Chapter 25

CHAPTER 25

"Take yer hands off me wife," Caelan's words were sharp. The threat coating them wasn't just for show. He stood there, his blade drawn and his heart pounding like a drum in his ears.

Ewan grabbed Leona quickly, pulling her back against him as he drew his own sword with his free hand. His nose was bleeding and the red dripped onto her skin and stained her dress. Caelan knew, without having seen it, that she had caused the damage. He felt a surge of pride. Good lass.

"How did ye ken to find us?" Ewan's words trembled and crumbled.

Caelan smirked. "Ye should choose yer allies more carefully, Mackie."

Truly, Caelan's decision to travel to McBran Keep had been his sister's idea. When Flora had confessed to knowing more than she had let on, she had also said that Ewan would bring Leona with him to an Inn near Inverness. Maisie had pleaded with Caelan to ignore the maid, and now he was more glad than ever that he had listened to her.

All of that was only confirmed when they discovered Leona's horse loose and wild. And so, with Jamie at his side, they rode without stopping to the small home that Ewan occupied.

Jamie had held off the guards while Caelan searched the hallways and rooms, and in truth, he was growing more and more frantic. Each step up began to make him wonder if he had been wrong, but those doubts were washed away when a small figure stepped in his path.

The maid had been trembling. "Are ye here to rescue her?"

Caelan almost sighed in relief, but he maintained his composure. He looked down at the girl, his eyes burying into her for unspoken answers. But from the way she did not cower, how she had made herself seen, he knew that the maid would offer him some help without being threatened.

"Aye," Caelan had said.

The maid raised a shaking hand and pointed to a set of stairs shrouded in darkness. "She is at the top," her voice was quiet, like a squeak from a mouse. And then, just like a mouse, she scurried away and vanished into the shadows.

Caelan had climbed, only stopping when he heard the voice of Ewan.

"Ye'll wish Bram had found ye first," Caelan said.

Ewan, cornered and driven by clear desperation, pivoted, and in doing so, he shoved Leona to the floor without a second glance. He held his blade with two hands now, centering it before him. The metal gleamed menacingly in the dim light. Ewan, he knew, was not a man made for battle, but he was desperate. One thing Caelan was weary of was a desperate man.

His gaze fell to her, eyes searching for any injury. Leona met his glance and shook her head, telling him wordlessly that she was well. She slowly inched her way back from them both, watching with unease.

"Ewan, why?" Her voice was pleading.

Caelan eyed him, though he did not care for the reason. "Tell her."

Ewan stared at Caelan, his eyes burning into him as he breathlessly. His body was tense, and the muscles in his shoulders were tight. His knuckles, which were gripping the blade in a death grip, had turned pale. "I was promised Leona. The daughter of Bram Ainslie was a prize that a man like meself would never even dream of," his voice was low but frantic, his anger blooming and wilting. "I deserve her. I will make her happy. Maybe nae at first, but soon she will forget yer name. And when she thinks of ye she will be reminded of the little maid– what was her name? Flower? Fauna? Whatever it is."

"What did ye and the maid do?" Leona asked Ewan.

Caelan, at first, thought that maybe she truly cared, and it weighed heavily on her. But then she shot him a quick look, like a flash of lightning. Leona was stalling, drawing Ewan's focus on the questions.

"I hired her," Ewan said flatly. "I planned on havin' her here if ye wouldnae cooperate. The image of her, to ken what she had done, I ken it would've hurt ye. But it would remind ye of him ."

"Ye daenae deserve her then," Caelan scoffed.

Ewan spat at his feet. "Ye are the–"

"I would never hurt her, nae intentionally."

The tang of steel on steel was music to his ears. Each time their blades met, Caelan became even more aware of Leona watching with wide eyes. Ewan hacked at him, sweat pouring from his forehead and dripping into his eyes. His breaths were ragged and uneven. "Ye daenae deserve her, and when I kill ye, I am goin to–"

"Stop speakin' such nonsense," Caelan grunted.

Ewan swung again, harder still. "I will make her forget ye!"

"Best of luck with that."

With each fluid movement, Caelan outmaneuvered him; his returning strikes were precise and unwavering. He knew that Ewan's words, the insults being spat out, were an attempt to unnerve him but they held no ground. Ewan was losing this fight; the sooner he came to accept it, the sooner it would be over. Each misstep inched him closer to defeat.

