Chapter 29

The location Ferguson had given them was an inn not too far from MacAuley Castle. Billie and Hugo, along with six of their most trusted men, rode to the inn early in the morning, before the sun had even risen. In her hands, Billie carried the falsified papers she would present to Ferguson’s men, the ones that would convince them she had come there as per his instructions, agreeing to his demands.

Long before they made it to the inn, Hugo and the men parted from her, so that no one would see them enter the town together. In the time it took Billie to reach the town, though, she began to lose her nerve, fear creeping into the crevasses of her mind. As long as she had Hugo by her side, she was convinced they would succeed, but now failure seemed more likely than ever.

What if the guards figured out the papers were fake? What if it was all a trap and Domnhall was already dead? What if every skill Hugo had taught Billie did nothing to help her and she ended up, once more, at Ferguson’s mercy?

There were so many things that could go wrong—too many, in fact. The more she thought about it, the more Billie’s heart roared like a caged animal in her chest, her knuckles going white with the force she used to hold the reins of her horse.

All she could think about was the possibility of losing Domnhall. If anything happened to him, she didn’t think she could bear it.

By the time she made it to the inn, the sun was shining in the sky, though clouds were closing in on the town, a storm approaching. Even from outside, she could tell it was the right place. There were two men hovering near the door, trying to look as though they were deep in conversation, but Billie noticed the way their eyes tracked her, watching her every move. There was no doubt in her mind they were Ferguson’s men, posted there to wait for her.

Dismounting her horse, Billie made her way towards the two men. They were both tall and young, strong. Sweat coated her forehead, and a lump formed in her throat, but she swallowed drily around it, tensing her entire arm so that she wouldn’t tremble as she presented the papers to them.

Before they could take them from her, though, she snatched them back.

“I wish tae see me husband first,” she said. “I wish tae ken he’s alive.”

“He is,” said one of the guards, but that wasn’t good enough for Billie.

“Show me me husband or I shall leave.”

Whether or not they could tell she was bluffing, Billie didn’t know. She didn’t care either, not when they relented and took her inside.

The inn was quiet at that time of the day, and perhaps at every other time. It was a little town Ferguson had chosen, one that didn’t get much traffic; the perfect place to keep someone captive without anyone around noticing. It was a small place, just big enough for a few guests, the windows so few and narrow that even on such a bright day, the interior was darker, illuminated by the orange glow of candles.

A man stood behind a counter that functioned as a desk and a bar. As the three of them walked inside, his gaze tracked Billie openly, curiosity written plainly on his features.

Does he ken Domnhall is here? Does he ken what they are doin’ tae him?

Surely, he knew at least some of it. Even if he didn’t know who precisely Domnhall was or why they were keeping him there, he had to know there was a man imprisoned in his inn.

It sickened Billie just to look at him.

As the two men lead Billie to Domnhall, she saw more and more guards. She counted half a dozen of them, and she couldn’t help but wonder just how many more there were that she couldn’t see, how many more Hugo and his men would have to fight. She had to have hope, though, otherwise she would crumble right there and then, the pressure of the mission and her role in it too much to handle.

When the guards stalled in front of a door, Billie’s heart stopped as well. She could hear nothing from the other side, but she knew this was where they kept Domnhall. She knew he was on the other side of that door, waiting for them.

One of the guards opened it, but for a moment, Billie’s eyes struggled to adjust to the lack of light in the room. It was so dark there, no windows to illuminate the place—not even a candle. The only light came in through the door now that it was open, and Domnhall lifted his head with difficulty to look, the sight of him drawing a gasp out of Billie.

His left eye was swollen shut, a purple bruise spreading around it. His lip was split, blood trickling down his chin, while his torso, naked, was covered in cuts and more bruises. For days, those people had tortured him, hurting him hour after hour while Domnhall’s council was trying to come up with the plan and she and Hugo were training.

We should have come sooner.

Billie made to approach, but she didn’t manage to get past the door before the guards stood in her way. She glared at them, hatred and bile rising to the back of her throat.

“Let me pass,” she demanded.

“The papers first,” said one of the guards, holding out his hand. “Then ye may see him.”

Billie shoved the papers at him, and then pushed her way through, falling to her knees next to Domnhall. She didn’t care what the guards were doing behind her. All she cared about was getting Domnhall out of there and making sure he was alright.

“Domnhall,” she said softly, her hands coming up to cradle his head. “What have they done tae ye?”

“Billie?” Domnhall asked, as though he couldn’t believe she was there. “What… why are ye here? Why did ye come? Ye should have stayed home, ye should have?—”

Billie hushed him gently. She didn’t want Domnhall to worry about her along with everything else. She could take care of herself, no matter what Domnhall or anyone else thought about her.

