Highland Knight

by Hannah Howell

  "And just how is dear Sir Vachel? Dead, I hope.” She inwardly shivered as he flicked open her cut gown with the tip of his sword.

  "Quite dead.” He stepped closer to the bed and gently stroked her legs.

  Avery forced herself not to flinch at his touch, but it was a lot harder to quell the nausea that afflicted her. “Died peacefully in his bed, did he?"

  "In his bed, yes. Peacefully? I fear not. About ten years ago, it was. Some traitorous dog fed him a particularly nasty poison. It took him days to die—long, torturous days filled with pain."

  The tone of Sir Charles's voice told Avery that, if Sir Charles himself had not killed Sir Vachel, he knew who had done it, how it was done, and why. Undoubtedly, he had profited nicely from the death. She thought it very hypocritical of the man to condemn her mother, who had been proven innocent, when he himself was obviously guilty of murdering a DeVeau. Clearly, the DeVeaux considered the killing of a kinsman their own personal privilege.

  When he sheathed his sword and began to unlace her chemise, Avery had to bite back the pleas for mercy that rushed into her mouth. She would not give the man that satisfaction. It did strike her as strange, however, that the lack of any outward signs of lust, the lack of even the most feral warming in his eyes, made her more uneasy than did his touch. He was doing this to humiliate her, nothing more, and that realization chilled her to the bone. And she knew, at that moment, that he would toy with her for a very long time—quite probably until she was so mad with shame and fear that she would beg him to rape her just to get it over with.

  Sir Charles opened her chemise and stared down at her breasts. He frowned slightly and tapped one long finger against his chin. Avery wished she could get her ankle free so that she could kick him—repeatedly—in the face.

  "Your breasts are somewhat small,” he murmured. “I have always favored lusher curves."

  "If I had known you would be judging them, I would have made an effort to fatten myself up more."

  "The nipples are perfection, however,” he continued, ignoring her sarcasm. “Large, and a lovely shade of pink. I suspect they will service me and my bastard very well.” He placed his hands on her breasts and rubbed his thumbs over her nipples. “Not very responsive, are they?"

  "You want a response from me? Lean closer. I am quite prepared to vomit."

  She bit back a cry when he slapped her face. It was done with the same cold, precise calm with which he did everything else. Avery was beginning to feel as if none of this were real, as if she were caught up in some nightmare. Surely no man could be as lacking in feeling, good or bad, as this one seemed to be? She tensed when he pushed up the hem of her chemise, exposing her braies. Under other circumstances, she might have enjoyed his look of surprise, as it was obvious that he rarely indulged in any expression at all. All she could think of, however, was how little now stood between him and the most intimate part of her.

  "Did you think such a garment would protect you from a man?” he asked as he took a knife from his belt.

  "They are warm,” she replied, her voice flat, as slowly her shame and fear was swamped by a cold, hard rage.

  Sir Charles cut the side of one leg and flipped the front of her braies back, exposing her to his view. “You are gold all over. Intriguing. And you appear to be very clean. I approve."

  "I am going to kill you."

  "Now? I do not believe you are in any position to make threats."

  "I am a patient woman when I need to be. I can wait. Tomorrow, the next day, two years from now. It matters not. When the chance comes—and it will—I will kill you, and in a way that will make Sir Michael's and Sir Vachel's deaths look like kindnesses."

  Before Sir Charles could respond, there was an outcry in the camp. “I had best go to see what those fools are doing. When I return, you can entertain me with a recitation of all the ways you plan to kill me.” He gave her a slow intimate stroke between her legs with his cold fingers and then walked away.

  Avery took several deep breaths to try and calm herself. She felt ill, but was not sure if it was from the strength of her anger or the feel of his cold-as-death fingers touching her flesh. Beneath her rage she knew her fear still lurked, that within her was a woman cringing in terror over the deeply personal abuse Sir Charles intended to inflict. Rage felt better, however, and Avery was determined to cling to it.

  Suddenly, a strange noise, like something slowly ripping, penetrated her dark thoughts. She turned her head but could not see behind her, where the noise was coming from. When Cameron and Leargan suddenly appeared at her bedside, she was too relieved to feel any embarrassment over her nudity, and anger still bubbled wildly in her veins.

