The Highlander's Lady (2 page)

Myra listened for a few moments longer to discern if there was only one person in the room. It had to be Bryon’s wife. “Rose?” she whispered.

The whimpering stopped.

“Hello?” came the tentative voice of her sister-by-marriage.

S
he called to her softly, “
Rose
, ’tis Myra.”

A
scuffling, like
shoes scooting across the floor sounded within the room.
Within moments
Rose
’s tear-stained face peered through the crack.
Her brown eyes were red rimmed and her fiery curls jutted in frantic wisps from her head.

“Myra!” she whispered frantically. “Ye must help me. They’ve come. I think they killed Byron. Everyone.”

“Who? Wait, help me push this door open, ye must come in here.”

Rose
shook her head. “They are tearing the castle apart as we speak. If I come in there, then they will too.”

Myra’s sister-by-marriage was right.
It would be impossible for them
to put the bureau back in place.
They had to escape unnoticed. The secret passages were the only way—and they had to remain concealed.
“Can ye get to
Byron
’s library? There’s a passage through the hearth.”

Rose
looked about frantically, as if expect
ing
the door to her
solar
to bang open at any moment. She nodded, fear filling her eyes.

“I will meet ye there. Go. Quickly.” Myra reached her fingers through the door and gripped
Rose
’s, hoping to give her some measure of comfort. “I will be there waiting.”

Rose
nodded again, squeezing Myra’s hand with trembling fingers.

“I’m going
now, Myra
.”

There was silence and then a creak as Rose opened the door. For several agonizing heartbeats, Myra waited. Waited for Rose to be struck down. Waited for the sound of shouts as she made her escape. Waited for something horrifying to happen. But there was nothing.

Myra counted to thirty, slowly, with even breaths, and then she ran back up the dark winding stair until she reached Byron’s library. Peeking through the crack, she determined the room was still empty. With trembling fingers she found the hook in the wall, and slid her finger through it yanking and twisting until the lock unlatched and the wall opened
behind the hearth
. The library’s hidden door was heavy, but not as heavy as it could be. Made from plaster to look like stone, it was a perfect disguise within the wall.
Ashes from the grate stirred and made her cough. She hid her face in her cloak to
stifle the sound
, and muttered a prayer of thanks for no fire being in the hearth.

Her heart felt as though it would explode, racing like sheep
hunted by
wolves. Myra crouched
low to wait for Rose, hoping that should the enemy enter she’d have time to shut the hidden door without their notice
.

Dear God, let
Rose
make it here safely.

Now she knew for certain, t
he castle was under attack
. None of it seemed real. Fear prickled her skin. Why would anyone want to attack her home? And
Byron
couldn’t
possibly be
…
“Nay,” Myra whispered with a shake of her head. Byron couldn’t be dead.
Just couldn’t.

Her breath hitched and panic threatened to take over, but she willed herself to calm. Willed herself to stay strong for Rose and her unborn
niece or nephew
’s sake.

What felt like hours later, but in reality was probably only minutes, the door to the library crept open. Myra bit her lip hard, expecting to hear the scrape of booted heels on the wooden planks, but there was only a whisper of slippers. Rose.

“Myra?” her sister-by-marriage called softly.

“I’m here.” Myra scrambled
out of the hidden door in the hearth, bumping her head on the oak mantel
. “Come, we must hurry.”

Rose didn’t hesitate. They were through the
secret
door, the last inch closing when the main door to the library crash
ed
open. Rose jumped beside her, letting out a strangled squeak. Myra reached up, finding Rose’s lips in the dark and pinched them, indicating silence.

Rose nodded, and gripped Myra’s hand with deathlike force.

Myra did not want to wait and see if those who’d entered happened to notice the wall shift when she’d closed it the remainder of the way, and so squeezing Rose’s hand, she urged her down the steps.

Where she’d been able to fly in the dark before, she now
had
to tread lightly. Rose was already off balance with her huge belly, and not being used to the darkened stairs was made all the more unstable.

Myra prayed constantly, a litany in her mind, for the enemy to not follow, and luck must have been on their side because they made it to the door leading into the dungeon without one of the evil villains following.

She stopped and gripped Rose’s shoulders. Although she couldn’t see her face, Myra stared in that direction.

“Listen now, sister. Ye must hide in here. They willna find ye. I promise.”

“Where?”

“The dungeon.”

From the shudder of Rose’s shoulders, Myra imagined her shaking her head hard.

“Ye must. If they find these tunnels, all is lost. But within the dungeon, they’d not find ye there.”

“Where are ye going?”

“I have to find Byron.”

“N
ay
! Ye canna! He’s dead!” Panic seized Rose’s voice, and she
appeared
to be on the very verge of hysterics.

“
Shh… Ye dinna want them to hear us.
I willna
tarry
long. But I must see if he lives.”

Rose sobbed
quietly and pulled Myra in for
a
hug. They stood for as long as Myra would allow, which wasn’t nearly long enough, before she pushed the dungeon door open and guided Rose inside.

“Hurry back,” Rose said, her voice cracking.

“I will.”

