by Emily Royal
“Be quiet!” Elyssia cried. “Is this how you repay me for everything I’ve done to protect you? Your half-witted words may be the death of us.”
Alice flinched, her face turning ashen.
Half-witted—dear God! What had caused her to utter such foul words?
Alice began to shake, her jaw stiffening, eyes rolling in the manner Elyssia knew only too well. She pitched forward, and Elyssia caught her, but she could not hold her weight, and they crumpled to the floor.
For the first time in her life, she had spoken with cruelty towards her sister.
“Alice, I’m sorry. Forgive me. I spoke in anger. Dear one, I would give my life to protect you. Alice…”
Her sister’s body quietened, the jerks lessening in intensity until her breathing grew steady.
“Lyssie…”
“Oh, Alice, I’d do anything to have those horrible words unsaid.”
“All I ask is that you believe me,” Alice said. “I may understand little, but I hear much. I hear it in her voice.”
“What do you hear?”
“Mamma. It’s like Mamma with Papa’s women.”
Mamma—the proud, resentful woman who despised her daughters. Beneath the aura of the respectable wife and mother had lain a core of hatred; the will to remove all obstacles and inconveniences.
Margaret had all the appearance of beauty and tenderness and had tempered Callum’s anger. Or had she? What if she had been inciting his feelings instead? Softly whispered words could pierce a man’s armour more effectively than a sword.
Callum had cried so bitterly after his whipping, the tears of regret of a misguided child. But since he had risen from the sickbed, Margaret at his side, he’d resumed hurling insults at them. Alone and in pain, he had shown compassion, but now…
Margaret. Always it came back to her. Elyssia’s mind drifted back to the day they whipped her. Isla’s and Iona’s voices had pleaded for mercy; Arran’s voice had been laced with regret; Angus’s voice had been full of lust, and Callum had wept for his sister. Among them all, only one voice had remained calm and dispassionate.
* * *
“Tavish! Tavish!”
Two blasts of a horn echoed in the air. Someone had been sighted in the forest. Tavish called up to the lookout.
“What is it?”
“A man approaches!”
“Is he alone?”
“I can only see one man. He’s moving slowly, making no attempt to conceal himself.”
“Duncan! With me, quickly! Bring four others.”
Swords drawn, the six men approached the forest. A lone man emerged from between the trees, covered in scratches and bruises, his body filthy, plaid torn.
“Tavish…” As if uttering that single word had taken all his strength, he pitched forward, body spent.
His features were barely recognisable as the young clansman who had fallen in love with Flora and sworn to protect her; the man who had left with her, never to return.
Until now.
“Ewan.”
The virile young man was no more. His skin had a grey pallor, his once bright eyes now dull and sunken into the flesh of his thin, ravaged face. A scar ran across his cheek, destroying features once so handsome. He’d been popular with women but had eyes only for one. Flora. Did he know what had happened to her? Had he witnessed her destruction?
Yelling for Isla, Tavish carried Ewan into his chamber and placed him on the bed. He retched at the smell of filth and decay clinging to the young Highlander’s body. He lifted the torn plaid to reveal a deep wound which ran along his leg. The sweet smell of putrefaction and blackening of the skin surrounding it clawed at his senses, and he retched again.
He lifted his eyes and met Duncan’s steady gaze. His friend shook his head. There was nothing they could do.
“Flora…” Ewan’s voice erupted in a fit of coughs. “Where… where is she?”
“I’m sorry, Ewan. My sister is dead.”
Ewan nodded, and a pained smile puckered the scar across his cheek. “I wanted to see her one last time. To ask you for her hand.”
“I would gladly have given it.”
“Thank you…” he burst into another fit of coughing “…I take comfort from knowing I’ll soon join her. My sweet angel.”
“She waits for you,” Tavish replied. “Go to her with my blessing.”
The door opened, and Isla entered, carrying a bundle of bandages, Elyssia by her side.
“Master Ewan!” Isla cried.
