by Willa Blair
“Now, aye. Perhaps later.”
“Which ye think will never happen.”
“If ye continue to approach me in anger as though I am somehow beneath yer contempt, then aye, never.”
“Ye mean to school me, lass?”
“I mean to have the respect due me, even in this.”
Lachlan chuckled. “Ye’re a cheeky one, Ellie MacKyrie, I’ll give ye that.” He pulled his shirt from his breeches and stripped it over his head. “Very well, I’ll pay ye the respect of undressing first. Does that suit ye?”
Ellie whirled and presented her back. “Nay. It doesna.”
Lachlan whipped an arm around her, pulling her against his chest, running his teeth along her slender neck. “I dinna care,” he taunted softly in her ear. Then he grasped the front of her dress, ripped it in two, pulled the fabric down her arms and stepped back to watch it pool at her feet. “Ye had yer chance. Now we’ll do this my way.” He grabbed her.
Ellie turned into a wildcat in his arms, fighting, kicking, and clawing every bit of him she could reach. He relished the battle, her ferocity, even the small pains she inflicted. In answer, he slapped, bit, and pinched every sweet morsel he could reach. Not with his fist. Not enough to subdue her. Just enough to bruise and cause her pain.
He wanted her awake and fighting him. Crying out her distress, screaming her anger as her nails raked his skin and his shaft rammed into her, payback for all the times she’d denied him. The violence of their foreplay thrilled him. He pushed her into her bedchamber onto the bed and planted a hand on her breasts, holding her down while he fumbled to open his breeches and let his hungry shaft spring forth. Ellie fought him, raking at his arm with her claws, squirming in her feeble attempts to get away, to breathe, but he held her fast as she panted and gasped. Her breathless attempts to screech at him sounded like the owl he’d heard from his chambers.
At first he thought she was making all the noise. But he soon realized he heard shouting and the clang of swords from outside, in the bailey. What? Were these MacKyrie pups rebelling against his men while they thought him distracted by his wedding bed?
“Shut up, woman.” Lachlan shoved Ellie away and backed up to keep her from clawing at his swollen member, now free of its confining trews. Instead, she clutched the bedding to her chest, covering herself, wild-eyed and fighting for air now that he no longer held her down.
He crossed to the window and looked out. Armed men, some mounted, some not, engaged his guards. The gate stood wide open in the torchlight.
“It seems ye were right to delay, MacKyrie,” he snarled.
“What? What do ye mean?”
“Trouble in the bailey. I believe yer Lathan heroes have arrived.”
Lachlan grabbed his shirt from where he’d tossed it on the floor. He gave Ellie one fierce glance as she sat up, frowning. “Stay here,” he ordered and ran for his quarters where he’d foolishly left his weapons, righting his clothes as he went.
Fortune smiled on him. He could reach the other tower without going out into the bailey or he would have had to join the fight unarmed and find a weapon in the confusion of the battle. He buckled on his sword and shoved an extra dirk into his belt, all thought of sexual conquest forgotten. Nay, there was bloodsport to be had.
He ran for the stairs and out into the fighting. So far, his men were holding their own, but they were on foot against mounted warriors. If a sword didn’t get them, the horses would trample them underfoot. The tide of battle was turning against him.
Who were all these men? He recognized several Lathans, including the two leaders—the peacemaker and the arms master. But there were more, many more, than he’d ever seen here before this. The missing Lathans had returned and they’d brought help. Well, he would soon take care of them and their minions. With a cry of determination, he entered the fray and started fighting his way toward the Lathan arms master, Donal MacNabb.
****
Donal leaned over the side of the horse he’d mounted at the gate and swung at a MacDuff who was about to run Jamie through from behind. He jerked his claymore free of the man’s body and looked around for the next opponent as Jamie finished mounting his horse, saluting Donal with his sword.
The MacDuff’s men had poured down from the battlements and attacked as soon as the Lathans and their allies burst through the opening gate. Some of the MacKyrie lads had seen them and shouted “MacDuff” and “wedding” as they opened the gates to admit the Lathans and their allies. Donal’s heart had sunk into his belly. Had he arrived too late after all?
