by Emily Royal
“Should she not be lying on her back?”
“More cows die when they calve lying down, Master Tavish.”
Tavish curled his hand into a fist. “She’s my woman, Gordon, not livestock!” His words rang hollow in his ears—a reminder of how he had reduced her to livestock, the cruel words with which he had denounced her as nothing more than an animal.
“Aye, I ken that, but I’m thinking of her. When the mother bleeds this much, it means that the calf is unwell—or dead. I must act now before I lose the mother.”
Dear God! After all she had endured. After he had liberated her and claimed her as his.
She moaned again, her voice strained through gritted teeth. What was he thinking, leaving her on her own while he bathed in self-pity? He knelt in front of her, taking her hands, his left hand still gloved to conceal his wounds. She curled her fingers round his, grasping the glove which collapsed where his fingers were missing.
She tipped her head back, mouth open, gasping for air as if she drowned.
“I’m here. Look at me.”
Could she understand him… or even hear him?
He kissed her forehead and held his lips close to her ear as if to crawl into her mind.
“Elyssia. Elyssia, my love. Can you hear me?”
She was his responsibility. It was up to him to bring her from the brink of death—or comfort her in the journey to the afterlife if she were to be taken from him tonight.
He bit his lip, the pain distracting him from the thought of losing her.
“Elyssia, my love, I’m here. Your Highlander.
She opened her eyes, red-rimmed with pain, pupils widening to dark pools.
“Tavish…”
At her hoarse whisper, he smiled, lifting his ungloved hand to her face to cup her cheek. With a sigh, she pressed her face against his palm before her features contorted with pain.
A blurred shape moved behind her, and her body stiffened.
“No! Don’t let him take me, please!”
Gordon had lifted her skirts. Shame overcame Tavish at the raw terror in her eyes at the prospect of being violated yet again.
“No one will harm you, I swear. Not while your Highlander is here.”
Cradling her head on his shoulder, he stroked her hair while she clutched at his gloved hand, her fingertips digging into the material, sending pulses of pain through his wound where the stumps of his fingers had yet to heal fully. Her body’s movements developed into a rhythm, becoming more regular as Gordon issued soft commands, telling her to relax, to ease the passage of her child.
Not just her child—but Tavish’s also.
Voices erupted in the distance, the crash of feet trampling the undergrowth and the hiss of swords being unsheathed. A shrill cry rang out.
Alice. Richard de Montford had returned with her.
Brother and sister ran towards Elyssia. She turned her head sideways, concern for her sister, even now, overshadowing her fear for herself.
Richard knelt beside Tavish. “I’m here, Lyssie. I’ve brought Alice—she’s safe.”
A slow smile spread across Elyssia’s face, and she released one of her hands from Tavish’s grip before reaching out to her brother.
Her face twisted in pain.
“The baby’s coming!”
Urging Elyssia to push, Gordon held her thighs firm while her body shook once more. She let out a long, deep wail, her face growing red, forehead puckering into creases, before she collapsed forward and fell silent, her chest rising and falling. She lived but was unconscious.
Pushing Tavish to one side, Richard took her in his arms and rocked her to and fro.
A surge of envy and loss raged through Tavish. She had reached out for her brother and not him.
Another cry rose up. Weak at first, it grew stronger; a shrill wail which resonated with Tavish at the basest level.
A child. His child.
Gordon sat up. In his arms, he held a tiny creature which writhed and screamed.
“You have a son.”
The muscles in Tavish’s chest began to constrict. A son.
“Is he… well?”
“Aye. Take him.”
“No! He should go to his mother.”
Gordon nodded towards Elyssia, unconscious in her brother’s arms. “His mother is unwell. He needs his father.”
Tavish’s heart leapt as the cattleherd dropped the baby into his arms. His skin tightened, and a rush of warmth flooded his body. The child stilled and opened his eyes. Two dark pools of sapphire stared at him, drawing him into their depths, towards the soul within. Wide eyes blinked, their delicate oval shape framed by thick, dark lashes.