Elyssia lifted Ewan’s shirt to inspect the wounds on his chest.
“Wolves,” she said. “Dear Lord! Look at these bites and scratches!”
Ewan’s body stiffened.
“You! Bitch! Get away from me!” He tried to sit, groaning with the effort. “What is she doing here?”
“Please, sir, I do not know you,” Elyssia pleaded. “You must calm yourself, so we can tend to you.”
“Don’t let her touch me! She’s the one who abused Flora!”
Tavish’s body stiffened. “What do you mean? Elyssia, what is he saying?”
She backed away, moving towards the door. Her expression, at first full of shock, began to change—to one of recognition, and finally guilt.
“Look at me, Elyssia.”
Lowering her gaze, she shook her head and spread her hands out behind her until she touched the door and fumbled for the handle.
“Don’t let her go!”
Before she could move, Duncan took her in his arms, holding her in a firm grip.
“Bring her close, Duncan. Let her bear witness to the truth from a dying man’s lips.”
Her body grew limp as Duncan pushed her towards the bed until she overlooked the dying man.
“Tell me what you did, woman.”
She shook her head, eyes brimming with false tears.
Ewan coughed. “Let me tell you.”
Tavish nodded, his eyes focused on the woman he thought he had loved.
“She gave the order, Tavish. Two of her father’s men held Flora by the arms in the middle of the hall, and she ordered them to strip her.”
“And then?”
“They tore the clothes from her body. That bitch stood and watched while they forced her to the ground. She… she addressed her father’s men, telling them that her father had no more use for Flora and she was now their property. She… she then…” Another cough burst from his chest, sending red droplets onto Elyssia’s gown—red to match Flora’s blood which her evil hands were stained with.
“She told them to fuck her. To fuck her raw until there was nothing left of her.”
A wave of nausea rippled through Tavish’s body, but he would not show weakness—not in front of his friend who was about to die, nor in front of the devil’s spawn he had almost given his heart to. He would not give the bitch the satisfaction.
“And what then?”
“They… they took turns in raping her, Tavish. One by one, while she screamed for mercy.”
“And what did she do while my sister was violated?”
“She stood and watched until they had finished with her. After they carried Flora away, she sat down beside her father and took her supper. I know not what she did then for I was taken away.”
Another fit of coughing and he fell back and lay still.
“Master Ewan!” Isla cried, but he did not respond.
Ewan was dead.
* * *
The cold hand of justice clawed at Elyssia’s heart. Finally, the dreadful truth had been revealed. Her secret was out, and Tavish knew the extent of her wickedness.
“Isla, leave us.” Tavish’s voice held a tone of eerie calm.
The door closed behind the old woman.
“Look at me.”
Elyssia shook her head.
“Look at me, bitch. ‘Tis the least you can do now I know the truth!”
She lifted her eyes. His green gaze was bright with grief.
“Is it true? Did you give t
he order for my sister to be raped by those men?”
Her head jerked into a nod. “Tavish, you must understand…”
“Understand what? That you’re responsible for my sister’s death? That you ordered her torture and took your supper while you watched the entertainment? My God! I thought Allendyne was evil, but he was nothing compared to you. I should have left you to rot in that Garrison, to spread your legs for every barbarian in the place. To think I suffered my conscience after I took you captive! I should have thrown you to my men, or better still, throw you to the dogs for men do not deserve to be tainted by your flesh. You filthy whore!”
He propelled himself forward and delivered a blow to her face, and her head snapped sideways with the force of it.
She staggered under the blow but made no move to fight back.
He closed his eyes and squeezed his hands into fists. Silence fell while his chest shuddered as he breathed in before exhaling with a sigh. When he opened his eyes, the hot fury had been replaced by pure hatred. Through gritted teeth, he spoke coldly and quietly.
“I thought I loved you. I was prepared to dishonour my clan by accepting you and your bastard. I thank God I discovered the truth about you before I succumbed to your evil.”
“Tavish, please, you must understand. I love you.”
