Page 110 of The Splendor of Fire
Dear God, he wasn’t in love with Moira Allen, he was in love withAileen MacLean.
Scrambling to his feet, he shoved the note inside his doublet and crashed back down the stairs. Reaching her door, he tried it, finding it bolted. He dared not knock and risk waking his brothers. Rushing down to the entresol, he ripped opened the shutter, squeezing through the lancet window and holding onto the side of the keep.
Finding finger holds and toe holds, he moved sideways until he reached her window. Pulling himself up, he found the shutter open and swung inside, falling over the top of a table.
“Aileen?”
In the darkness of the room, he squinted, the fire casting soft orange light over every surface. On the bed he saw it. Her sky-blue gown thrown haphazardly across the coverlet. She was gone.
Chapter 33
SCALPAY - SEPTEMBER 26, 1385
Moon directly above her, Aileen landed on Scalpay at midnight. Her breath swirled away from her mouth in curling vapor as she pulled her small boat upon the stony shore. Blowing warmth into her fingertips, she took a quick survey of the landscape. If she headed east, the catapult should be a half a mile away. Hoisting the bucket of pitch and the bow and arrows, she began the long walk over the hillside.
A feeling of grief settled over her as it had when Father died, and she felt herself struggling with the heavy wooden bucket. Dread filled her stomach tonight. Did she really wish to do this alone again? To break orders, again? If she didn’t do it, would the mission be lost?
Pushing the questions aside, she decided the best course of action was to move forward and to keep moving. Take care of the catapult, return to Dun Ringill…
Except… could she row fast enough to escape by herself? Across the dark, fast-moving water? A sudden bolt of nausea hit her, and tears sprang to her eyes. If only Léo was here.
Tears blurred her vision and she tried to forget the look in his eyes as she said what they both knew—that they weren’t right for each other. It’d affected her heart as if she’d plunged a knife into him.
A tear trickled out of her eye as she put the bucket down, sliding off the end of her nose and creating a perfect circle in the greasy pitch.
Things would be easier now. It would only take time. Wouldn’t it?
Instead of following her, instead of helping her, Léo had forsaken her. Her heart protested again, and she wondered for the fourth time in an hour if she should have told him what was in the contents of that letter. If he knew who she was, why she had to keep going, would he have understood and acted differently? Could they have devised a better plan of attack, another way to take care of the catapult?
She sniffed.Unlikely.He didn’t want a wife who was bold as an eagle, taking down sparrows in her territory. He wanted a woman like Théa. Calm, collected. A wife, a mother.
Pitch sloshed out of the top of the bucket as she struggled to heft it before climbing the hill. She snorted against her tears and ran her sleeve over her eyes, remembering his words. He loved Théa, but she was the woman who set his heart on fire. If that was true, then why had he agreed that they shouldn’t be together?
She rested the bucket at her feet and wiped her nose. Why had she ended it at all? Why couldn’t she have left well enough alone?
Hefting the bucket again, she sucked in a shuddering breath from a cold gust of wind, grateful for the breeze that cooled her heated cheeks. Counting her steps, she focused on the grassy hill in front of her, climbing, holding the muscles in her arm steady. At the top of the hill, she squinted down into the valley below.
In the basin of the hills, she saw the pine grove from the map. The catapult would be hidden within, along with the caterans she would need to sneak past. Breathing in, her nose blocked, she struggled against the clog, making noisy snorts.
She put her bucket down again and stuck her hand in her tunic, pulling out a handkerchief and struggled to blow.Come on.She blew again and it finally gave.
Against her will, tears started again, and she threw her hands up in frustration. Only two years ago, she was a bit lonely, but content in life. She hadn’t wanted a husband then. She didn’t need one now. Or a child. Lord knew she would make a miserable mother.
Or a wonderful mother to a curious little boy.
The thought popped unbidden in her mind and caused tears to run down her cheeks as she pictured Léo’s son. Gabriel climbing trees with her, studying animals with her, learning her birdcalls. Suddenly she felt as if she’d lost not just Léo, but her child as well. A child to nurture as Maw had nurtured her.
Calling upon the reserves of her strength for the last time, she built faith within her chest and hefted her bucket, jogging toward the grove. It was time to complete the mission.
Slipping into the grove, she tried to get her bearings, knowing the catapult lay within the coppice only yards ahead. She placed the bucket on the ground, along with her bow and arrow. She needed a better vantage point.
Locating a tall tree, she found foot and finger holds, quickly moving into the branches of the tree. She walked along a branch, squinting in the darkness, looking for the distinctive shadow of a catapult, tent groups, men moving about. A cloud passed the moon and the clearing lit up with moonlight. It was empty. Except for one contingent of caterans bearing the standard of the Wolf, and Niall.
Heart pounding, she realized she’d made a terrible mistake. There was no catapult. No century of guards. It was a trap, to ferret out the informant.
A twig snapped below, and she squinted against the darkness again. Her stomach dropped. Léo.No. No. No.
She couldn’t call to him, couldn’t make Calum’s distinctive owl hoot, the one bird call that required a functioning voice.He was heading right for the clearing.Looking for her.