The guards hadn’t even looked for any weapons before escorting her to Domnhall’s room. It hadn’t crossed their mind that she could be dangerous, that she could have come there not to bring the papers, but to take Domnhall away. They had seen her come alone, and so they had simply assumed they were safe.

They would soon find out just how wrong they had been.

“Dinnae fash,” Billie told him quietly, her hands checking for more injuries. There was a wound on the side of his head that concerned her, along with more she couldn’t quite see in the dark. She would have to take a better look at him once they were outside and away from Ferguson. Looking over her shoulder to make sure no one was watching too closely, Billie pulled a small blade out of her boot and began to saw at the ropes that held Domnhall bound, much to his surprise.

The ropes were thick, difficult to cut into even with a sharp blade, but Billie did her best to rush, knowing that they wouldn’t have much time. Just as she was about to cut the last of the rope, though, Domnhall’s voice boomed in the small confines of the room.

“Behind ye!”

Billie didn’t have time to react before a hand gripped her hair so tightly that her eyes immediately watered. In her shock and pain, she let go of the knife and it clattered against the stone floor, a cry tearing its way out of her throat.

“Did ye truly think ye could come here with forged papers an’ I wouldnae find out?” Ferguson asked. Billie hadn’t even had the chance to meet the man’s gaze, but she didn’t need to look at him to know he was furious. His rage tinted his tone, the words resembling a growl more than human speech. Billie felt it in the sting of her scalp, in the way her breath stopped when Ferguson wrapped a hand around her throat.

Panicked, Billie’s legs kicked out, her hands reaching for the man’s forearm, nails sinking deep into his flesh. He huffed in pain, but his hand around her throat only tightened, a promise of the violence that was to come if she continued to resist.

Before her, Domnhall had frozen on the spot, looking at the scene in front of him with wide eyes. Billie couldn’t tell if he was in a state to fight. She couldn’t even tell if there was a way out of this, if she could count on an escape.

Where is Hugo? What is takin’ him so long?

He and the men were supposed to come a short while after Billie’s arrival, but Billie didn’t know how much time had passed. Her nerves and now her fear made it seem like hours, but it couldn’t have been more than ten minutes since she had first stepped foot in the inn.

“Ye will hand over the clan or I will kill her,” Ferguson told Domnhall. “Dae ye understand?”

As he spoke, Ferguson grabbed his knife out of its sheath and brought it to Billie’s neck. She could feel the sharpness of it, the cool touch of the blade against her skin, the familiar, frightening threat of it. What she hated the most, though, was the look of defeat in Domnhall’s eyes, the despair, the certainty that he was about to lose her.

Billie hadn’t had the chance to inform him of the plan, and though she doubted Domnhall was foolish enough to believe she would come there without any assistance, she couldn’t disregard the fact that he had been in that room for days, tortured time and time again—perhaps even told that Ferguson would kill her the moment she appeared. For all she knew, Domnhall was in a vulnerable state, and he was now convinced that Billie would end up dead.

Before Domnhall could agree to anything, though, screams poured into the room from outside, accompanied by the clash of metal against metal. Hugo and the men had come, Billie knew, and so did Ferguson, judging by the way his body tensed behind her. She could have sworn she felt his heartbeat picking up, a relentless thumping in his chest. In the seconds of confusion that left Ferguson off-kilter, Domnhall reached for the knife Billie had abandoned on the floor. Ferguson was quick to respond, though, tightening his hold around Billie.

“Call yer men off or I will kill her,” Ferguson said. “Ye had better make sure I come out o’ this alive an’ with the clan in me name.”

Domnhall made no move, too afraid of what Ferguson would do next. The screams from outside became louder and louder, though, Hugo’s men approaching the room, and Ferguson knew he didn’t have much time. Sooner or later, he would have to flee or fight, and Billie could tell from the tremble in his hands that he would much rather do the former.

He was a weak man who depended on his soldiers to fight for him, it seemed. Suddenly, Billie wasn’t so afraid of him anymore.

With all her might, Billie stomped on Ferguson’s foot. It was the surprise, she thought, rather than the pain that startled him, as he certainly hadn’t expected her to act, let alone do something like this. His hold on her loosened for only a moment, but it was all Billie needed; she had been prepared for it, for the exact second his hands would go lax, enough for her to slip away. Ferguson reached for her, his fingers closing tightly around her left wrist, but Billie only spun around and punched him hard on the exact same spot she had hit Hugo, forcing Ferguson to finally release her.