“You don’t understand the word, woman. You’re nothing but a base animal. You’re worse than your father, worse than Longshanks himself, for you have come into our home and tainted us with your filth. Your father should have strangled you at birth.”
“Tavish…”
He turned his back on her.
“Remove this creature from my sight, Duncan. Lock her in her chamber with the half-wit until I decide what to do with them.”
Making no attempt to resist, she let Duncan take her arm and lead her out of the chamber. She would never forgive herself for what she had done all those years ago. Now Tavish knew of it, his hatred for her would never wane.
The Highlander of her dreams was gone forever.
Chapter 19
“Lyssie, what’s happened!”
Elyssia lifted her head. Her jaw ached, and a metallic taste filled her mouth which pulsed with pain when she tried to speak.
“He knows the truth. The girl in the dungeon at home. She was his sister.”
“Oh, Lyssie… I didn’t know. Why did you not tell me it was her?”
“What purpose would it have served?”
Alice touched Elyssia’s jaw where Tavish had struck her. “I could have spoken for you.”
The rope around her neck which Duncan had fixed to a bolt in the wall, chafed against her skin as she shook her head. “It would make no difference. He’ll never forgive me.”
“But you did it to protect me!”
Elyssia took Alice’s hand. “I’ve carried this burden for so many years. At least now the truth has been revealed I can be free of it.”
* * *
Six summers ago, Papa had returned to de Montford Castle with his prize—a young girl with flame red hair and vivid green eyes that he had seen on the road with a young man, and taken a fancy to. Younger than Elyssia, her beauty was exquisite; the soft lilt of her voice like music, even when she pleaded for mercy. Her pleas had echoed throughout the castle, accompanied by Papa’s angry voice which turned into lustful groans as he took her as his mistress. Papa had set the girl’s companion to work on the estate, subject to the lashes of his steward and confined to the dungeons at night.
When the girl quickened with child, Papa declared her of no further use and ordered her to be used to further his daughter’s education. Lady Agatha Elyssia de Montford had many flaws—the plump body of a whore, so unlike Mamma’s delicate well-bred looks; her wilful temper and disobedient nature. But her greatest flaw was her sentiment towards the Scottish people.
“Your sympathies towards these savages need to be purged, Agatha,” Papa had said. “Your mamma despairs of ever finding a man willing to take you for a wife. Your lack of beauty is a great disappointment, but given your sister’s imbecility, our hopes lie with you to make a match. But no man will want you if you persist in these foolish notions.”
“They’re people just like us, Papa. Why can’t we leave them alone?”
“Foolish child! You speak treason. I’ll have to instruct your future husband to beat such sensibilities out of you.”
“I have no wish to marry, Papa. Let Richard secure your alliances when he chooses his bride.”
“Richard! Your brother has yet to prove himself as a man. You will do your duty, but for now, I must cure you of your madness.”
Ordering her to follow him, he had led her into the main hall. A meal had been laid out on the high table where Mamma sat waiting. In the centre of the hall, two men held a slim figure dressed in a gaudy silk gown.
The girl. Her once flawless skin had a grey pallor; her hair, once so vibrant, hung limply down her shoulders. But her eyes still flashed with fire: three months at Papa’s hands had not broken her. Her gaze met Elyssia’s and widened in recognition, a connection between the two women—two souls at the mercy of a sadistic man. She must help her.
At Papa’s command, the men formed a semi-circle around the girl.
“I find I’m weary of the little savage,” Papa addressed the men. “As you’ve served me well, I shall reward you.”
Elyssia’s veins had turned to ice at Papa’s words. The girl stared back, defiance dancing in her eyes. She had yet to understand Papa’s meaning.
“Papa, let her go.”
Papa gave a snort of derision. “She’s mine to do with as I please! You think these savages are human? They’re barely more than animals, livestock.”
Elyssia turned her pleas towards her mother. “Mamma, you cannot condone this.”