Everywhere he looked, Lathans or their allies were fighting MacDuffs. The MacDuffs were outnumbered, especially when the older MacKyrie lads joined in. They had pinned several MacDuffs against the inner wall, holding them there until the other battles concluded and the survivors could be dealt with.
They were intent on helping to retake their keep, which Donal approved, but he had an even more urgent reason to fight.
Ellie.
He glanced toward the main tower, lit by the torches on the battlements. She was in there, somewhere. Since he didn’t see the MacDuff laird out here, Donal greatly feared he was too late to save her.
His rage at Lachlan MacDuff burned bright and fierce, though he knew he must keep his temper cool in a fight. If he’d been more careful last night, he’d have gotten here in time. He’d been lucky the bandits had merely hit him on the head and left him to die in the snow, little knowing he had too thick a head for that to work.
Fool! Twice fool! To let himself be distracted by his thoughts of Ellie then and now. He had no intention of letting his guard down here. But where was the MacDuff? Donal turned his mount in a circle, searching for the man he most wanted to take down.
There! The MacDuff stalked through the fighting toward Donal. Excellent. Just the opponent Donal craved. Perhaps he had made it here in time after all. Donal acknowledged the MacDuff with a nod, dismounted, and slapped the horse on the rump so it would run clear of the fighting. Then he faced his opponent.
“Lathan. What is the meaning of this? I am laird here now. I’ll give ye one chance to take yer men and leave.” Laird here now? A chill sweep through him. Ach, Ellie. He was too late to save her from the thing she most feared.
“MacNabb, if ye please.” Not that Donal cared one whit what pleased this man. “Ye may be laird, but ye willna live long enough to enjoy it.”
“How do ye ken I havena already? With my sweet wife? Now I’ll enjoy killing ye and all yer men.” Lachlan MacDuff growled his challenge. “Prepare to die. Yer life is mine.”
Donal ignored the bluster and focused on the man’s eyes. The sounds of the battle raging around them faded as he and the MacDuff squared off.
The MacDuff attacked first. Donal parried and shifted his stance to prepare for the next blow. “Can ye no’ do better?” he taunted.
MacDuff swung again. “A pity that arrow missed yer friend,” he answered. “I wouldha been satisfied with his death or yers.”
“So ye shoot nay better than ye fight?” Donal waited, poised on the balls of his feet. Ready but not fighting back. Not yet. He’d let the MacDuff’s anger work against him and wear him down before Donal engaged with him. Donal could easily defend against anything Lachlan MacDuff had shown him.
As his opponent’s frustration grew, so did his carelessness. “Ye think to interfere?” MacDuff raged. “I’ll teach ye to mind yer own concerns.” His swings and thrusts were wild, anger-fueled, and easily parried or evaded.
“Ye must be mistaken,” Donal jeered. He let himself dance to his opponent’s tune, watching and waiting for the right moment. “We’re here by invitation, unlike ye.” The MacDuff got in a few jabs, slicing Donal’s forearm at one point as Donal turned his blade to knock the MacDuff’s aside. Donal hissed, more for the effect it would have on MacDuff’s overconfidence than any discomfort the wound caused him. Then he calmly tossed his sword into his other hand and continued the fight.
The MacDuff b
acked away, apparently thrown off by Donal’s ability to wield his blade equally well with either hand. He glanced around as if seeking supporters before eyeing Donal’s grip on his blade. Then he charged forward with a shout and swung to cut Donal’s legs out from under him.
With a powerful defensive blow, Donal blocked his swing and knocked the MacDuff off balance. “Nay, laddie,” Donal chided. “Ye dinna want to do that.” Donal’s next thrust stopped short of running him through, but sliced his shirt open to the belly. Then Donal whirled and stepped behind his opponent, smacking him hard on the back with the flat of his blade. “If I’d used the edge,” Donal told him, “ye’d be in two pieces on the ground right now.” From the sudden pallor leaching the red of exertion out of the MacDuff’s face, he knew it, too. Donal was a much better swordsman, as well as cooler and more analytical in a fight. Donal supposed that he was starting to realize that the outcome of this battle had never been in doubt.
