by Emily Royal
Poised to defend her if need be, he smiled at her courage. The rider leading the procession dismounted and drew his sword, but she stayed firm. In her clear voice, she said she was Lord Allendyne’s fiancée and had walked for three days after escaping the fire at the Arnford garrison.
“Aye, lady, we heard rumours it had been destroyed and spotted the smoke yesterday. How did you escape?”
“I hid until the fighting stopped. The smoke was thick enough to conceal me.”
“You were the only one who escaped?”
“The barbarians killed all the men. Even the prisoners were not spared. I’m the only survivor.”
Through the trees, Tavish saw the man lift Elyssia onto his horse before swinging up behind her. With a sharp word, they set off into the distance. Soon the birdsong obscured the sound of the hoofbeats and voices, and Tavish sat alone in the forest. Alone and free.
Curling his hand into a fist, he felt something hard in his palm. She had left him her knife—a kind gesture to ensure his protection or a token of her affection? Either way, he would wear it always, treasure it, to remember her by. She might have given him her knife, but she had taken a piece of his heart.
Chapter 5
Two years later
“How much further, Lyssie?”
Alice’s plaintive voice cut across Elyssia’s dreams. The lulling motion of the cart had let her mind slip sideways until her Highlander penetrated her dreams. After two years, she still clung to the memory of his hands and lips on her.
Where was he now? Had he returned to his people? Perhaps he was married, like her. After two years, had he avenged his sister?
Ahead of the cart rode her husband of six days, John de Beauchamp. Another friend of Papa’s, he was at least not as sadistic as Lord Allendyne. Rumours abounded that Edward Morland had not died in the fire, but thankfully Papa had not pursued them, having already promised her to de Beauchamp.
Life with a bad-tempered man old enough to be her grandfather would be more bearable now he had permitted Alice to live with them. Papa, glad to rid himself of both his daughters, had increased the dowry to persuade de Beauchamp to take Alice as well. Only Richard, her dear brother, had regretted her leaving.
“Lyssie?”
Pale eyes looked up at her, framed by fine blonde hair.
“Forgive me, Allie.” Elyssia drew a protective arm round her sister’s shoulders. “Not long now, then we can settle you in your new home.”
“Will we be happy there?”
“Aye, my dear. De Beauchamp is not a bad man. He’ll protect me—and I always take care of you, do I not?”
“I’m glad of it,” Alice replied. “Mamma told me she thought he wouldn’t want you, for you don’t have the body of a lady. What did she mean?”
“Hush, Allie. Do not speak of it.”
“Is your husband kind? As kind as Richard?”
“No man is as kind as our brother.”
“I’ll miss Richard.”
“Aye, dear one. So will I.”
Elyssia picked up a woollen rag which had been fashioned into a rough human form.
“Here, Alice. Take your doll.”
Alice smiled and buried her head in Elyssia’s chest. Kissing the top of her sister’s head, Elyssia banished all thoughts of her Highlander from her mind. The person she loved most in the world was in her arms here and now.
The cart drew to a halt and voices shouted from the front of the party. Elyssia called to one of the men.
“What’s happened?”
“The road is blocked, my lady.”
De Beauchamp rode back to the cart, turning his milky gaze on her.
“Stay here, wife. A tree has fallen across our path, but the men are moving it.”
“Husband, I can help.”
“Don’t be a fool. Do as you’re bid. Stay here and look after… her.”
Flinching at his tone, she nodded.
Voices carried through the air as the men heaved the tree, morphing into cries coming from the forest which ran alongside their path.
“Lyssie!” Alice screamed.
“Hush, Alice, we’ll be on our way soon.”
“No!” Alice gestured to the trees. Swarms of dark shapes grew larger until they formed definite shapes. Men—Highlanders—ran towards their party, puffs of breath visible in the air as they roared out their battle cries. At a sharp command from de Beauchamp, his men-at-arms surrounded the cart.
But they were outnumbered at least two to one.