As she rushed to a bewildered Domnhall, who had watched the entire exchange but seemed unable to believe Billie had bested Ferguson, she realized the man still stood there, blocking their exit, even as he was gasping for breath. The blow had left him reeling, but the knife was still held firmly in his hand, and he was recovering faster than Hugo, who was much slenderer, his torso less guarded despite the toned muscles.

“Stay behind me,” Domnhall told Billie as he took a step forward, shielding her with his body. He knew just as well as she did that this wasn’t over yet.

“Dae ye think ye can best me?” Ferguson asked through wheezing breaths. Billie couldn’t tell whether he and Domnhall were equally matched now, but she doubted it. Domnhall was weak, visibly so. Even in the few days it had taken them to get to him, it seemed to Billie as though he had lost some weight, his cheeks sinking in.

Can he defeat him?

Outside, the battle raged, while in the room, Ferguson and Domnhall circled each other. Ferguson attacked first, swiping his knife at Domnhall, but Domnhall had expected the attack. He jumped to the side, avoiding the blade, but he was slower than Billie had ever seen him before, his movements sluggish, his steps a little unsteady.

They were not evenly matched, after all. Domnhall was in no shape to fight.

Ferguson threw himself at Domnhall once more, but Domnhall parried the blow he dealt. With a push of his arm, Ferguson struck Domnhall’s chest, sending him stumbling, but it didn’t take long for Domnhall to regain his footing. Terror gripped Billie like a vice around her heart as she watched, knowing that she could do little more than pray for Domnhall’s victory.

It was Domnhall who attacked first this time, perhaps because he knew he was quickly losing his strength. If he managed to finish his enemy soon, then he wouldn’t risk exhaustion. He brought his knife down in an arc, but Ferguson slammed his arm against him, knocking the knife loose. In seconds, Domnhall was defenseless, his weapon laying on the ground as Ferguson attacked for one last time.

Billie couldn’t even scream. She could only stare in horror as the knife came closer to Domnhall, the entire scene playing out as though in slow motion before her eyes.

It wasn’t Domnhall’s cry she heard, though. It was Ferguson’s, his face twisted in agony. He coughed and a trickle of blood dripped out of the corner of his mouth, his entire body tensing before he finally collapsed.

Behind him stood Hugo, his face and body covered in blood and sweat. He was panting, his eyes wide as he took in Domnhall’s state, but relief soon washed over him, his shoulders slumping.

“You’re alive, mon ami,” he said with a soft, breathless laugh. “Ah, I can now rest.”

As he spoke, Hugo leaned against the wall, bracing himself on his thighs. Billie didn’t know how much of that blood was his and how much belonged to the men he had killed, but when she ran to him, Hugo waved her off.

“I’m fine,” he said. “I only need a moment.”

Billie wasn’t convinced, but at least Hugo didn’t look pale to her. His cheeks still had their color, and so she didn’t fear that he would suddenly bleed out.

Turning around, she was met with Domnhall’s gaze once more. He was there, Billie thought. He was there and he was alive. Ferguson hadn’t managed to tear them apart.

Billie fell into his arms and Domnhall held her tightly, burying his face in her hair. She trembled against him, still shaken by the ordeal, but Domnhall only tightened his hold even more, speaking softly into her ear.

“It’s alright, mo ghraidh. It’s over. It’s all over now.”

It was hard to believe, even if Billie had witnessed the end of it with her own two eyes. Domnhall had come so close to death and Billie couldn’t fathom how she would have ever come to terms with it, how she could have moved on with her life.

“But I need ye tae promise me,” Domnhall said as he pulled back just enough to look at her, a hand coming up to brush a stray lock of hair out of her face, “that ye’ll never dae this again. Seein’ ye in danger almost killed me.”

“I suppose that would defeat the purpose o’ comin’ tae yer rescue,” Billie said. Domnhall chuckled and leaned in close, capturing her lips in a soft kiss. When they parted, she smiled. “I cannae promise ye that, though.”

“She kens how tae fight now,” Hugo called from his place near the door. “She can handle herself.”

“I saw,” said Domnhall, sounding a little amused. “But I’d rather nae risk it. I love ye, Billie. I cannae allow anythin’ tae happen tae ye.”

Gently, Billie ran a hand through Domnhall’s matted hair, pulling him down to press a kiss on his forehead. “I love ye too,” she said. “So I will always come tae yer rescue.”

Billie was stubborn like that. If there was something she could do to help, then she was determined to do it, especially when it came to Domnhall. How could he ever think that she would leave him in a place like this to bleed to death?

“Ye’ll be the death o’ me,” Domnhall said, not for the first time.

“It’ll be a sweet death,” Billie told him, echoing the words from that night.