Derek seemed to shrink as he said, “It is, laird. Moray sought justice for you and your family. For our clan.”
Innes’s hand shot out to strike him. Her leather bracer caught Derek in the mouth, and he stumbled back, blood drooling from his lips.
“You have acted without my permission,” she said in an icy tone, glancing around the chamber at the other Breccans. “All of you have let my son lead you astray, and you will pay for these crimes in the arena.” Innes paused, bringing her attention back to Adaira. “I apologize for this pain. I will see it rectified.”
“Thank you,” Adaira whispered. “I would also ask to see the blade removed from the throat of the Laird of the East.”
Innes glanced at the Breccan holding the dirk at Torin’s throat. Her shock was only noticeable for a split second before her expression became pointed, and the warrior released Torin with a slight shove. It took everything within Adaira not to rush to her cousin and help him to his feet. She could only watch as Torin stood and limped across the room, coming to stand behind her.
“You wrote to me of a settlement,” Innes said.
Adaira nodded. “Moray trespassed yesterday morning with the intent to steal another lass. He has committed crimes against the Tamerlaine clan, and although he is your heir, the east will want to hold him in chains to pay for his sins.”
“I understand,” Innes said in a careful tone. “But I cannot return to my clan empty handed.”
“No,” Adaira agreed. She could feel the perspiration dampen her skin as she prepared her next statement. She hadn’t spoken of it to anyone. Not Torin. Not Sidra. Not Jack. It had come to her the moment she had ripped apart her old shawl. She didn’t need counsel; she knew what she wanted, and yet it still was difficult to acknowledge aloud. “If you will see that the three Tamerlaine lasses are safely returned within the hour, then I will follow you into the west. You can take me as a prisoner if you prefer, or as the daughter you lost. I will agree to remain with you and serve you and the west, so long as Moray remains shackled in the east. He won’t be harmed in his time of service, but the Tamerlaines will be the ones to determine how long he is to remain imprisoned, and when he is to walk free again.”
Innes was pensive, her gaze on Adaira. Adaira waited, uncertain if she had just insulted the laird or if she was genuinely considering her offer. The silence deepened. It was the hour just before dawn, and a chill had crept into the room. But at last Innes reached out her hand.
“I agree to those terms. Take my hand, Adaira, and we will seal this agreement.”
“Laird!” Derek protested. “You can’t give our heir up to the east, leaving him to be shackled like an animal.”
Innes’s eyes riveted on him. “Moray acted without my permission. His fate is of his own making.”
Derek drew his sword. Adaira felt Torin grab her arm and haul her backward as Innes responded, unsheathing her blade. The laird was quick; the firelight flashed on the steel as she effortlessly dodged Derek’s cut, granting him a mortal wound in return.
Adaira watched in cold numbness as Derek gasped, falling to his knees. The blood poured from his neck, staining Mirin’s rug, as he succumbed to the floor.
“Are there any others who defy me?” Innes taunted, looking at Moray’s warriors. “Step forward.”
The Breccans were still, watching Derek breathe his last.
Adaira could hear Frae crying in the corner, and Jack’s hushed whispers as he comforted her. She stared at the pool of blood on the floor, wondering what sort of life awaited her in the west.
“I agree to your settlement, Adaira,” Innes said again. With one hand, she held her sword, but she stretched out her other. Speckled with blood and waiting for Adaira to take it.
“You don’t have to do this, Adi,” Torin murmured. His grip on her arm was like iron.
“No, but I want to, Torin,” she softly replied. She wasn’t sure where her home was anymore. She wasn’t certain where she belonged, but she knew she would find her answer once she had beheld the west. The land of her blood.
Torin reluctantly released her.
Adaira stepped forward. She held out her hand, but just before her palm could touch Innes’s, she said, “I would like for there to be peace on the isle. If I come with you into the west, I would like the raids on Tamerlaine lands to cease.”
The laird studied her with eyes that suddenly looked old and weary. Adaira wondered if peace was only an illusion, and if she was naïve to still hope for it.
“I can make you no promises, Adaira,” Innes said. “But perhaps your presence in the west, where you belong, will bring about the change you dream of.”
It was the best answer Adaira could have expected in the moment. She nodded, and her heart quickened as she took her mother’s hand. Firm and strong, scarred and lean.
Years had been lost between them. Years that could never be regained. And yet who would Adaira be if she had never left the west? If her birth parents hadn’t surrendered her to the forces of the isle?
She caught a glimpse of herself, marked in blue and blood. Cold and sharp.
Adaira shivered.
Innes noticed.
Their hands fell away, but the world had changed between them.
The laird’s demeanor was collected as she looked at Moray’s warriors. But Adaira heard the catch of emotion in Innes’s voice when she said, “Return the lasses to the east.”
CHAPTER 28
Sidra knelt in Graeme’s yard as the sun rose. The wind was silent that morning. Only the light strengthened, burning away the last of the mist. Sidra savored the stillness as she watched the world awaken around her. But her heart soon grew heavy as she beheld the garden. The glamour was gone, and she saw the damage she had wrought weeks ago.
She began to gently uproot the weeds and broken stalks. She would have to replant, and she was preparing the soil for new seeds when she heard a distant sound. It was Torin’s voice, calling her name.
“Sidra?”
She rose, searching for him. She was alone in the yard, although the front door to Graeme’s cottage was open, and she could smell the first aromas of breakfast as he cooked.
“Sidra!”
Torin’s voice was louder now, and she walked through the garden, slipping past the gate. She arrived at the crest of the hill and looked down toward her lands.
Torin was walking up the path, Maisie on his hip.
A sound escaped from Sidra. The break of a sob. She covered her mouth with her dirt-streaked hand just as Maisie caught sight of her. The girl flailed and kicked, eager to be free of her father’s hold, and Torin set her down.
Maisie began to run up the winding path in the heather. Sidra rushed to meet her, falling to her knees and opening her arms.
“Oh, my darling,” Sidra whispered as Maisie embraced her neck. She caressed the child’s curls, breathing her in. She wondered if she was dreaming and said, “Let me look at you, my heart.”
She leaned back to study Maisie’s face, rosy from the chilled morning. Her eyes were still wide and brown, full of light and curiosity. She had lost another tooth while she was away, and Sidra didn’t realize she was weeping until Maisie solemnly laid her palm to her cheek.
Sidra smiled, even as her tears fell. She held her daughter close to her chest, hiding her face in Maisie’s wispy hair. She could sense Torin’s presence as he reached them. He slowly lowered himself to the ground, his warmth seeping into her side.