Holding her sister close, Elyssia murmured a silent prayer. They were going to die.
* * *
“There they are, my lord.”
Tavish nodded, a grim smile on his lips. Lying on his belly at the top of the hill flanked by two of his men, he had a clear view of the path below, winding into the distance across the land. Distant figures appeared on the horizon, crawling along the path.
“At last, I have her. Lady Agatha de Montford. Daughter of the swine who murdered Flora.”
The man on his right sighed. “You intend to proceed?”
“Aye, Duncan. The clan demands it. I promised both Flora and my father. I have no choice. If the rumours are true, she’s a haughty bitch and deserves what’s coming to her.”
“You believe any woman deserves what we plan to do?”
“Did Flora deserve what that bastard de Montford did to her? To die screaming in my arms?”
“But what will it do to you, Tavish? Flora will be avenged, but at what cost? To the woman? To you? Will you be able to live with yourself afterwards?”
“I must, Duncan. I made a vow before the clan. I could not break it even if I wanted to.”
“I hear the reluctance in your voice, Tavish,” a rough voice said from the left. “You’re weak-bellied! Do you want our people to see you as a lover of the English? If you won’t do the deed, it would be my pleasure.”
“It’s not a deed to relish, Angus,” Tavish growled. “Go to the men and tell them to make ready.”
“Aye, my lord.”
Angus bowed and left, his heavy tread growing fainter through the forest.
“Take care of Angus,” Duncan said quietly. “If you must take this woman, keep him away from her.”
He took Tavish’s hand. “Wait for us at the camp.”
“I am your laird,” Tavish protested. “I must lead you into battle.”
“Aye, Tavish,” Duncan replied, “but tonight you are about to commit a greater sin, and you must make peace with your maker before you do the deed. When we have the woman, I’ll bring her to you.”
* * *
The Highlanders’ swords cut down the Englishmen as if they were saplings. De Beauchamp himself roared in pain and anger, his screams mingling with the shrill cries of his horse, which fell to the ground, huge red stains spreading across the animal’s white flank.
“English swine!” Harsh, brutal voices laced with thick accents spat obscenities.
Within moments, bodies of the English littered the path. The Highlanders had killed them with frightening efficiency without so much as a single injury to themselves. How could Longshanks think he could subjugate these people?
Slowly they advanced on the two women. Alice buried her head in Elyssia’s shoulder. Her whimpers increased, and her body shook, heralding the beginning of convulsions.
“Hush, sweet one.” Elyssia stroked her sister’s head, stepping into the familiar ritual. “Close your eyes—see the trees, like I taught you; the autumn leaves. Can you see the reds and golds?”
“Aye…”
“Breathe, dear one, breathe.”
Alice’s chest shuddered, but the convulsions in her body began to lessen. To keep them at bay, Elyssia had to disguise the fear which threatened to overpower her.
Straightening her stance, she called out in a clear voice.
“What manner of barbarism is this—to murder men and terrorise unarmed women?”
One of the men laughed coarsely, his
shaggy, dirty beard brushing against his chest, red mouth opening to reveal yellowed teeth.
“We’ll do more than that, English bitch.”
“Have a care, Angus,” a second man said sharply before turning to the women. “My name is Duncan. Which of you is Agatha de Montford?”
“I am,” Elyssia said coldly. “Lady Agatha Elyssia, Countess de Beauchamp.”
“Countess no more, ye’re a widow now.” He inclined his head toward Alice.
“Is she your maid?”
“She’s my sister.”
“Then you’re both to come with us.”
“For what purpose?”
The first man laughed coarsely. “English whores!”
“Silence, Angus!” Duncan snapped before he addressed Elyssia. “Come with us or ye shall die here.”
“No!” Alice let out a wail, and Elyssia hushed her with a kiss.
“We have no choice, Allie, but I’ll not let them hurt you.” She turned to Duncan, who seemed to be the voice of reason.
“Will you promise not to harm us?”
“You’re in no position to bargain, woman, but ye’ll not be killed.”
