the oldest, she should find a husband first.”

“Ye can have Laird Macleod,” Muriel said; hoping that stepping aside so that she could have him would be enough to save her from Hextilda’s plans. If anything, it would also mean she didn’t have to marry Macleod, which was the one thing she had been trying to avoid desperately for so long. “I dinnae want him. I never wanted him. I had nae say in the deal that me faither made with him.”

Hextilda huffed out a humourless laugh, shaking her head. “Do ye truly think that this is any better? The shame ye have brought to this family will tarnish nae just ye and yer faither but me and me daughter, too. What ye and that McAlpine lad have done will leave its mark on our family.”

“Nae one kens,” Muriel said, trying to reason with Hextilda. “Nae one needs to ken.”

“Everyone in the Macleod keep kens what ye did,” Hextilda snapped. “Everyone here kens what ye did, too. Do ye truly think that people willnae talk? The neighbouring clans are already talkin’!”

Muriel was at a loss for words. It was true. Even if she survived that night and married Macleod, her rejection, her attempt to flee, and her love for Liam would haunt her for the rest of her life; no matter how obedient a wife she could ever become.