Page 15 of Leila’s Legacy

Some years back, she and her brother-in-law’s sister, Lark, had been taken by the Armstrong clan and held for ransom. The sum had been exorbitant, and the demand given in an attempt to bring down the powerful Lord Werrick.

As much as her family always loved her, there had been a part of Leila then that had worried Lord Werrick would let her remain with the Armstrongs. After all, why relinquish one’s fortune for a child that was not even of his own loins?

In the end it had not mattered. Her sister, Ella, and her husband, Bronson, crossed into the debatable lands and had seen both Leila and Lark to safety. But not before cutting down their fair share of Armstrong clansmen in their attempt to flee.

Upon her return home, however, she had found that Father was indeed in the process of raising the funds to pay the extraordinary ransom. For her.

Now she would meet Lord Armstrong, a man who thought her responsible for the pestilence. Or so she gathered. Worse still, he thought she had targeted the Armstrong family specifically.

They did not ride through the village to the castle, but instead made their way around the great side before arriving at the portcullis. Once she was inside the castle, escape would be nearly impossible, and yet there was no opportunity to flee now.

Nay, she had no choice but to be led in like a lamb to the slaughter and face the full force of Lord Armstrong’s wrath.

Upon their arrival inside Liddesdale Castle’s curtain walls, Niall gratefully slid from his horse and guided Lady Leila to the ground. Though she had tried to keep a stiff-backed space between them, her red-clad bottom had been pressed to his groin for the better part of the journey. Every step of the horse made her sway against him, grinding her arse against his cock and dredging up lustful thoughts he did not need to have about a prisoner.

But he hadn’t been able to stop his mind from wandering as he imagined himself capturing her hips in his palms and driving into her from behind, then flipping her over and thrusting hard into her while her breasts gave eager little bounces as they moved together, sweat-slick and panting.

Enough.

Niall adjusted his gambeson to ensure it covered any evidence of his thoughts. He breathed in the cool air, allowing the chill to tamp down the heat of his blood.

Lord Armstrong’s page, a boy of about ten with a tangle of blond hair, approached them. “Lord Armstrong has been waiting on ye.”

“We’re here.” Niall smirked. “Though we may need one of the barbers.”

Several months prior, a healer would have attended to the lord’s son, but they’d all been run out of the village by the pestilence or had succumbed themselves. Now all they had to see to the people were the men who did various battlefield patches. Men who were often rough and unqualified, but better than nothing.

Alban glowered and did not reply.

“After we’ve seen Lord Armstrong,” Niall added.

Alban opened his mouth to protest, but the page nodded in agreement and set about leading the way to the great hall.

If Leila was frightened, she did not show it. Her steps were confident, her shoulders set proudly back, and her head tipped with just the right amount of arrogance for an earl’s daughter. She did not look like a prisoner. She looked like the lady of the castle, ready to take what was hers.

Lord Armstrong sat in an ornately carved chair with a mug of ale gripped in his hand. His hair was the same fox red as his son’s, though frosted with age. A hard-lived life had left his face lined with the serious expression that made him appear unobjectionably stern.

“What is this?” He indicated Leila. “I thought ye told me ye’d be bringing a lady of noble birth forward as the accused. This woman dressed as a mercenary looks more like a slattern at play than a lady.”

Lady Leila’s back stiffened.

“I assure ye, she is the woman we were sent to find, my lord.” Niall inclined his head respectfully.

“The bitch put a dagger into my shoulder.” Alban’s tone took a piteous note with his father that made Niall want to plunge the dagger back into the young man. “Then Niall ripped it out.”

Lord Armstrong stared at his petulant son for a long moment before lifting his hand in a nonchalant gesture. “It had to come out at some point, aye?” The Keeper of Liddesdale shrugged without sympathy. “It looks like little more than a flesh wound. The barber can see to it when we’re done. For the time being, ye willna die while I deal with her.”

He turned his attention back to Leila and waved her forward. She did not move. Niall stepped forward and nudged her lower back. Walk, he demanded silently. He did not wish to shove her across the floor.

She strode forward with not a whisper of fear evident on her.

“Too bad ye’re no’ a slattern,” the older man said appreciatively as she approached. “I might hire ye myself.” He got to his feet, pushed the cloak from her shoulders and walked slowly about her. He paused for a lengthy amount of time behind her and tilted his head appreciatively in admiration of her arse.

Heat effused Niall, blazing through him with a rage that came on as sudden as his desire for the witch. The Keeper of Liddesdale leaned toward her and the murmur of his voice floated toward Niall.

While his words were indecipherable, Niall could not ignore how Lady Leila’s shoulders tensed.

Lord Armstrong completed his assessment and stood before her, towering over her slight height. “Are ye a witch?”