Page 2 of The Splendor of Fire
A kick connected with his ribs and he splayed sideways, thanking God that his thirst had been quenched. A fist locked in his hair and he was yanked to his feet. “Forward.”
Exhaustion, blood loss, and days of confinement had taken its toll, and he felt himself listing into the guards, the walls, into the danger he knew awaited him. He wasn’t alive—he was a dead man.
Traveling up two more flights of stairs he found himself in the warmth of Lochindorb. Heat surrounded him like a blanket, needles of pain shooting through his cold extremities. A scrawny guard pushed him through a heavy wooden door and he fell, sprawling at the fine leather boots of his brother.
Niall gave him a look of barely contained disgust. “I should have murdered you the first time you stepped foot back upon Skye. You’re a disgrace to this family. Always have been.”
Face cloaked by a veil of hair, Léo rolled so he could see out of his one good eye. “Oui, you’ve told me.”
Niall circled him. “You killed Elspeth.”
Resentment fired through him, and revenge threatened to make him do something foolish. Léo summoned his depleted stores of strength and got to his feet. Drawing up to his full height, he looked down at the most ruthless yet pathetic of his siblings. “Her blood is on your hands, just as my mother’s, just as our father’s.”
Niall drew his hands behind his back. “As usual you speak in riddles as if I should know your meaning. However, if you’d like to invoke our father’s memory I suggest we start with your alliance with the MacLeans. Father is turning in his grave.”
Anger overcame Léo’s better judgment. “An alliance with the MacLeans wasn’t a problem when Hector’s gold was at stake. Is that why you are here? To try and convince me to help your treasury in exchange for my life? Or did the Wolf’s boots need licking?”
Without warning, Niall launched both hands into Léo’s chest. Strength sapped, Léo collided with a table but managed to stay upright. “You dare insult me when you’ve been stuck in a hole for three days? It’sonly because of my alliance with the Wolf that your miserable life has been spared.”
Gabriel’s cherubic smile flashed through his mind and he held his tongue. Yes, for once he was thankful for Niall.
“Are you here to collect me then? I’ll go straight back to Calais without troubling you further.”
A fist connected with Léo’s swollen jaw and stars blinded him. He went down to the floor, words emptying from his mind in a tremendous rattle. Another blow landed on his wounded shoulder. Then again. And again.
Snarls escaped through Niall’s clenched jaw as his fist punctuated his explanation. “After what you’ve cost me? My alliance is hanging by a thread because of your stupidity…Elspeth is dead because of you…I should have left you at the bottom of the pit…I should have murdered you in France…I should have murdered you in your cradle?—”
Léo writhed against the stone floor. “Why…didn’t…you? Still…af-afraid?”
Niall’s fist paused inches away from Léo’s jaw, frozen. For moments the brothers stared at each other, the dream, the unspoken prophecy, the threat of righteous judgment growing between them.
Niall began to pant, then shake. A rough bag came down over Léo’s head.
“We’re going to Cràdh.”
The sound of footsteps shuffled beside his ear before a blow snapped his head backward. A brief feeling of terror clouded his heart…not Cràdh.
The world went black.
Chapter 2
CRÀDH PRISON - JANUARY 1, 1384
The sound of her footsteps drowned under the cacophony of shouting men. Heart pounding, Moira hurried along the corridor, praying she’d made it in time. Father pointed to the wooden door at the very end of the passage. “Down there.”
Arms aching, she hefted her basket higher on her hip. Two MacKinnon guards stood in front of the heavy door, and taking one look at Father they stepped aside. Once unlocked, Moira rushed into the windowless room, the impenetrable door thunking shut behind them. The dark sight of extinguished freedom almost caused fright to overwhelm her, but fear didn’t matter now. The inmate needed her.
Courage lighting her way, she put a hand in front of her and shuffled forward a few feet, but her foot jammed beneath something solid and she sprawled seconds later, flying forward and landing on top of a heavily muscled chest.
“Unnnghhh…”
Moira lifted her cheek from the man’s chest, her nose crinkling against the smell of sweat and urine. Helpless to apologize, she gave the man’s rounded bicep a reassuring squeeze as she felt her way over his body and to the mouth of the hearth. Pulling Maw’s basket along beside her, she felt within it for the wad of lint and straw, and her flint.
The man groaned deeply beside her. “Unnnnnngh.”
Sparks shot across the darkened hearth and caught in the lint. She leaned forward and blew toward the scent of smoke until a tongue of flame licked upward. Hands flying, she fed the lit bundle of straw onto the dried brick of peat. Light leapt in the hearth and illuminated the dark entresol.
Father’s voice choked out as he took in the figure of a tall, once-strong man, now reduced to a bloody mass before the hearth. “God have mercy.”