Elyssia climbed out of the cart and helped Alice down. Almost at once, the men were upon them. Alice let out a howl, her voice heightening in pitch.
“Don’t frighten her,” Elyssia cried, “she does not understand.”
“Is she a half-wit?” Angus laughed.
Ignoring him, she spoke to Duncan. “She frightens easily and suffers poor health. Treat her gently, and I’ll do everything you ask.”
Duncan’s eyes softened before he gestured to the man on his right. “Finlay, look after the sister. I’ll take Lady Agatha.”
Finlay nodded. He was much younger than the rest—a mere boy only recently come to manhood.
“My lady.” He held his hand to Alice and waited, patience in his stance, a groom coaxing a nervous filly.
“Go to him,” Elyssia whispered.
Alice took Finlay’s hand, her body still trembling, and he gave her a shy smile of reassurance.
“Lady.” Duncan held out a rope, refusing to meet her eye. “Forgive us, we must bind your hands.”
Elyssia held out her hands. Securing the rope, Duncan lifted his eyes to meet hers before lowering them. Though he looked at her only briefly, it was enough to reveal the thick, raw shame in his expression. Whoever these men were, not all of them took pleasure in her abduction. Perhaps she could use that to her advantage.
The world inverted as Duncan lifted her onto his shoulder, Finlay following suit with Alice. The men set off into the forest at a fast pace, the heavy tread of footsteps through the undergrowth almost masking the sound of their puffs of breath and hacking coughs as they hawked and spat on the ground.
When they reached their destination—a camp consisting of makeshift tents—Duncan set her on her feet.
“Lyssie!”
Her heart tightened at the plaintive voice.
“I’m here, Alice. I won’t leave you.”
“Duncan,” Angus growled, “go tell the master we’ve returned with his bounty.”
Flashing Angus a hard look, Duncan left. With a grin, Angus advanced on Elyssia brandishing another rope, before securing it around her neck.
“How dare you treat us like animals!” Elyssia cried. “Are we to be tethered to a tree like horses?”
“Aye,” Angus rasped before leering at her, “and ridden like mares.”
He pushed Finlay towards them. “Watch over the whores until he’s ready.”
“Of what does he speak?” Fear tightened Elyssia’s chest, but Finlay turned his back as if unwilling to face her.
“Ye’ll soon find out.”
Raised voices surrounded the tent. The men argued, but their accents were too thick to make out more than a few words. Elyssia recognised Angus’s voice, angry and demanding, full of hate as he spat out her name.
The tent opening drew back, and Duncan’s face appeared, tinged with sadness.
“Untie her, Finlay. Woman, come with me.”
Complying, Finlay handed the rope to Duncan, who closed his eyes as if in prayer before curling it into a fist around the end.
He led her outside, and she drew back at the sight before her. The men had formed a semicircle surrounding her, faces leering in the torchlight. Tugging on the rope, Duncan pulled her towards another tent. An ugly black mass of terror welled up inside her.
“I hope the master will let me ride her after he’s had his fill,” Angus growled, accompanied by coarse laughter and jeering from the men.
“Ye’ll have a turn, Angus! There’s two for us all to share!”
“Not my sister!” Elyssia cried, lunging forward. Her head snapped back against the rope, sending a jolt of pain through her.
Rough hands propelled her towards the tent opening—a black, gaping hole awaiting her, through which she could make out a large, moving shape. A living nightmare waiting to destroy her.
She struck out, and her hand met flesh. Sticky wetness burst onto her hands as her fingernails made a purchase. She flung out an arm at a movement to one side, and a large hand gripped her wrist. Dipping her head, she sank her teeth into the hand, tearing at the flesh.
With a howl of pain, her assailant released her, but pain exploded in her face where he struck her.
“Curse you all to hell, you animals!” she screamed, but her cries were met with more laughter.
“A feisty filly this one. She’ll take some breaking in!”