Then MacDuff shouted for two of his men, and suddenly, Donal faced three at once. Jamie and one of the allied fighters dismounted and lined up with him, but he waved them aside. “Ye want to make this interesting, Lachlan? Fine. Are these the lads ye used at the distillery?” The MacDuff jerked in surprise, all the acknowledgement Donal needed. “’Twill make no difference in the end. Ye’ll still be dead, but I’ll be pleased to send them in escort to hell with ye for the pain they caused Ellie.”
Donal stepped sideways and slid his blade through the chest of the first to answer the MacDuff’s call. As he fell, Donal pulled his blade free, pivoted, and took out the second man, cutting his head from his shoulders. Blood geysered briefly as the body sank to its knees, spraying the MacDuff.
Donal stood with knees bent, ready to move in any direction, watching the MacDuff’s shoulders and chest. Just like he taught the lads, they told him where his opponent would move next. But the MacDuff stood frozen in place, eyes wide, pale and panting as his clansman’s blood dripped down his face and body. Donal could run him through with no effort at all, though that was hardly sporting. He waited a moment for the MacDuff to recover from his shock. “Come on, now. Let’s finish this, aye?”
Finally, the MacDuff raised his blade and stabbed at Donal. A meager effort. Donal saw that he knew it as Donal’s blade pierced his heart.
“That’s for Ellie, ye bastard,” Donal told him as the light left his eyes. “She was never yers.”
Donal pulled his blade free and surveyed the bailey, not waiting to watch MacDuff’s body crumple to the ground. A few Lathan allies showed signs of injury, but all were on their feet, watching Donal dispatch the MacDuff. A ragged cheer went up, led by high, childish voices, but finished by the deeper tones of the warriors in the bailey. Donal raised his bloody sword over his head. All of the MacDuff men were down or captured.
Then he spotted Ellie. She stood, wide-eyed, watching the battle from her solar. Her hands were clenched over her heart but she gave him a tremulous smile before she left the window.
He lowered his blade, wiped the blood from it onto the dead man’s sleeve and ran through the cheering crowd to the door to the great hall in time to catch Ellie in his arms.
Chapter 20
She was warm, alive, everything he’d ever wanted, wrapped into one woman. Donal gathered her into his embrace with his uninjured arm, careful not to get his blood all over her dress, whirled her around, then kissed her soundly as she threw her arms around his neck and held him tightly to her.
“Ye came back to me,” she cried, over and over. “Ye came back.”
“Did ye ever doubt it? I had to come. I love ye, Ellie MacKyrie.”
Ellie gasped and burst into tears. “I was a fool to doubt ye. I shouldna.” Donal set her on her feet. She reached up and held his face in her hands. “Ye risked yer life for me. And ye’re hurt.”
“’Tis little enough.”
Jamie walked up to them at that moment. “Ye were busy while I was away,” he chided Donal with a grin.
“No’ busy enough,” Ellie answered with a sniff, glaring at Donal and causing his eyebrows to lift. He studied her expression for a moment, then looked at Jamie and shrugged as she continued, “But ’tis glad I am ye all arrived when ye did. Ye saved me from a fate worse than...well, anything I dare think of.” She wiped the tears from her face with her sleeve.
Donal stood beside her, unsure what he should do about her rapidly shifting emotions except to hold her to him and let the storm pass.
“The wedding didna happen?” Jamie asked, frowning in confusion.
“A wedding happened,” Ellie answered with a twitch of her lips. “But it wasna a real one.” She caught Donal’s gaze as she added, “And no bedding followed it, thanks to ye.”
Donal never knew relief could feel so sweet. There hadn’t been time for MacDuff to make good on his threats. She was unharmed, physically at least. Emotionally? He wasn’t so sure.
“A wedding, but no’ a real one. It sounds like there’s a tale to be told,” Jamie said, with a glance at Donal.
Donal shrugged. “Dinna ask me. I dinna ken what happened here any more than ye do.”
“Come inside,” Ellie offered, “and I’ll get Nan to tend yer arm.”
“Good idea,” Jamie said, giving Donal a pointed look as his blood dripped onto the ground. He glanced around before they headed in. “Ach, there’s Bram. We found him tied up in the stables, mad as hell he missed the fight. He’ll take a while to live that down, but at least the MacDuff didna kill him out of hand. The MacDuff dead are being gathered up. Father Gregory who came with us from Clan MacClellan is saying last rites over them. Our lads are tying up the live ones. There’s nothing else we need to do here at the moment.”
