The Highlander's Destiny (Highland Rogues #2) - Mary Wine Page 0,84

devil magic last night. Whipping up the storm, same as the night she arrived. She walked through it in naught but a chemise, not a single shiver. She’s a familiar of Satan, sure enough. I reported her to the Church, but those old priests would nae stand up to Faolan. He put me out for the winter.”

Lirkin raised an eyebrow. “If he put ye out, how can ye get us inside?”

Bayrd looked straight in his eyes. “If we go now, word will not have gotten around. I’m a man of the wall. Me face is well known. Tonight, there will be lads on the gate who know me and who were on duty when I was cast out. They will not have heard yet.”

The Grant Retainers suddenly shoveled the food they’d been served into their mouths. Within moments, they were moving toward the door. Lirkin slowly smiled.

“Let’s be gone then.”

Bayrd held up his hand. “No’ until ye tell me what ye plan. I am no’ a traitor to the McKay. I only want the witch dealt with. Everyone has heard of Cora Mackenzie’s ways. Now that I’ve seen her with me own eyes, I know there is much truth to the gossip about her.”

“I’ve heard of Cora McKenzie,” Lirkin began. “As she is the only sister of Buchanan, I did nae want to think ill of her.”

“I saw her walk through a frigid rain and no’ even shiver!” Bayrd declared again.

Lirkin nodded. “Aye. Well, if that is true, she needs to be dealt with. I am here to see me niece Kalan restored to her rightful place as the successor to Clan McKay. The Grants will not see our blood alliance abandoned.”

Bayrd slapped the tabletop. “Then, I am yer man.”

He wasn’t a traitor.

Bayrd mounted a horse and headed toward the McKay gate without hesitation, for he was intent on saving his clansmen.

Once the witch was dead, they’d come to their senses.

He was certain of it.

*

Faolan washed her.

With slow strokes.

He held her until the water began to chill. Still, Cora didn’t want to leave his embrace.

“We should get out, lass. We’ve only the single candle.”

“I like it,” Cora replied. “For I have ye completely to myself.”

He kissed the top of her head.

“Nothing has ever pleased me so much as hearing that,” Faolan said. “Except for when ye said ye loved me.

She turned her head and looked back at him. “I love ye.”

His lips were curled up into a grin. But she shivered as the wind blew through the chamber because someone had opened an outer door, and it gusted through the passageways and beneath the door.

“There is a warm bed waiting for us,” Faolan promised as he stood and pulled her along with him.

Cora dressed as Faolan pleated up the fabric of his kilt and belted it around his middle. When she finished, he scooped her off her bare feet and cradled her against his chest.

“Let’s go to bed, lass.”

He opened the door and took her out into the passageway. There were only a few lanterns burning to afford the area light. Between the towers, there was darkness before they made it to another little pool of yellow light.

Faolan turned to begin climbing the stairs when Cora caught something moving in the shadows behind them. She sucked in a breath. Faolan turned, but his enemy struck while Faolan still cradled Cora in his arms.

The man drove his sword deep into Faolan’s body. He snarled and dropped Cora to her feet. He kicked at his assailant while flinging her to the side.

But Cora turned and charged at whoever was attacking them. The man fell back with a startled cry. He flung her aside.

“It’s done.”

Cora bounced off a wall in time to see Faolan crumpled to the ground. A pool of dark liquid was seeping from his body.

“No!” she screamed as she tried to run to him.

Two burly men hooked her by the arms and yanked her to a halt.

“Bring her here.”

The men obeyed whoever had issued the command. They pulled her away from Faolan. Whoever he was, the man stood near one of the lanterns. He grabbed a handful of her hair, his grip vicious, and pulled her close, so the light illuminated her face.

“Ye are quite fetching,” he said after studying her for a time.

“Who…” Cora struggled to keep control of her emotions. “Who are ye?”

“Lirkin Grant,” he replied without a hint of remorse for the blood he’d just spilled. “I sent yer brother an offer for ye. It appears luck