“Be quiet, child,” Mamma’s harsh voice grated. “If you defy your father, you’re no daughter of mine.”
Papa pushed her forward.
“Do your duty, daughter. Give the order.”
“I will not.”
Papa held her close and hissed in her ear. Clasping her throat, he forced her head back until his hot breath fanned across her neck.
“You will, my dear. Or your idiot of a sister will suffer. Give the order. Tell my men they can have the little savage. Tell them to fuck her bloody, to share her among themselves. They shall have their meal—either this savage or your sister.”
A weak cry clutched at her heart. Alice. Dearest Alice who had nobody to protect her. Struggling in the arms of one of Papa’s men, she pleaded as he began to fondle the front of her gown.
The choice lay before her: two paths, each leading to hell. One path led to the end of the beloved sister whom Elyssia had sworn to protect. Poor Alice did not understand what the man fondling her was doing; her eyes had not been awakened to the sins of the flesh. The other path led to the destruction of the young woman kneeling before her—a woman she did not even know. Her mind had been opened; her body ruined from the day Papa took her. At Elyssia’s command, her soul would follow.
The girl’s eyes met hers, growing lifeless as understanding extinguished the flame.
I’m sorry. Elyssia mouthed the words. The girl gave a slight nod of acknowledgement.
She closed her eyes and issued the command, hardening her voice as she granted the men leave to do what they wanted with her. Foul, base words escaped her lips, hatred for Papa and the men who had command over the world driving her forward.
The girl’s cries pierced the air as the men closed in on her, arguing who would be first.
“Let us dine while we’re entertained,” Papa said, his voice thick with relish, “but I warn you. Shed one tear for that creature and your sister will share her fate.”
Echoes of the girl’s screams and pleas for mercy had haunted Elyssia ever since. Each day after she had uttered the words condemning her soul, she dreaded the night and what her dreams would bring her. The knowledge that she had spared Alice was not comfort en
ough. The girl remained within the walls of the castle—confined to the dungeons to be used by the men when they had need of her body.
A sennight later, Richard had returned. The only person she trusted, he gave her hope that the girl might be freed. Taking Elyssia in his arms, he had heard her tearful confession and tried to give her comfort.
“You’re a good woman, sister. You did no wrong. Look how you suffer! You protected Alice. Nobody else would have done that.”
“You think my plan to free the girl would work?”
“Aye, but you must be careful. If you’re caught, then it would all be for nothing—Papa will not spare Alice.”
“But I must risk it. My conscience screams to me at night. I cannot close my eyes without seeing her face.”
“Let me help you, Elyssia.”
“No, Richard. It’s my duty and mine alone. If I’m caught, I’ll gladly accept any punishment Papa would mete out, but I cannot put you at risk. I am merely a daughter. You are a son—the future Lord de Montford. Our family’s honour, and welfare lies in your hands. You must not fall out of favour with Papa.”
Poor Richard. He had the makings of a fine soldier but feared one thing above all else—Papa. The brutal discipline Papa meted upon his men—including his only son—surpassed even the treatment he had subjected on that poor girl.
The girl. Her eyes had dulled to a hazy grey, yet the pitiful spark of hope which flared up when she saw Elyssia approach, almost cleaved her heart in two. Checking that the sentry was unconscious after taking the drugged ale she’d given him, Elyssia pulled the key from his hands and released the girl, wrapping a cloak around her and concealing her face with a hood. Taking her hand, she led her outside.
Unable to look the girl in the eye, she pushed a bag of coins into her hand before leading her to the man she had brought—one of Richard’s manservants, who waited beside a cart.
“Go with Edwin. He’ll take you to the borders—and beyond if he can. I know my word means nothing after what I have done, but you can trust him.”
Thin, cold hands gripped her fingers.
“Thank ye.” The girl’s musical lilt, so full of gratitude, tore into Elyssia’s conscience.
Elyssia shook her head, blinking back tears of shame. “You have nothing to thank me for. I cannot do enough to atone.”