“So,” Angus began. “We’ll refuse the invitation, aye?”
“Nay, Angus.” He took a seat at the table. “We’ll accept.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The bed shifted, and Alethia struggled to open her eyes to reach for Malcolm. They hadn’t spoken since she’d shared her vision the night before, and she needed the reassurance of his arms around her. She tried to open her mouth, to call out for him before he left their chamber. No sound came out.
The harder she tried to wake, the odder she felt. The strange sensation from the day before overcame her, and once again her spirit left her body to be dropped into the Comyn keep in the middle of the same macabre scene. Only this time, the MacKintosh men had been warned of the impending treachery. When Ronald the Red gave the signal toast, Malcolm and his men rose from their places and drew their weapons.
The drama unfolded as Alethia moved among the warriors doing battle. Malcolm fought John, the laird’s son. Though her husband seemed to have the upper hand, instinct told her she’d returned for a reason, and her eyes remained fixed upon the two.
John forced Malcolm into a retreat with a flurry of blows. Still, Malcolm defended himself easily. She cursed as she watched John’s father come from behind Malcolm to trip him with his foot. Malcolm went down hard and tried to scramble away only to find himself up against a wall. She watched in horror as once again her husband was killed before her eyes.
Movement drew her attention. The Comyn laird took the stairs in quick strides, leaving his men to finish the fight without him. She ran to catch up and followed him to a chamber at the end of the corridor. Alethia slipped into the room behind him, only to freeze at the gruesome scene taking place inside.
A young woman was trying to escape through the window, her eyes large with fear and panic. The laird shouted at her as he grasped her skirts to prevent her escape. His rage was so great spittle flew from his mouth as he accused her of betraying him. He drew his sword, and the young woman shook her head in denial as she managed to free her gown from his hold. She gripped the window frame and tried to climb out. Alethia watched in disbelief as the laird raised his sword. The woman called him Father as she begged for her life.
Comprehension dawned just as Ronald the Red sent his own daughter crashing to her death on the stones below. What she’d forgotten had been revealed, and finally the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. “Liam!” Bolting upright, she threw off the covers. She rushed to dress, ignoring the nausea threatening to fell her.
“Milady?” Beth carried a bundle of clean clothing toward the stairs, nearly colliding with Alethia as she bolted through the great hall for the doors leading outside to the bailey.
“Can’t talk now, Beth,” she called over her shoulder as she pulled the heavy doors open.
“Where—”
She didn’t stick around to hear Beth’s question. Urgency propelled her toward the rear of the keep where the MacKintosh warriors practiced their battle skills. Breathless, she came around the corner and stopped. Surveying the lists, she located Malcolm surrounded by his men. They all crouched on the ground around him while he drew in the dirt with the tip of his dagger.
She located Liam in the group, caught his eye and approached. She didn’t miss the subtle nudge Liam gave Malcolm, who raised his gaze to meet hers. He started to wipe the drawing away.
“Don’t bother. I know the plan backward and forward.” As she reached the group, the men drifted away until only Liam and Malcolm remained.
“You’ve had another vision?” Malcolm stayed where he was, crouched on the ground next to Liam in front of a clear diagram of Castle Rait.
“Liam, we have to do something. Her father is going to blame her. While you’re all battling in the great hall, he’s going to get to her.” Alethia searched his eyes—the sadness she saw there overwhelmed her. He averted his gaze.
“Of whom does she speak?” Malcolm looked intently at his cousin.
Alethia ignored Malcolm’s interruption. “She’s going to try to escape through the window and won’t make it.” She wiped the tears streaking down her cheeks. “He’s going to cut both of her hands off at the wrists. She’s going to fall to her death while you fight for your life only a flight of stairs away.” She turned to Malcolm. “We have to save her life. She’s an innocent in all of this. Tell him, Liam.”
“What is it you speak of? Of whom does she speak, Liam? Tell me.”
“Mairen. She speaks of the Red Comyn’s daughter, Mairen.” Liam’s gaze remained fixed on the ground before him, his voice tense, low. “Her father brutalizes her. He takes all of his frustrations out on his daughter because she canna defend herself against him.” Liam thrust the point of his dagger into the dirt at his feet. “Just like he did with his wife—until she died at his hands.”