Ellie glanced around. Her eyes lit on the entrance to the keep. “Except...”
“Shut the bloody damned gate!” Donal yelled to the MacKyries lads near it.
Inside the great hall, after Nan had clucked over Donal’s injury, cleaned and bandaged it to Ellie’s satisfaction, they settled by the fire with cups of the MacKyrie whisky.
“Tell us what happened while we were gone,” Jamie demanded. “I canna wait any longer to hear the tale of the wedding that wasna a wedding.”
Donal sat next to Ellie and refrained from commenting, although he was as eager as Jamie, if not more so, to hear the tale.
Ellie huffed out a breath and shook her head. “’Tis quite simple, truly. The MacDuff showed up with his men, demanding that I wed him. He forced me to sign a contract joining our lands together.” Donal raised an eyebrow at Jamie, but Jamie was already half out of his seat. “Where is it?”
“If ye didna find it on his body, then likely it’s hidden in his chambers. I’ll have Micheil fetch it and show it to ye later. Ye wished to hear about the wedding, aye?”
Jamie grunted and reseated himself. “Aye.”
“Friar Tam officiated. His is an interesting story. He worked with the fathers at their distillery up on the north coast. Before he came to MacKyrie about three years ago, they caught him selling some of the monastery’s whisky on the side...and defrocked him.”
“Defrocked...ach, that’s brilliant.” Jamie settled deeper into his seat, leaned his head back and chuckled.
Donal didn’t see anything funny in the tale. “Ye took a big risk. What did ye intend to do when the MacDuff found out the marriage wasna valid?”
Ellie sobered. “I prayed ye’d come to stop him before that happened,” she answered simply. “And ye did.”
“Were ye going to go through with it if we didna arrive in time?”
Ellie stood and moved to the hearth, staring down into the flames, then she turned to Donal, and the anguish in her eyes nearly broke his heart. “What choice did I have?”
Donal’s nostrils flared along with his temper. “Were ye at least planning to kill him before he took ye?”
Ellie threw her hands up in exasperation, then planted them on her hips. “Do ye seriously think his clan wouldna avenge him? And rain
destruction down on mine? Ye. Were. Gone.” She pointed at Donal, then Jamie, then Donal again as she spat the words, then sighed, wrapping her arms around herself. “The best I could do was keep my people safe, even if it meant sacrificing myself.”
Despite his anger, Donal’s heart swelled with pride at the bravery Ellie exhibited. “That’s noble, aye, but ye had to ken I would be back.”
Ellie shook her head. “If ye’d been a day later, the MacDuff wouldha claimed me and mine.”
“But he didna,” Jamie said, interrupting the budding argument. “And the result wouldha been the same. He’d be dead and ye’d be free of him.”
Donal watched the muscle work in Ellie’s jaw, suddenly fascinated by her restraint. Nay, it wouldna been the same. She’d have been forced by the MacDuff and would always have that stain on her memory.
“Nay, no’ the same,” Donal answered for her. He shot a reproving glare Jamie’s way, then focused on Ellie. Her eyes were brimming. He feared she was imaging how it would have gone. He had to distract her. “It didna happen, Ellie.” He stood and reached for her, wrapping her in his embrace, not caring about the pain it caused his injured arm, or the fact that that Jamie sat nearby, watching. “He didna touch ye, did he?”
“Almost. He’d started undressing as the fighting broke out. It came that close to happening.” Ellie hiccuped back a sob and turned her face into his shoulder. “Ye arrived in time.”
Donal realized she was shaking and finally understood she’d been as primed for battle as ever he was, swinging a sword. She’d been fighting for her life and her honor, seeking the only way left to her to escape her fate. She had been preparing herself, given the chance, to kill the MacDuff, or if she could not, then to submit to the most unspeakable violence a man could visit upon an unwilling woman. Even as she spoke aloud her greatest fear: her people would suffer for her actions. Even though she couldn’t admit it to herself. But she’d watched as Donal brought an end to him. For that, he would always be thankful. She would not carry that death around with her for the rest of her life, yet she had the satisfaction of seeing her greatest enemy destroyed.