He had her eyes—that air of purity which Tavish had destroyed, but in doing so, he had created the child who now lay content in his arms. A tide of love engulfed him, obliterating any desire he might have had for vengeance. The child twitched in his arms as a salty droplet splashed onto his face. Wiping it off, Tavish blinked, another droplet splashing onto the back of his hand.
“Tav.”
He bent his head.
“Tav… there’s no shame in it.”
He might conceal his face, but his friend knew him too well. At Duncan’s familiar touch on his shoulder, he nodded, wiping his face.
“My lord,” Gordon cried, “she’s coming round.”
Richard cradled her head in his arms while Gordon tended to her, cleaning her legs with a cloth. She murmured into her brother’s shoulder, the words unintelligible at first before they became clearer.
“Richard. Don’t leave me; I need you. Richard…”
“I’m here, Lyssie. I’ll never leave you.”
“Where’s my child, Richard? I want my child!”
Tavish handed the child to Duncan. “Take him to her.”
“She’s in pain, Tav,” Duncan said. “She needs you, though she does not speak your name. She cries for her brother because she’s known him all her life. Do not be ruled by envy.”
“You’re a fool if you think I envy de Montford,” Tavish replied. “A man can only covet that which he does not own. She belongs to me.”
“She belongs to no man, Tav,” Duncan warned. “Though you may lay claim to her body, her heart and mind are hers and hers alone. She’s free to give her heart to whomsoever she chooses.”
“She has never been free. No woman is. I have taken her, delivered her from the arms of that evil bastard and will claim her.”
“You think she’ll accept your mastery over her? The last words you spoke to her at Glenblane were full of hatred. ‘Tis not enough to say you love her. You must show it.”
“By liberating her from Allendyne, have I not shown my love for her?”
“You forced her to accompany you!”
“She came willingly.” The words sounded hollow in Tavish’s throat. She might have agreed to accompany him but only after he had plundered her body, using their primal need for each other as a weapon against her. If he wanted to show his love for her, he needed to give her the freedom to choose to be with him of her own volition.
“What if she does not choose to be with me?”
“Then, my friend, you must accept that you’re not worthy of her.”
Wordlessly, Tavish handed the child to Duncan. Elyssia’s cry of joy as Duncan placed the child in her arms tore through his heart and drained his hope, leaving his soul empty and barren. It should have been him, not her brother, holding her in his arms while she smiled up at him, cherishing his child.
His friend was right. He did not deserve her—not after what he had done. Some wounds would never heal.
Duncan took his hand. “She’ll come to you, Tav. Give her time.”
“MacLean!” Richard’s voice carried across the night air.
Elyssia reclined in her brother’s arms, clutching the baby to her breast. Her eyes were closed, the strain of the birthing etched into her forehead, yet the corners of her mouth curled into a smile. Stroking her hair, Richard stared
out at Tavish, his brilliant blue eyes so like his sister’s. Alice sat beside them, singing softly to Elyssia.
Richard stood, brushing leaves off his tunic.
“We must leave. Now.”
Tavish shook his head. “Your sister needs to rest.”
“I fear discovery. Sounds carry across the night air. How do you think I found you so quickly? Though I managed to get Alice away unnoticed, it won’t be long before the alarm is raised. If Allendyne is following us, he’ll have heard Lyssie’s screams.”
De Montford was right.
“Very well,” he said, before raising his voice. “We ride immediately!”
Amid murmurs of assent, the men gathered their belongings and mounted their horses, used as they were to sleeping rough and having to prepare for travel at a moment’s notice. Under Duncan’s instructions, the whole party was ready to ride in a matter of heartbeats.
A bitter knot twisted in his stomach as Duncan helped Elyssia onto Richard’s mount. The child had been bound to her chest with strips of cloth, leaving her hands free. She clutched the reins of his horse while he bent his head to drop a kiss onto her neck.
