Page 7 of Desire's Ransom
To be blunt, he’d never really liked the lass anyway. Temair was a useless wench and too mouthy for her own good. It was no shock to him that that mouth of hers had finally gotten her killed.
He tried to remember what had happened last night. It was all blurry in his mind. He’d knocked the lass around a bit. But he was sure he hadn’t beaten her that badly. Temair was a tough imp.
If she was dead, it wasn’t by his hand.
“The lass was lucky to live as long as she did,” he grumbled. “Temair’s wayward tongue was bound to—”
“Oh, nay, m’lord, not her.” And then, as if to soften his bad news, he added hopefully, “I’m sure Temair is alive and well.”
Which didn’t cheer Cormac in the least. He narrowed his eyes. His breath stilled. “Not Aillenn?”
The servant nodded. “She fell from the top o’ the tower last night.”
Cormac’s heart dropped.
Nay. It couldn’t be. Aillenn couldn’t be dead.
He compressed his lips and began to grind his teeth. He could feel the blood start to simmer in his veins.
The servant must have sensed the coming storm. He excused himself with a hasty, “I’ll leave ye to your grief, m’lord.” Then he scurried from the chamber.
Cormac’s bushy beard quivered as the rage built inside him. Nay. Aillenn could not be dead. Not his oldest child. Not the heir to his land. Not the bride he intended as barter for a rich English lord.
How dared she? How dared she die?
He snatched up the crock of ale beside his bed, intent on taking a bracing swig. It was empty. With a curse, he flung it across the room. It shattered against the plaster wall.
How had this happened? How could Aillenn be dead?
She wasn’t the type of girl to clamber on top of the tower wall. That was something Temair would…
His brow clouded.
Temair.
Could she have pushed her sister from the tower? It did seem like the sort of foul deed the wicked whelp might perpetrate.
He felt the steam roiling between his ears.
If Temair was indeed to blame for Aillenn’s death, he’d give her such a beating, she’d be lucky to survive it.
Beside himself with ire, he hurled off the coverlet.
It was then he spied the crimson stain on the bed linens.
The breath caught in his lungs.
Now he remembered.