  "Where is Sir Charles?” Cameron asked as he cut her free and Leargan tactfully turned his back on them.

  "He went out to see what the trouble was,” Avery replied, rubbing her wrists after Cameron freed them and waiting somewhat impatiently for him to free her ankles as well.

  "Damn, I wanted to kill him. Leargan, keep a watch for the bastard.” Cameron quickly relaced Avery's chemise, then tore several strips from the fine linen sheet upon the bed. “Did he rape you?” he asked as, after she removed her damaged braies and shoved them into her pocket, he tied her gown together.

  "Nay. I believe he meant to torment me with the threat of it for a while."

  "Jesu. How I do ache to kill that mon."

  "Ye cannae."

  "I ken it now, but—"

  "Because I am going to kill him,” she said as she grabbed the knife Cameron had set down on the bed and strode toward the tent opening.

  Cameron quickly grabbed hold of Avery, but she was like a trapped wild thing in his arms. The fact that she was obviously careful not to hurt him with the knife she held told him that she had not completely lost her senses. They were, however, losing valuable time in which to make a successful escape. Finally, just as Cameron decided he was going to have to do something drastic, Leargan took the hard choice out of his hands. Murmuring an apology to Avery, Leargan gave her one quick, restrained punch on the jaw and she went limp in Cameron's arms. Cameron sighed and tossed her over his shoulder as Leargan collected his knife.

  "Sorry, cousin,” Leargan murmured as they both turned toward the rear of the tent.

  "Ye had no choice,” Cameron said as, rejoining the other men, they loped toward their waiting horses. “In truth, I was just about to do the verra same thing. There was no time to talk her out of her madness. And, although I, too, ache to see DeVeau dead, ‘tis best that we didnae kill him. That could easily have set his whole insane family on our trail."

  "Aye. Now we just have to worry about him, about how badly he wants Avery."

  "The mon ne'er travels with his soldiers, yet he was there."

  "So, we assume that he wants her verra badly indeed. Did he rape the poor lass?” Leargan asked quietly, holding Avery while Cameron mounted.

  "Nay,” Cameron replied as he took Avery back into his arms. “As she said, he wanted to torture her for a wee while with the promise of the crime. Constant insults to her person and the threat of more to come. Nay wonder she wanted him dead."

  The moment all of his men were mounted, Cameron spurred his horse to a gallop, leading them all away from the DeVeau camp. It would now be a hard race to the port. DeVeau would not take the loss of his prisoner well, if only because the ease with which she was recaptured made him look the fool. He could only hope that either because of greed or embarrassment, the man would not bring any of his large, none too sane family in on the chase.

  They caught up with the rest of their people two hours later. Cameron dispatched some men to cover their trail. He paused only long enough to reassure a worried Anne and Gillyanne that Avery was fine. They would travel hard for two more hours, he decided, and then camp, for, despite his comforting words to the women, Cameron was a little concerned about Avery.

  Leargan had not hit Avery hard, yet she remained unconscious. Cameron accepted her word that she had
not been raped, his own eyes having reaffirmed her claim after a brief but thorough look at her body. Yet she had been as enraged as he had ever seen a woman and—in truth, few men. What had Sir Charles done to her? Would she waken still angry and eager to kill the man, or would she be shocked, devastated, or terrified? She had been naked, her clothes cut free of her body, so DeVeau must have assaulted her in some way. Selfish though it was, Cameron could not help but wonder if her experiences would temper her passion, change how she responded to him.

  By the time they stopped for the night, Avery was awake but a little unsteady. Cameron dismounted, then held her close as he ordered Leargan to set up his smaller tent. He then told Donald to lay out his rougher bedding of furs and blankets plus a change of clothes. He wanted the rest of his belongings left packed in the cart so that they could leave more swiftly come morning.

  "I need a bath,” Avery said as Gillyanne and Anne hurried over to her side.

  There was something in her tone of voice that told Cameron he should not refuse her request, but he hesitated. “I did not really wish to light any fires,” he began.

  "I dinnae care if the water is naught but barely melted ice. I need a bath."

