Page 72 of Love Beyond Words
The rest of the men were asleep, and with Nicol now back, she’d not have reason to keep Freya company. He didn’t often worry, but the air felt unusually heavy this night, as if it held a warning of something he couldn’t yet see.
Doing his best to remain calm, Raudrich rose and lit a fire as he began to dress. It was only once the room was illuminated by the glow of fire that he noticed the small piece of parchment on Laurel’s pillow.
He read her words with trembling hands as he rattled his mind and tried to make sense of what she could mean.
Panic coursing through him, he ran out into the hallway. Harry stood only a few steps away from his door.
“What is this? Where is she?”
He thrust the note in Harry’s face as his lifelong friend began to cry.
“I’m sorry, Raudrich. We had no choice, truly.”
He grabbed Harry by the collar of his shirt, yanking him roughly toward him.
“What do ye mean ye dinna have a choice? Tell me what has happened, Harry.”
A sudden pain shot through his chest, so sharp and staggering he fell to his knees in agony. Harry did the same, and for a few brief seconds, all either man could do was scream.
The pain disappeared as quickly as it had come. The change in the magic around them was palpable—one of The Eight was dead.
As Harry began to sob, Raudrich knew—Calder.
“Where is he? Where is Laurel?”
“The dungeon, lad. There is nothing ye can do. We canna allow ye to save her.”
He pushed himself to his feet and ran toward Nicol’s bedchamber as Machara’s blood-curdling laughter reverberated up from the floor.
Let her be safe, let her be safe.
The prayer played itself over and over in his mind as he ran. As he pushed open the door to the dungeon, he had to lean against the wall to keep himself steady.
The space below reeked of death and blood, and he could hear nothing save Machara’s laughter.
Bracing, he turned the corner to find Calder’s lifeless body only a short distance in front of him. He was on his knees, held up by his sword, which ran through him. Calder’s head hung painfully forward as blood drained from his chest.
Swallowing the bile rising in his throat, Raudrich raised his gaze from the floor to stare into Machara’s cell. She stood in the center of the small space, and Laurel was on her knees in front of her. Machara’s hands were around Laurel’s throat.
“There ye are, lad. I knew it wouldna take ye long.”
He said nothing. He was too busy looking Laurel up and down for a sign of injury. There was no blood or open wound. Despite Machara’s grip around her neck, she appeared unharmed. He would have to proceed carefully to ensure that she remained that way.
“Laurel, lass. I’ll not…”
Machara squeezed her fingers around Laurel’s neck and he stopped short of what he meant to say. As he stopped speaking, she relaxed her grip.
“Doona speak with her, lad. If ye say another word to her, or she to ye, I’ll slip this nail deep into her vein, and I’ll let her bleed out in front of ye. This mortal is simply a pawn. The bargain must be struck between ye and I.”
“What do ye want, Machara?”
“What I’ve always wanted. My freedom. With Calder dead, only one more death is required to free me. Ye love her. I can see that. But do ye love her more than ye love yerself? More than ye love the men ye are bound to through yer oath?”
Without another thought, he walked over to Calder’s body and pulled the sword from his friend’s lifeless chest.
Returning to stand directly in front of Machara, he turned the blade toward his own chest.
“This is what ye want, aye? My own death, as well as Calder’s? If I do this, do ye swear to me, ye shall let Laurel go?”