She had been reduced to an animal. A terrified animal caught in a trap, using her only weapons—teeth and claws—against the pack of wolves which would inevitably overcome her. But she would fight to her last breath, instinct driving her to defend herself against the relentless tide of brutality and lust.
“Barbarians, the lot of you!” she screamed, “and all your women grubby whores!”
Hands pushed her forward, and she tripped, falling facedown on a hard pallet covered in a rough woollen blanket.
“No! Stop it!” A deep male voice penetrated her own screams before hands dug into her flesh, stifling her voice, and she choked against the coarse wool.
The voice cried out again, its timbre so familiar—an echo of her dreams which crawled into her mind. She screamed, obliterating the voice as a sharp pain heralded the end of her innocence. Closing her mind to her fate, she pictured the falling leaves, tumbling shapes drifting through the autumn air—shapes she used to draw with Alice in their old nursery, leaves falling to the earth in a soft rhythm to match her breathing. Her mind joined the leaves, drifting, weightless and soulless, in the cold air, leaving her body a cold, empty shell until blessed oblivion claimed her.
The noose tightened, returning her to the pain, and hands rolled her onto her back. She opened her eyes and looked into a nightmare worse than anything she could have imagined, and a wail of despair burst from her chest.
The moss green gaze that greeted her—they were eyes of the man who had visited her in her dreams for two years.
The man who tonight had stripped her of her innocence and reduced her to a whore.
Her Highlander.
Chapter 6
“Elyssia.”
Tavish never thought he would hear that name on his lips—that he would see her again. Those violet eyes which had once shown only love and trust, now glittered with hatred. Eventually, they shrank into despair and dulled into the mindless expression of the animal his men had reduced her to—a cow lying broken before her owner, waiting to be slaughtered.
Drawing her knees to her chest, she rolled over, eyes open yet unseeing, and lay still.
“Tavish?” Duncan’s soft voice reminded him of his purpose and his duty. What was the life of one woman—whoever she may be—compared to his family, his clan?
“Shall I move her from your tent?”
He shook his head. “Leave her. Do not touch her again.”
A hand touched his arm, the hand of his f
riend, a gesture of friendship and understanding.
“Innocents are sacrificed in war, Tavish, ye ken that. Flora and Ewan are being avenged. The Clan will thank ye for it.”
“Aye,” Tavish croaked in reply, “but what makes us different to de Montford? Have I not become the same monster as he?”
“Don’t think of it, my friend,” Duncan replied. “Therein lies the path to insanity. Your conscience sets you apart from him. By taking the woman for yourself, you spare her the fate her father thrust upon Flora when he threw her to the rest of his men.”
“But I didn’t take her, Duncan,” Tavish sighed. “At the last, I couldn’t bring myself to do it; not even to that man’s daughter.”
“Then what will you do now, Tavish? Give her to your men like he did? You must take her for yourself if you wish to protect her from that.”
Nodding, Tavish picked up a blanket and draped it over Elyssia’s body. She did not react but continued to stare ahead, not even flinching when he touched her face. He ran a light finger along the ugly bruise below her left eye and her swollen lip, before lifting it to his lips, staring at the ruby droplet—the same blood he had shed moments before.
“Elyssia, can you hear me?”
Unresponsive, she lay still.
A woman screamed in the distance, and Elyssia’s body jerked upright.
“Alice!” With a cry, she leapt to her feet and darted outside. Tavish followed to find her sister grappling with Angus, who laughed as he jerked the noose on her neck, ignoring Finlay’s pleas for him to stop.
Alice shrieked again, her body jerking with stiff, inhuman motions.
Tavish grasped the rope secured around Elyssia’s neck. With a cry, her head snapped back, and he pulled her to him and drew his knife to hold it against her throat.
“Don’t move,” he hissed. She tried to twist her body away from him and caught her chin on the knife in his hand.
No, not his knife, but hers—the small eating knife he’d treasured since the day she had given it to him, oiling the handle and honing the blade to keep it sharp, as sharp as the sweet memory of her. How cruel fate could be that he had used this blade to injure her further.