  "There is water near at hand,” Anne said. “A wee creek. Ye can bathe there. Me and Gilly will come along with ye.” When Avery nodded, Anne told Gillyanne, “Take her to the creek, lass. I will be right along with soap, drying cloths, and some clean clothes. Go on, now.” As soon as the two Murray women walked away, Anne looked at Cameron. “Was she raped?"

  "Nay. She said he didnae rape her, and from what I saw of her, I believe her.” He grimaced and ran his hands through his hair. “She was naked, howbeit. She wanted to kill him, fought hard to go after him, so hard that Leargan had to knock her out. That seems to say that the mon did something to her. I am just nay sure what."

  "He made her afraid,” Anne said quietly, sighing.

  "Aye, I am sure he did. That would make her so angry, e'en nearly desperate to kill him?"

  "It would me."

  Cameron was too surprised to respond, and he just watched Anne walk away. A little concerned that Avery might still be desperate to cut Sir Charles's throat, Cameron sent Wee Rob to make sure that she did not try to slip away. He returned to frowning in the direction the women had gone, puzzling over Anne's words, until Leargan rejoined him.

  "The women, Anne and wee Gilly, will set the lass right,” Leargan said; then he shook his head. “I have ne'er seen a lass so verra eager to spill a mon's blood."

  "Anne says it was because DeVeau made Avery feel afraid,” Cameron said.

  "Ah, aye, Avery wouldnae like that at all."

  "Oh? For all of her dark threats, Avery has ne'er e'en tried to kill me."

  "Weel, nay. She isnae afraid of you."

  "Many women have been afraid of me, and, in some ways, I threaten Avery and her clan."

  "Ye are a dark, brooding devil, true enough, and ye could afford to smile more often, but ye dinnae frighten Avery. Ne'er have as far as I can tell. Mayhap ye need to snarl a wee bit more."

  "Shut your mouth, Leargan,” Cameron said, almost genially.

  "Mouth now shut. Weel, in a moment."

  "Leargan,” Cameron warned, frowning slightly when he saw the intent look upon his cousin's face.

  "I dinnae intend to taunt ye this time. It concerns Avery and what has happened to her. Ye can be a hard mon, cousin, but yon lassie is going to need ye to be ... weel, softer.” Leargan cursed softly and dragged his fingers through his hair. “I am nay sure what I am trying to say, except dinnae expect that lass to be all better when the ladies have cleaned her up. She will need, weel, sympathy. For her to be so enraged, the mon had to have done something to her, and that something will probably be troubling her."

  "Her cousin Sorcha was raped,” Cameron said quietly. “Gillyanne's elder sister."

  "Oh, hell's fires. Weel, that explains some of it, doesnae it?"

  "Aye, I think it might. Go away, Leargan,” Cameron said as he started to walk toward his tent. “I may not ken what to do to soothe a troubled lass, but I do ken that I cannae leave the lass alone."

  "Nay, of course not."

  "After all, she might still set out to kill the mon."

  "Are ye calmer now, lass?” Anne asked as she helped a now well scrubbed Avery don her clean clothes.

  "A wee bit,” Avery replied. “I still want to kill that bastard, but the madness is gone.” She managed a faint smile for Gillyanne, who began to brush out her still-damp hair. “And, I will have to make Leargan suffer just a wee bit for hitting me."

  "Wince a little and touch your poor battered jaw now and then, and ye will have the poor lad on his hands and knees begging for your forgiveness."

  Avery laughed softly. “I am nay sure I wish to torment him that much.” She shivered slightly and wrapped her arms around her waist. “I thought bathing would banish the feel of his hands, but I swear I can still feel the coldness of them."

  "Ah, poor wee lass.” Anne gave her a brief hug. “He didnae get inside of ye. Find some comfort in that."

  "Aye, I will. Jesu, but his touch was so cold, I cannae help but wonder if he would have frozen my innards had he raped me."

  "Now there is a thought that ye most certainly must push right out of your head,” Gillyanne murmured as she finished braiding Avery's hair. She scowled toward the wood. “Why is that fool Wee Rob marching about o'er there?"

  "I suspect he has been set to keep a watch o'er me,” Avery replied.

