Page 113 of Desire's Ransom
“Are you sure?” Ryland asked. Then, before she could answer, he decided, “I don’t want you going up there alone.”
“I have to.” She had to confront Cormac—and her fears. She flashed him a cocky grin to cover her apprehension. “Don’t worry. He’s old. And slow. And unwieldy. Hell, he can’t even shoot straight.”
Ryland conceded. Nonetheless, he didn’t look pleased when he left to search the rooms.
Still trembling in the corner, the imposter lass murmured, “Ye’re her, aren’t ye? Ye’re the real Temair.”
“I am.”
“He told me ye were dead.” She wrinkled her brow. “Why would he do that?”
“Because he wishes I were,” she said with a grim smile. “Now more than ever.”
With her heart pounding in her breast, Temair left the room and mounted the steps of the tower.
Her legs shook like custard as she emerged at the top and ventured toward the edge of the wall where Aillenn had fallen all those years ago. She held herbataaloft in one tightly clenched fist, ready to confront the villain who had caused her sister’s death.
Then a movement caught her eye from the field behind the tower. Cormac. He was there, fleeing the keep, thrashing awkwardly through the weeds like a hound through snow.
“Nay,” she bit out. She wasn’t going to let him escape. He had a debt to pay. “Nay!” she cried.
She tore back down the stairs as fast as she could, knocking knights aside on her way through the great hall.
By the time she burst out the front of the tower house, Friar Brian had taken the arrow out of Bran’s haunch and stanched the blood. The poor beast was licking his wound, and when he tried to rise to greet her, he limped.
“Good lad, Bran,” she said, giving him a quick pat. “Go lie down now.” To the friar she said, “Will ye keep him here? I need Flann.”
Brian held Bran’s collar.
“Stay, Bran, stay,” she said. Then she patted her thigh for Flann to come. Flann whined, reluctant to leave his brother. “Come on, lad. Let’s get the brute who did this.”
As if he understood, Flann trotted up and made a single impatient spin, eager to go.
Temair raced with him along the perimeter of the tower to the back side, where Cormac was visible in the distance. Then she knelt by Flann and pointed to the small figure.
“Ye see that? Ye see him? That’s the man who killed my sister. That’s the man who shot Bran. Bring him to me.”
Then she rose and flung out her arm. “Get him!”
Flann obeyed at once, running at breakneck speed, barking and baying at his target. Temair followed him, loping across the field.
She saw Cormac turn. One glimpse of the beast that pursued him made him stumble forward in panic. He tripped and fell to the ground, disappearing in the tall grass.
Scrambling up, he lifted something heavy in his hands and lumbered forward again. What the devil was he carrying?
When Flann got close, Cormac dropped his burden, picked up a stone, and threw it at the hound. He missed.
He tried another. It came closer this time. Temair ground her teeth and picked up her pace. If that bloody bastard hit Flann…
Cormac didn’t try a third stone. He bent to retrieve what he was carrying. She recognized it now. It was the chest he used to keep his coin.
She suddenly noticed how close he was to the river. If he jumped in before Flann reached him, there would be no way to catch him. He’d float away as easily as the laundry in the stream.
She bolted forward, closing the distance. Flann had almost reached the riverbank, where the fertile earth turned to silt. But Cormac was already dragging the chest across the sandy soil.
“Nay,” she murmured as he lifted the chest up and waded into the water.
“Nay,” she said as the water reached his knees.