Tavish strode towards her, but an obstacle appeared in his path. Duncan.
“Leave her be.”
“She should be with me.”
“She asked to ride with her brother.”
“I care not. I lead this party, and all shall do as I say—even an English lord who thinks he rules over us.”
“That’s not fair, Tav, and ye know it. If you continue to fight over her like a bull which thinks the cow should always be taken by the strongest, then you’ll lose her—and rightly so.”
“She belongs to me!”
“You can force her body to submit, Tav, but do you wish to return to the circumstances under which she first arrived; as your captive, to be summoned and led by the neck, every night, to your chamber so you can fuck her before sending her back to her cell?”
“If you weren’t my friend, I’d kill you for uttering such words.”
“It’s because I’m your friend that I tell you the truth. Forcing her into your bed may satisfy your body, but the taste would soon grow sour. If you were to capture her willing, heart and soul, would not the taste be sweeter?”
Duncan—his dearest friend—the only one who questioned him.
Except her. She had challenged him—and others who held power over her—to stand for what she thought was right. To have such a woman come to him willingly was worth the risk of losing her by giving her freedom.
“Very well. Duncan, bring up the rear. Ensure de Montford’s mount is protected from all sides.”
The clouds had dissipated, revealing a full moon, its cold blue light casting sharp shadows across the path. Fear scraped his nerves each time a shadow moved—a nocturnal creature occupied in its hunt; a fox darting across the path; an owl flitting through the air ahead. The primal urge to protect her with his body warred with his conscience. She was in safe hands with her brother: he had been the one constant in Elyssia’s life; the one person who had not let her down.
Twisting his body once more, he caught a flash of green—the emerald on Richard’s finger, the ring of the Earl of de Montford. Despite the horses surrounding Richard’s mount in a protective formation, fists of dread clutched at his heart. Cold voices whispered in his head. An omen took shape in his mind. Whispers echoed in the trees, growing louder, the cries of the night hunters’ quarry sharpening into a single word.
Death…
Death would visit them tonight.
His horse shied and reared up, and he almost lost his grip on the reins. Shapes leapt from the earth, demons from hell come to claim him. Screeches echoed in his mind, followed by a long hiss—a serpent from hell. Whispers reverberated around him until his rational mind broke through the film of terror and he recognised the sounds for what they were.
Swords being unsheathed.
“Stop! You’re surrounded!”
Allendyne. He had been waiting for them.
“At arms!” Tavish cried. His men obeyed the command and formed a circle around de Montford’s mount, a barrier to protect the woman and child, the precious cargo in Richard’s arms.
Tavish unsheathed his sword.
“Show yourself!”
A laugh erupted from between the trees, and a number of men on horseback emerged from all sides. But there was no sign of Allendyne himself. Had he sent his men to do his dirty work? No. The man’s arrogance was too great. He would want to seize her himself, to witness his victory with his own eyes. But Tavish was prepared. He would fight to the death to protect her.
“Come out, Allendyne, and face me like a man! Or does cowardice still govern your actions?”
A rider emerged from the darkness. Back straight, exuding arrogance, his eyes glittered with hatred. The skin of his face was puckered and scarred by fire from the siege at the garrison two years ago when Elyssia had freed Tavish, setting in motion the events which led to this final confrontation.
Allendyne lifted his hand in greeting.
“MacLean. I’m delighted to have the opportunity to conclude our business.”
“As am I.”
“I’ve come to reclaim that which you stole from me. My wife—and my whore.”
Tavish tightened the hold on his sword. Allendyne chuckled. The bastard had Duncan’s perception. He understood Tavish’s weakness and would exploit it if he could. But Tavish had the upper hand. Protected by ten swords, Elyssia was safe.
“I wish you luck, Allendyne,” Tavish snarled. “If you touch her, you’ll have a fight to the death on your hands. And this time, I’ll wager you won’t find it entertaining.”
A thin scream came from the rear of the party.
Alice.