  "Cameron cannae think ye would try to escape after all that has happened tonight."

  "Nay, but I suspect he fears I may pick up a sword and race back toward the DeVeau camp screaming for blood.” She linked arms with Anne and Gillyanne, glad of their silent comfort. “I had best get back to Cameron and let him ken that I have come to my senses. I ken now that, if I had killed that bastard, the woods and roads of France would have soon teemed with DeVeaux seeking vengeance, or their hirelings seeking rewards. ‘Tis what happened to my poor mother and she was innocent."

  Gillyanne nodded, then added softly, “And, mayhap, if ye let Cameron hold ye, he can take some of the coldness away."

  "Aye, mayhap he can. Might as weel get some use out of the big oaf.” She laughed along with her companions.

  It was several minutes after she had entered Cameron's tent and was preparing for bed that Avery became aware of how closely he was watching her. Stripped to her chemise, she turned to look at him. He was sprawled on his side on the bed, beautifully, unabashedly naked. She was glad he had not changed his manner around her simply because of what had happened to her. Somehow, that helped to lessen the importance of Sir Charles's actions.

  "If ye wait for me to begin foaming at the mouth, grab a sword, and run off into the night, ye will have a verra long wait,” she said as she settled down on the furs by his side.

  "It might have been vastly entertaining,” he drawled.

  "Only if I was naked and painted blue like our ancestors.” When he said nothing, she looked up to catch him leaning over her and grinning. “Ye find that amusing?"

  "Actually, I was trying to think of a private place we could sneak away to and just where I might be able to find some blue paint."

  "Lecherous rogue,” she muttered, but with no condemnation in her voice, and she sighed with a mixture of pleasure and relief when he tugged her into his arms.

  "What did that bastard do to ye, Avery?” he asked quietly.

  "Ye mean aside from tying me to the bed, cutting up my clothes, and threatening to put his bastard in me?"

  "Aye, aside from that, although that alone makes me eager to cut his heart out."

  "Only if ye let me help.” She idly stroked his chest, savoring the warmth of his skin. “He touched me a little. ‘Twas the way he did it and what he said that drove me near mad. He was cold, empty, and his words were as cold as his touch.” She stared fixedly at Cameron's chest as she repeated the things Sir Charles had sai
d.’ “I dinnae think I e'er fully understood what madness my mother had to deal with until now."

  "She is obviously a brave and resourceful woman.” Cameron said, fighting to subdue the rage he felt over all she had told him.

  Avery kissed his chest and felt his immediate response, yet he was obviously holding himself in tight control. She could not allow that, although she appreciated his consideration for her sensibilities. What she needed now, however, was his passion, his warmth. She needed him to make love to her to banish fully the ghosts of Sir Charles's touch. She wanted her last memory of the day to be of the heated delight she could find in his arms.

  "Are ye nay going to kiss me good night?” she asked, rubbing her foot up and down his calf.

  "Ah, my wee cat, if I kiss you, I willnae be stopping there. Now that I ken the fullness of your passion, ‘tis nay easy to resist the allure of it."

  She slid her arms around his neck and tugged him closer until she could brush her lips over his. “Banish the cold, Cameron."

  He studied her face for a moment, then kissed her. Avery gave herself over completely to his lovemaking. She greedily accepted every touch of his hands, every brush of his lips, soaking up the warmth of the desire they shared. She clung to him as he possessed her, urging him on as they sought the heights together. Avery continued to cling to him as they both struggled to recover from the ferocity of their releases. When Cameron finally flopped onto his back, she did not wait for him to pull her close, but curled her body around his. In his arms, she felt not only warm again, but safe.

  "Did that help, lass?” he asked, touching a kiss to the top of her head.

  "Oh, aye. Ye did indeed banish the cold.” She tried to smother a yawn behind her hand.

  "Get some rest, loving. Dawn isnae so verra far away."

  "Ye think we will need to race to the port? That he will give chase?” When he hesitated to reply, she said, “Nay, dinnae try to think of a comforting lie. He will, if only because he thinks he can use me to gain hold of some of the property and wealth my mother gained from her first marriage."

  "Aye, there is that. Dinnae worry, lass. I willnae let the bastard get you."