In the decisive moment, when the window to strike was clear as day, Caelan brought down his blade with a final, resounding blow. Ewan stumbled back, his eyes wide with madness. His sword slipped from his hand and landed on the floor with a loud, echoing clang.

Caelan watched as he crumbled to the ground, the silence around them broken by only his pained gasps and the pooling red around him. With a step forward, Caelan kicked his blade down the stairs and out of reach.

It only took a moment for Caelan to turn his attention to Leona, who was staring down at the spreading crimson liquid and the slumped body. Her eyes, wide, rose to catch his own. Slowly and wordlessly, he knelt at her side. He did not think; there was nothing in his mind aside from relief.

Caelan sighed, throwing his arms around her and pulling her close. His heart flooded as he felt her shift against him, burying her face into his chest. "I found ye," his words were soft and broken. "Are ye hurt, Leona?"

She pulled away from him, her hands placed on his chest. Leona's eyes held his gaze, and then they lowered to his lips. "Ye came for me," her voice was like silk, smooth and gentle. But then something changed; her gaze, which had been one of ease, turned into something he had not seen before. Terror.

It happened so fast that Caelan did not get a chance to react. Leona, using all of her strength, shoved him to the side just as the dagger came down. The scream that escaped her was haunting, and it rang in his ears even when she had stopped.

"I-I dinnae mean to… Leona, forgive me," Ewan's voice quaked.

Caelan turned and then stood, leaping to his feet. He wouldn't allow this fool or anyone else to hurt Leona again. His sword fell on Ewan in the time it took the other man to blink, the blow instantly killing him and causing him to slump back down.

"Come here, lass," he urged, reaching out and putting his hand between her shoulders. Gently, he ushered her into the room on their left. He watched her move, cradling her arm with her head hanging low.

There was no telling if any guards might arrive, and the gruesome scene in the other room was not something fit for a lady. Caelan eyed her, his brow furrowed with concern. "Forgive me, Leona. I dinnae wish for ye to see such a sight."

She shook her head. "There is nothin' to forgive. Ye're here."

He turned, his brow softening as he looked down at her. She was holding her arm where the blade had sliced. Red pooled around the sleeve of her dress and covered both her hands. "I'm fine," she whispered, gritting her teeth through the pain. "It only hurts a wee bit."

Caelan, no stranger to such injuries, knew that the wound likely hurt quite a bit more than she was willing to show. He looked down at himself for anything that he could cover it with for the time being. Carefully, he pulled on his tartan and cut an arm's length from the fabric.

He knelt before her. "Let me, Leona."

She pulled her hand away from the spot, revealing the gash. Leona winced as he wrapped it around her arm despite how gentle and careful he was being. He tied it tight, his fingers lingering on the knot for a moment as he met her gaze.

Her eyes seemed to glow, shimmering up at him. "Caelan, I–"

"Leona, I am about to tell ye something once, and then ye can decide if ye still wish to wed me," his voice was firm, his eyes holding hers. He swallowed, his tongue felt loose, and his mind was racing. "Ye are a stubborn, hot-headed wee fool. Ye daenae think before ye mean to act."

"If ye came all this way to insult me…"

"Nay, lass. I daenae dislike those things about ye. I treasure them."

He reached out, cupping the side of her face and gently stroking her cheek as he watched her eyes. "I ken that I have nae always done right by ye; there are things I would change if I could. But daenae ever, for one moment, believe that I daenae want ye. There is nothin' I have ever wanted so desperately – only ye."

"Show me," the corner of her mouth twitched, the hint of a smile.

"Gladly," Caelan leaned forward, his lips tenderly brushing against her own. As the kiss deepened, he pulled her closer to him and found his hands in her hair.

"Are ye both all right?" A voice tore him away from her.

Caelan could not hide his annoyance at the sight of Graham climbing the steps to them. Behind him, his face red, was Bram. Leona's father shoved past his son and pointed down at Caelan. "Damn ye, MacNicols! Get yer hands off me daughter."

Leona rolled her eyes before resting her forehead against Caelan's. Her breath was uneven, and he could see the swell and sinking of her chest, the fabric of her dress growing tighter with each exhale. He kissed her once more, uncaring of the eyes that had fallen on them. Nothing would stop his lips from finding hers again.

"Nae that this isnae a tender moment, but…" Graham coughed.

Inwardly groaning, Caelan pulled away from her. "He is right."