Allendyne laughed. “You’re wrong, MacLean. I find this very entertaining.”
“Alice. No!” Elyssia’s plaintive cry joined her sister’s screams.
Allendyne had outwitted him. Tavish had been so concerned with his own weakness that he had disregarded Elyssia’s—her love for her sister.
One of Allendyne’s men had Alice in his grasp and held a sword at her throat.
Allendyne smiled. “I have my wife. Now give me my whore.”
“She’s not yours to give, you English bastard,” Tavish hissed. “She is mine!”
Alice shrieked in pain. The man holding her remained still, but a dark stain began to form where his sword touched her throat, swelling until a fat, droplet splashed onto her gown.
“No!” Struggling against Richard’s hold, Elyssia dismounted, stumbling as she clutched the child to her breast.
“Let her go, Edward!”
Allendyne held out his hand. “Come here.”
Tavish’s men stood still, the circle surrounding Elyssia remaining intact.
“Let me through!” she cried. “Edward, I’ll come to you if your man unhands my sister.”
“Very well.”
She pushed past the men guarding her who stood aside on Tavish’s command.
“I’ll come no further until Alice is freed.”
Allendyne nodded to his soldier. “Bring her to me.”
Stumbling, Alice moved towards Allendyne. He threw her a look of distaste before beckoning to Elyssia.
“Bring the little bastard to me.”
“No, Edward. Let me give him to his father.”
Allendyne stepped towards her and backhanded her across the face.
“You dare to address me by name? A whore addresses me as ‘my lord.’ His father? His father! How can you tell who sired the brat? You spread your legs for every man you came across! You offered yourself to others even when you were betrothed to me. How many men have you fucked since then, my dear?”
A bead of rage burst inside Tavish but Elyssia bowed her head. Only the whitening of her lips spoke of her own fury. Once more she was cowed into submission for the sake of someone she wished to protect—her child.
Drawing h
is arms around her, Allendyne smiled at Tavish. “Rest assured I’ll take care of the little bastard. Consider it a favour, MacLean. Every day you’d look into its eyes and wonder whether you had sired the brat. I’m merely relieving you of that burden. Now stand back.”
Tavish lowered his sword. With Elyssia in that man’s grasp, he could not make a move and risk her being injured.
Allendyne gave a low snarl which turned into a deep growl before he let out a strangled cry. He had not noticed the shadow moving behind him. Eyes widened in surprise, he released his grip on Elyssia before he clutched his throat with both hands to stem the flow of the thick, dark liquid seeping between his fingers.
“B-bitch!” He teetered backwards, and his body crumpled to the ground.
Behind him, his assailant held a small dagger. Pale blue eyes shone in the moonlight, framed by an even paler face.
Alice.
At the final moment, Edward Morland, Lord of Allendyne had underestimated his wife—as indeed had the rest of the world.
“Attack!” Tavish cried.
Allendyne’s soldiers drew their swords, but they were too late. Tavish’s men were upon them. Richard leapt out of the saddle and grasped Elyssia, pulling her into the shadows of the forest and calling for Alice to follow. The three siblings disappeared between the trees, the sounds of their escape obliterated by the noise of battle.
Almost as soon as it had begun, the battle was over, the Englishmen dispatched swiftly by Tavish’s men. The worst injury was a cut to the arm which Gordon was able to bind. A handful of men, including Duncan, had sustained minor scratches. Allendyne’s arrogance had been their salvation. He had been outnumbered almost three to one. Relying on Elyssia’s love for her sister, he had targeted Alice and ridden with a small party in order to overtake Tavish’s men swiftly and easily. But his plan had failed. Focusing on Elyssia’s desire to protect Alice, Allendyne had been outmanoeuvred by Alice’s own desire to protect Elyssia.
Barely a sound remained, apart from the whispered words of his men as they tended to each other and checked the horses, securing the horses of the English—bounty to return to Glenblane. Not even the sounds of wildlife could be heard, both predator and prey long gone.