Page 88 of Highland Ruse

The beast moved forward and gave a hoarse swallowing sound.

Delilah edged backward, encouraging it into the light so she could see what she might need to kill.

The moonlight hit the thing and revealed it to be not a thing at all, but a young woman. She was slender and dressed in a ridiculously extravagant gown for the sorrowful pit of despair where they’d been left.

The woman pointed toward Delilah. Bits of ruined lace hung from her sleeve like clumped cobwebs. Dark hair fell around her face in lank waves and cast her face in shadows. Still, Delilah could make out her mouth working, as if she intended to speak.

The woman gave a mewling sound and shook her head in irritation.

Leasa stepped backward to put herself behind Delilah. The maid’s fear was as thick in the air as the pungent odor of the woman’s unwashed body.

“Who?” The woman’s mouth formed an exaggeration of the word and she stabbed the air with her bony finger.

Delilah stepped to the left, forcing the woman into the light in order to keep eye contact. The pale light fell on her face, and Delilah realized the woman was not as young as she first thought. Strained lines creased her brow and rimmed her mouth. Nor was her hair dark as it had been in the shadows, but a streaked and dirty red.

“This is Leasa.” Delilah indicated Leasa, hesitating for a moment over her own name. But what did sharing her name matter? No one knew her surname, not that her surname held much traction in Scotland. “And I’m Delilah.”

The woman’s gaze lowered to the ground and searched the darkness before she suddenly dropped into a very stiff curtsy.

When she rose, she looked up at Delilah with the wide, wounded gaze of an animal often beaten. She licked her lips and swallowed.

“I…” The sound came out in a long croak. The woman grimaced and shook her head again, as if chastising herself. “I…”

She gave a feral growling noise and pressed her hand to her bony chest. “Torrrr.”

Her features relaxed into a look of accomplished victory.

Delilah pointed at her. “Tor?”

The woman shook her head vehemently and hit her chest hard enough that the thump echoed off the wet walls. “Torra.” She nodded in obvious encouragement for Delilah to understand. “I’m Torra.”

• • •

Donnan always was good at hiding. It was why Kaid had sent him to Edirdovar in the first place.

If only he wasn’t so hard to find. Even in the light of a new day, it was impossible to locate him.

Kaid skimmed the treetops for anything amiss. Staying aloft was one of Donnan’s best hiding tricks. Kaid had left his horse at a paid stable in the village and walked the remainder of the way to the castle.

He’d had to duck away from several guards. Thus far, his labors had rendered him unseen.

Now he was entirely visible in the forest, scanning the trees like a fool. He itched for a good cleaning after the hard travel and his mind fogged with exhaustion.

“Anything interesting up there?” a voice asked nearby.

Kaid smirked and stared into a thick patch of bushes where the question came from. A white smile flashed at him.

He strode toward the bush and ducked beneath the cover of it to sit beside Donnan. “I dinna know if I should hit ye for being an arse or hug ye for helping me find ye.”

Donnan had dirt smeared on his face and his plaid pulled around his body. He shrugged. “I prefer hugs.”

Kaid pulled his plaid around his body and over his head to ensure his own optimal cover. “I heard MacKenzie intended to marry Elizabeth.” He searched his friend’s dark gaze. “Is that true?”

“I heard similar, but it’s no’ happened yet.” He jerked his head toward a stone building near the castle garden. “If the priest is as ruined as the chapel, I wish him luck.”

Donnan was right. The building was in sore disrepair, its windows gaping and jagged like broken teeth and embedded in a tangle of weeds.

“There could be one inside the castle,” Kaid offered.