With Ewan dead, there was no telling what would happen next. As far as Caelan knew, there was no heir to the seat as Laird for the small Keep, but it would not be long before someone rushed to take the spot. It would not do them well to stay longer than necessary.

"I'll see to it that he is buried," Bram said quietly, though something behind his tone made Caelan question it. He did not doubt that Bram, himself, had wished that he was the one who had ended the life of Mackie. Though, thinking of it now, Caelan was sure that Bram would not have survived.

In his prime, he had been a warrior, but that was long before his time.

At least there's a priest here already.

Slowly and carefully, Caelan helped Leona to her feet. She winced as she cradled her arm against her, but she did not complain. As they walked, she turned her gaze up to him, careful not to look down as they descended the stairs. He reached out, putting an arm over her shoulder and keeping eye contact.

By the time they stepped outside, a fine morning mist had blanketed the air and stuck to them. The coolness felt good against his skin. He stopped as Jamie turned the corner, eying him with a shite-eating grin.

Caelan knew it was coming.

"Was I right, then?"

Leona looked between them, her brow furrowed. "Right about what?"

Jamie grinned. "I told him about that Mackie . Somethin' wasnae right, but he was too afraid to look a wee bit jeal–"

"Hold yer tongue," Caelan snapped, feeling his skin flush as he turned his gaze away.

Jamie had warned him about Mackie, having voiced his thoughts about the man on the very day that he had appeared. But Caelan had ignored him, seeing no threat while attempting to mask his own jealousy. They had fought about it, and Caelan, admittedly, had been in the wrong.

He was not wrong often, but when he was, admitting to it was like pulling several teeth. Caelan shot Jamie a sideways glance, a quiet warning that was taken with a grain of salt. The slightest hint of a smile tugged at his lips, but he swallowed it back.

Leona looked up at him, her large eyes gleaming. "Ye were jealous?"

"Aye, but only a wee bit," he sighed before turning on his heel and starting for where their horses had been left. Not surprisingly, no one had bothered with the beasts or their riders.

Something told Caelan that the moment Ewan breathed his last breath, the entire estate let out a different kind of breath, too. None of his men had bothered to put up much of a fight, and one servant had even helped him find Leona. He frowned, turning to look back at her. "Do ye wish to have a new maid?"

Leona's brow furrowed. "What?"

"There was a wee lass who helped me find ye."

Leona nodded, seemingly understanding who he meant. "Ada."

Caelan shrugged, not knowing the lass' name, but it seemed unlikely that the girl would find employment in the near future. After all, there was no laird and no one to take his place.

Graham stepped forward. "I will see to the staff are placed somewhere if they should please. I daenae ken if Ewan had any kin who would want or even have any claim to…" he glanced around, looking less than impressed. "This."

Leona found herself happy with the decision. "Can we go?"

Holding out his hand, Caelan met her gaze. "Ride with me, Leona?"

The horses' hooves softly thudded against the dirt road, breaking the morning silence. Leona was perched on the saddle before him, nestled with her back pressed against his chest. The warmth of her body seeped into his, their closeness so obvious.

Behind them, the rest followed. The road back to Gleann Cloiche was not necessarily long, but the entire group had grown weary, and the morale had become almost stagnant. They all moved at a snail's pace, but Caelan did not mind. She was there with him, and he was happy to steal these quiet, intimate moments with her.

They had left the McBran Keep in chaos, but there was nothing that could be done. Caelan did not fear any repercussions for the death of Mackie, but he could not deny that he had left the estate in a state of panic. Before they had left, he had offered those who had served there a position.

He expected that there would be at least a dozen servants and guards trickling into his land soon. Bram had also offered to take some of those displaced, but based on his fiery temper, Caelan wasn't so sure that anyone would bite.

As they rode, Caelan could not help but breathe in the intoxicating scent of Leona's hair. It was a smell that consumed him, leaving him feeling dazed and at peace. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her ear. He felt her melt against him, her head tilting slightly as she sighed. "Leona," he was careful with his words. "Are ye certain this is what ye wish for? If ye daenae wish for this… I will let ye go without protest."

She shook her head. "Nay, ye cannae get rid of me that easily."

He was all too aware of his arms around her, his hands resting near her lap as he held the reins. Slowly and cautiously, he let his fingertips find the inside of her thigh. He brushed against her gently, feeling her shiver with a triumphant smirk. "Then I am yers," he promised her, his voice turning low and husky. His own breath was hot. "And ye are mine."