Bride of Mist (The Warrior Daughters of Rivenloch #3) - Glynnis Campbell Page 0,99

morning light through the haze enveloping the keep. At the parapet’s edge stood Laird Gaufrid, disheveled and drowsy-eyed. Flanking him were the Fortanach brothers, the plump boar and the lanky wolf. The boar’s eyes glittered as he glared at her. The wolf sneered, his gaze flat and dull.

Gaufrid beckoned her near. The guards wrested her forward until she was pressed against the stone of the parapet.

Feiyan glanced down, and her heart sank.

Rivenloch hadn’t made it into the keep after all. And now she saw why. Laird Deirdre had brought only a handful of mounted clan warriors with her. They were no match for the mercenary army of mac Darragh.

“Before we discuss your so-called mission of vengeance, Rivenloch,” Gaufrid called down, clasping the back of Feiyan’s neck in one viselike hand, “I may have somethin’ of interest to ye.”

Feiyan bit back a sob of humiliation and rage.

This was all her fault.

She had meant to distinguish herself in the eyes of the clan. But not like this. Not as a helpless hostage that the laird had to travel a hundred miles to ransom.

She’d intended to bring glory to her clan. To right the wrong done to them. To prove to them she was worthy of their respect and honor.

She’d planned to avenge the poor folk of Kirkoswald. To punish the villains who had sullied the name of Darragh. To help Dougal reclaim his legacy.

Instead, she’d disgraced her clan. Disappointed Dougal. And cost her laird time and coin.

It would have been better to remain invisible.

“Return her to us,” Laird Deirdre intoned, “and swear never to return to Creagor, and we’ll consider the matter settled.”

Gaufrid laughed at that. “Return her? Just like that?”

“Give her back, and we’ll withdraw our forces.”

“Forces?” he scoffed. “What? All twelve o’ ye?”

Feiyan fought to keep her chin up. It was obvious from the dearth of Rivenloch warriors that the laird didn’t consider her worth fighting for.

“Nay,” Gaufrid said smugly. “If ye want your warrior lass back in one piece, ye’ll have to ransom her.”

Gaufrid gestured to the hooded guard holding her. The brute wrapped a powerful arm around her waist and raised a dagger to her throat.

“And if I refuse to pay?” Laird Deirdre asked.

Feiyan bit her lip. Of course the laird would refuse to pay. One person was a reasonable sacrifice to make. The Warriors of Rivenloch hadn’t earned their fearsome reputation by yielding to the demands of rogue clans.

Gaufrid, however, strangled on outrage at having his plans thwarted.

The pig of a Fortanach leaned close to Gaufrid to murmur, “Tell her ye’ll slay the lass. We’ll take their horses. They’re probably worth more than the wench anyway.”

Gaufrid thrust out his jaw. “I’ll kill her,” he promised. “I’ll do it.”

Feiyan choked on panic. Not for herself. Sacrificing herself for the clan was one thing. She’d caused this trouble. She’d pay the price. But once Gaufrid killed her, he wouldn’t stop there. He’d go after her clansmen as well. And then Dougal.

“Run!” she blurted out. “He has dozens of mercenaries, m’laird! Save yourse-”

The guard restraining her gave her a sudden squeeze, cutting off her words.

“That’s right,” Gaufrid repeated. “If ye won’t pay the price, ye’d better run. I’ll kill her, and then my men will chase ye down and kill every last one o’ ye.”

To her relief, Laird Deirdre stood her ground. “I will not be threatened,” she declared. “The Warriors of Rivenloch do not negotiate with outlaws.”

“Fine then,” Gaufrid said, giving the guard a nod.

Feiyan gasped.

The guard’s restraining arm tensed around her waist. Then he bent close to her ear and muttered under his breath, “Be a good lass and die when I slash your throat.”

Then he swept his arm swiftly and violently across her neck, and she felt cold steel slide across her flesh.

Chapter 33

Killing Feiyan was the hardest thing Dougal had ever done.

He hadn’t really killed her, of course. He’d used the flat of the blade, ensuring that not a drop of her blood was spilled. There was no pain. No injury. Just a harmless caress of blunt steel.

But even that innocent gesture felt like drawing a dagger across his own heart.

Fortunately, the lass collapsed against him. Whether it was from his instructions or simply shock, her performance was convincing enough to inspire a chorus of astonished gasps from her clan folk. Indeed, so convincing was she, for a moment Dougal was unable to breathe.

Quickly, before Gaufrid had a chance to discover his hostage was alive and unharmed, Dougal gave a subtle nod to the Laird of