Myra
wasted no time rushing back up the stairs to the great hall. Peering through the hole, she saw nothing but destruction.

Bodies with blood flowing. Furniture turned
and tossed. Food and wine mingled
with the blood
upon the floors and tables
. Even a few of the dogs had been slaughtered.
The dogs. Why would anyone slaughter an innocent animal? Tears pricked her eyes, but she willed them away. What did the enemy have to gain? She kept asking herself that question over and over and still didn’t have an answer.

The enemy still lurked within the room.
A few warriors she didn’t recognize boasted of their heinous glory while another maniacally abused the body of a dead servant.

Bile rose, burning the back of her throat. There was no way she could get inside without being seen.

“Myra.” Someone grabbed her ankle, tugging.

A scream bubbled up her throat, threatening to wrench free, when logic filled her mind with the sound of her brother’s voice. Weak and pain-filled.

Myra crouched
before she collapsed
to the ground, patting the stone stairs until she felt the slightly cold flesh of her brother’s hand.
She scooted close, her
knees pressing against his side, feeling his shuddering breaths keenly.

“Byron, what’s happened?
How did ye get in here?
”
she whispered.

His breathing was labored and she was surprised she hadn’t heard him before.

“Ross attacked…” He breathed deep, his lungs rattling. “Ju
st as Sutherland said he would. I crawled into the tunnels…hoped you’d taken Rose…was trying to find…her.”

Part of the conversation she’d overheard…
Myra squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to cry, wishing this nightmare away. Her brother was badly injured. Her people slaughtered. The enemy waiting with glee for her to show her face.

“Why
did he attack
?”
she asked.

Byron squeezed her fingers, but even his grasp was feeble.

“They are not our allies. They are allies of England.”

Myra’s stomach turned.
She swallowed hard as her worst fears came true.
And she was supposed to marry the bastard.
Shaking her head, she gripped
Byron
’s hand hard. There was no time for her to dwell on it now. She had to help him.

“Come, let me help ye. We must patch up your wounds. Where are ye hurt?”

“There’s no use for it, sister. I’m going to die…”

For what seemed like a lifetime, t
here was silence
. H
er heart felt like it’d been ripped from her chest, and the fear of her brother passing before she could say goodbye collided with her senses.

“Nay. Nay, we will bring ye down to the dungeon with Rose. She’ll help me.”

Byron chuckled softly. “Ye’re a good woman, Myra. As much as ye’re a pain in the arse. But ye must leave me here. I need ye to do something for me.”

Tears stung her eyes, and if she could see, her vision would be blurred.
“What? Anything, tell me.”

“I need ye to see Rose safely to the Sutherlands. And then I need ye to deliver a message.”

The Sutherlands were their allies, and to be trusted. The chief himself had been involved with William Wallace at Stirling Bridge, a major reason for their victory.
He’d been the one to warn of the Ross treachery.
Rose would be safe within their walls.

“I will.”

“Ye must find Robert the Bruce
.
He is…
”
Byron’s voice trailed off again. Time was running short. She could only pray he would last long enough to give her the full message. 
“
He is at Eilean Donan… Not safe.
He’ll never be king if…
Ye must tell him about Ross. Tell him that there is an enemy within his camp…tell him Ross is in league with the English and plans to kill
him
.”

Myra shuddered. King Edward, better
known
as Longshanks by her kin, was responsible for this war. He wanted to scour the Scots from their own land, the greedy bastard. She’d lived in fear nearly her entire life. The Sassenachs were monsters that lived under her bed, crept in the shadows of her nursery as a child, and even now when she felt as though she was being watched it was by one of the demon English.

With William Wallace fighting
alongside
the Bruce
, they’d
won the Battle of Stirling Bridge—a major victory for the Scots—
and
it
emerged that
her country might indeed gain their freedom from English oppressors. But not if they were
being undermined from within. Not if Ross gave away their secrets and whereabouts.

Damn him!

“Tell Rose I love…” B
y
r
on’s voice trailed off and Myra felt him shudder against her knees.

Myra shoved her anger to the back of her mind, concentrating on her brother’s last ragged breaths.
A sob slipped from her throat and she collapsed onto
his chest
, hugging him, trying to push her warmth into him, trying to bring him back from death.
All around her on the floor, his warm sticky blood flowed.

But ’twas no use. Byron was gone—and at the hands of a man she despised. An enemy of her country. An enemy of her family. A man she vowed to never marry. Not in this lifetime
,
nor
in the next. She would see Rose to safety and then she would see to the demise of Ross—tell the Bruce of the traitor’s existence.

Myra slipped her brother’s ring from his finger
, t
he one made of gold and onyx, a symbol of the Munro clan chief
and s
hoved
the ring into her boot.
With a start she realized what Byron’s death meant.

Myra was chief.

“Dear Rose, please birth a son.”

She didn’t want to be chief. Had no idea how to run a clan.

Cradling her brother’s head, she laid him down gently, giving him one last kiss on the cheek. She swallowed her fear, clear on what had to be done.
C
onviction
straightened her
spine
as
she stood
. As chief of Munro—for hopefully only a month or so longer—she would see this deed done.