Page 42 of At the Highlander's Mercy
Lilidh pushed up from the seat, only to be held there. Rob was alive! From the complaining and cursing, he was more angry than hurt at this point. She peeked around Ranald’s girth and saw him climbing up from the bed. He said something more quietly to Tyra, who left the chamber more quietly than she’d entered.
No matter how much she’d like to ascribe good intentions to the lady’s actions—as Rob’s betrothed she should—something about Tyra made Lilidh suspicious. Though her brother Symon was odious and dangerous, Tyra reminded Lilidh of a serpent, hiding in the tall grass, waiting to strike. Chills tore through her as the lady walked past her to leave the chamber. The dead blue eyes that stared at her in that moment frightened her more than Symon had or could.
Ranald moved aside—Rob’s command to do so was shouted loudly enough for her to hear—and then she could finally see him. Other than the blood on his hand—well, and the bolt still sticking out of his side—he seemed more angry than hurt.
‘Rob,’ she said, ‘you are hurt.’ Beathas reached for him, but he waved her off.
‘I should be dead,’ he replied and everyone in the chamber went silent. ‘If you had not pushed me, I would be dead.’
She could not respond then, so many emotions racing through her mind and heart. He would have died. Tears burned her eyes and throat then, but she refused to let them fall. Whatever was between them was not for others to see.
‘I but tripped,’ she said, trying to sound calm and uncaring.
He stared at her as he allowed Tomas and Beathas to remove his leather jacket and shirt to find the head of the bolt. She dared not look away, even when Beathas grabbed it and pulled it free of his flesh. She may have gasped. She may have startled. She did not look away.
Tomas left Rob and came to her side then, forcing her attentions to him. ‘Lady, you saw it come from the north?’ he asked, crouching down to speak to her quietly.
‘Aye, Tomas. When I glanced up, I saw it against the moon in that last second. From the north.’
‘Look at this, Ranald. Tomas,’ Rob said. ‘The markings on this.’ Rob held the bloodied bolt out to them. ‘I have seen this man’s work before.’
She waited to learn more, but he sent the men off with whispered orders as he allowed Beathas to bandage the wound. Then he dismissed the healer and the last of the servants and Lilidh knew he would leave, too.
‘Perhaps they were aiming for me?’ she said, trying to lighten the horrible tension within her. He could have died—should have, if the shooter’s aim had been better or if she had not intervened.
‘I doubt it, Lilidh,’ he said, walking to her as he pulled a new shirt on and tied the laces. Grabbing his jacket, he faced her. ‘The man who made that bolt is from Lairig Dubh.’
She lost her footing and fell to the chair, shaking her head as she landed. ‘That is not possible, Rob. They would not—’
‘Not what, Lilidh? Try to kill me and head off any meaningful resistance on their arrival? Send some watchers with orders to take a shot if they got the opportunity? Tell me, since you know your father’s methods so well, would he not order such a thing?’
His voice was calm, almost too calm, as he made his accusation and it frightened her. But something kept rolling over and over in her mind. ‘If I had not pushed you out of the way, that bolt would have hit me.’
He blinked then and ran his hands through his hair as he did when something bothered or bewildered him. Staring up at the ceiling as though he could see through the roof to the battlements, he stood silent for several seconds, thinking about her words. When he turned back to face her, Rob’s expression was more puzzled than before.
‘Who then, Lilidh? Who would try to kill you with a bolt from your clan’s fletcher?’
It did not take much thinking to come up with the name of someone who would benefit from either death—Symon.
‘Who else?’ she asked. Rob did not look as though he wanted to believe it.
‘How would he get that?’ he asked. Before she could suggest a way, he answered himself. ‘From your travelling party. From those guarding and escorting you.’
‘After he killed them,’ she added. ‘If we had not moved, that could have killed both of us.’
Their deaths together would have taken care of so many problems. Symon could have claimed that since a MacLerie bolt killed them both, the Mathesons werenot responsible for her death. Since every indication had been made that they were willing to negotiate to a peaceful conclusion, the MacLerie’s bolt was the act of war. And Rob’s death would clear the way for Symon to be laird.
Dastardly planning, but cunning.
‘I am surprised you pushed me away while you still suspected me of receiving that letter from your mother and denying it.’
Lilidh shook her head. She’d forgotten what they’d been discussing when the bolt flew towards them. And there was no way she could allow the man she loved to remain in harm’s way.
The gravity of that realisation and the closeness to death for both of them hit her hard then. The tears flowed then, freely, as she ran the couple of paces between them and launched herself into his arms. Unable to be gentle, she held him close and sobbed. He could have died.
He would have died.
Rob held her and let her sob out the fear that he saw take hold of her. Not unlike the nervousness that could happen after a battle was done and the danger gone, he’d seen it taking control of her as they talked about who could be responsible for this attack. Smoothing back her hair and ignoring the burning pain in his side, he held her and let her calm down before trying to do anything else.
