Chapter 40

CRàDH PRISON - SEPTEMBER 28, 1385

B elow the deck of the merchant vessel, sixty MacKinnon guard from Mishnish waited, dressed for battle, swords aloft—ready to fight for the rightful chief. In the years Léo had spent every waking moment at war, he was often overcome with nerves just before the moment of attack. But today, with the memory of Aileen as they dragged her away fresh in his mind, he was not only ready, but hungry for the attack.

A stomp sounded from the deck above and the hatch opened. Calum rushed below.

"Something's wrong," he shouted, pushing through the men to the forecastle.

Dread pooled in his stomach. "What do you mean?"

"Hundreds of prisoners, all over the island and floating in the sea."

The forecastle door opened, and before Léo could determine what was happening a stream of wasted, unwashed, desperate men pushed toward them. Hector raised his shield and held them back. "Come on!"

Forming a shield wall, they drove forward, and into the prison curtain. The scene inside was chaos. From every corner of the prison men shoved, shouted, and screamed. Some were crying with joy .

"Raise!" They drew their swords and pointed them over the shield wall at the prisoners.

"Forward!" Hector's voice rang above the commotion and the prisoners quieted as the guard took a step forward.

"Forward!" Again, they took a step. Inch-by-inch they moved their way down the hall, clearing prisoners into calm groups and placing them into cells with the doors open, one of their guard at each door.

Floor-by-floor they moved, Léo's eyes searching among the men for Aileen, but he saw no sign of her. Nor of Mowbray or Gillie. They stopped in the interrogation chamber and looked for her, expecting to find her chained up. Instead they found an empty cell…empty except for a rickety chair, table, an inkwell, and a horseshoe.

Lachlan pointed at three drying puddles on the ground. "Is that blood?"

The hairs on the back of Léo's neck stood up as he bent forward and picked up the horseshoe. Strands of spirally blond hair clung to it. Stomach heaving, he became panic stricken, giving up on the formation and running through the hallways shouting her name over and over.

Gourlay MacKinnon, a man he had tended during a bad illness the previous year, waved to him from his opened cell. "Léo!"

"Gourlay, where's Gillie and Mowbray?"

"I believe they're outside in the yard tending the wounded and dead. About an hour ago a man broke out of his cell and ran. That's what they're sayin'."

Without waiting, Léo tore toward the stairs. Aileen. Please God, let it be Aileen .

Taking the stairs two at a time, he scrambled toward the ground floor and down to the sea yard that Mowbray had taken him to several months before. The heavy outside door stood wide open and the prisoners clumped together in clusters. Guards hauled bodies over the boulders from the surf where they had drowned trying to escape. Beside the sea wall a group of men lay wounded, and among them, tending to their injuries, Léo spotted him. "Mowbray!"

Mowbray looked up and got to his feet, hurrying over to him, Gillie close behind. Gillie's eyes were teary, and he bit his lip as he looked at Léo .

Léo's voice was now desperate bordering on hysterical. "Where is she? What's happened?"

Mowbray looked at Gillie, his eyes alarmed.

Oh no. No. No.

Mowbray's words came out in a nervous ramble. " Fingon and Niall spent two days trying to pry information from her, but she wouldn't budge. They gave up late last night. Niall would've beat her to death, but she fainted before he could finish with her."

Léo's stomach gave a heave and he struggled to stay composed.

"Niall went back to Dun Ringill and said he would return this afternoon to finish her. I carried her down to your auld cell last night. I hoped that by moving her, Fingon would lose interest and I could keep her safe…but then he decided he would try to get more out of her this morning. He's wanting his gold. She confessed yesterday she stole it but said she did it alone."

Eyes beginning to swim, Léo tried to hold onto hope. There was a prisoner who got away. Gourlay had said it. Someone got away.

"She was a bit recovered this morning and on her feet. But Fingon pulled a dagger. I tried to cause a diversion and opened the doors to all the cells I could. Any cells. All cells. She plunged the dagger in his back and ran…"

Léo heaved a sigh of relief, choking on his tears. "She did?"

Gillie's face remained distraught, and he put a wrinkled hand on his arm. "Aye, but…"

Mowbray continued. "She got surrounded in the chaos—carried away from the sea gate. Gillie managed to stay with her and got her out here, but they got separated. Fingon would not let her go. He swung at her and kept swinging the blade until she was up on the boulders."

Léo shook his head, not believing his ears. "No."

Mowbray's voice was full of sorrow. "Aileen couldnae get around, she had a choice to jump or let Fingon finish her. So, she jumped. A wave took her straight under and she—she never came back up again. Fingon, the coward, sailed away. He didnae even look remorseful."

Gillie tightened the grip on his arm. "I didnae know she was your woman. That lass was the only bright spot in this prison. She saved my life when I first got here."

Temples throbbing, heart tearing to shreds, Léo staggered forward, mind refusing to accept it. No. She can't be dead. Not in the open sea. Not in the waves. They're wrong. They have to be wrong.

Léo's voice was hysterical, and his words spilled out in an incoherent rush. "She couldn't have jumped. No. You're wrong. She wouldn't have jumped—she got away. Maybe she climbed the walls, and you didn't see it. She's clever, she can move as fast as a hare. She got away…"

Mowbray put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head. "She had no choice, Léonid…" The break in the man's voice and the tear that trickled down his stoic face shattered Léo's hope. "… She was a brave little bird to the end. She fought hard and dove in without looking back. It was a swift death."

Swift death. Brave little bird. … No. Not again. He couldn't be alone again. He shoved Mowbray off him and threaded his hands through his hair, tears coursing down his cheeks and wetting his beard. Pain unlike anything he'd ever felt ripped him apart. He squinted against the tears in his eyes and sucked in a breath, sobs shrieking from his throat. She'd been forced to jump, and he wasn't there to catch her. Sucked under the black, open water she was so frightened of.

Her words the night of the raid on Staffa rang through his heart and tormented him. I'm scared. Do not let me go in the water. I was wrong. I need you, Léo. Don't leave me. She'd slept upon his chest, in the safety of his arms, believing he would never let any harm befall her. He'd promised her he wouldn't leave her, but he had gone back on his word. She'd died alone, sucked out to sea.

Turning toward the prison, clutching his head in remorse, he bent forward and screamed. He screamed with all his might for all the things he'd lost. For Maman, and for Théa. For Father Allen and the broken vow to safeguard his daughter. For the brothers who'd hated him since the moment he was born. For their wickedness as they'd trapped and tortured his little bird and forced her to choose to die in the way she feared most. For his own failure in letting her out of his sight. For Aileen and her foolishness in giving herself up for him. For the love they'd shared, and what they should, but never would have together. He screamed for all of it, from the most guttural parts of his soul. Like a hungry and agitated lion, he screamed .

As quickly as his anguish had come, something else took its place. Something ferocious and avenging.

He sprinted through the prison and down to the sea gate, taking a tendered skiff. In under five minutes he was on his way. Sailing toward Dun Ringill. Sailing toward his destiny.

Niall and Fingon would die this day.