Laiden's Daughter

by Suzan Tisdale

  It would not be long before she would be presented to the earl and her life would again be in his hands. She fought back the urge to retch at thinking of what he would do to her. It would be nothing like the love and tenderness Duncan had showed her last night. She would withdraw her mind from it, accept whatever deplorable thing he wanted to do as long as it meant no harm would come to her people.

  Clouds that threatened rain had formed by the time they reached a small clearing. A heavy mist hung in the air, chilling her to the bone.

  Several grand coaches and more soldiers took up nearly the entire clearing. A large tent, with the flag of England flying high atop it sat in the rear of it all and smaller tents were scattered about the encampment. The earl was more likely than not within the large tent. She fought back the urge to wretch, swallowed hard and forced herself to look away.

  Several soldiers stood near open fires and seemed uninterested at the troop that bounded into the encampment. Aishlinn’s soldiers stopped not far from the main tent and helped her down. Her legs were weak and wobbly, but the soldier caught her before she collapsed to the ground.

  Leaning against the horse for support she rested her head against the beast’s neck as they waited for direction. Andrew soon appeared and led her to one of the smaller tents.

  “I shall inform the earl that you are here,” he said as he took her inside and sat her in a chair.

  “Please, do not even think of escape for I’ll not hesitate to cut your throat if you should try,” his voice was hard and cold. Giving her a slight bow, he left her alone.

  A cold, dreadful chill ran down her spine. It would not be long before she would be taken to the earl. She wished that she had been afforded time to pen a letter to Duncan. She would have liked to thank him for the new life he had given her -- albeit not long enough for her liking. She would have tried to explain that it was her love for him that helped her make this decision.

  She would have written a letter to Isobel and Angus as well. She would have thanked Isobel for the kindness she had shown her and told Angus how proud she had been to be his daughter, even if it were for but a day.

  Not much time had passed before Andrew returned. The stern and unhappy expression his face held increased her sense of dread.

  “The healer gave the earl a sleeping tea,” he said. “Lucky for you. You will get to live a while longer.” He folded his hands behind his back as he studied her.

  “I think we should take advantage of the earl’s slumber and get you into a more presentable state,” he said before leaving the tent. He returned after a brief time with a basin of water, soap and linens.

  “Clean yourself. I’ll return shortly to help you further.”

  Her unease intensified for she was quite certain that he did not mean to offer any kind of help that she would want. She hung her head in her hands and prayed.

  ******

  After having a good cry, Aishlinn stood and washed her face and hands. The cold water chilled her, but not nearly as much as the thoughts of what the earl was going to do to her. It felt as though the blood in her veins had been replaced with ice.

  It was some time later before Andrew returned. This time she readily accepted his offer of a tankard of ale. She took it with the hope of becoming so intoxicated that she would not know what was taking place. She emptied it quickly before slamming the empty tankard hard on the table.

  “Remove your gown,” Andrew told her.

  She stared at him blankly and steeled herself.

  “Remove it now, or I shall remove it for you.” His firm tone and cold stare told her that he had no qualms in keeping his word.

  She stared him down for a moment before undoing the laces and pulling the dress over her head. Shivering, she clung to her dress in an attempt to cover herself. Her shift did little to hide much of anything.

  Andrew grabbed her gown and tossed it to the floor. He stared at her approvingly for several long moments. “I see now why the earl lusts after you so.”

  “Remove your boots.” He directed her. Aishlinn paused for a moment, knowing it would do no good to argue. She sat down in the chair and removed her boots. The earth was damp and cold under her bare feet and it brought more chill bumps to her skin.

  “I do believe the earl is ready to see you now.” The smile on his face sickened her and she suddenly found herself wishing for something with which to stab him.

  He wrapped a linen sheet around her shoulders, letting his fingers linger on her neck. A wicked smile flashed across his face before he grabbed her elbow and led her from the tent. It seemed to have grown colder out of doors. Or perhaps it was fear that made it seem that way. It wouldn’t be long now, before she was dead.

  They paused briefly in front of the earl’s tent as Andrew eyed her closely. “I do hope that he does not kill you straight away.” He leaned in to whisper his intent. “For I would most definitely like a taste of you when he is done.” He breathed heavily into her ear before kissing her lobe.

  Revulsion shot through her stomach and she thought of kneeing him in his blasted English groin. Andrew tossed her into the dark tent and closed the flap.

  It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness for there was only one candle burning. As her eyes began to focus, she caught a faint image of someone lying in a bed that stood at the rear. Just like the sick bastard to be waiting for her in bed.

  She strained her ears to listen and she thought she could hear a sick rattle of breath coming from him. She forced herself to take a step closer in order to gain a better look at him.

  Something gnawed at the back of her mind. There was something about the moment that did not feel at all right. Aye, the entire situation was dire and wrong, but why he had he not pounced on her the moment she entered as he had done that night back at Firth?

  Aishlinn soon realized why he hadn’t come after her. The earl was not at all well; his face was sallow and gray and his eyes were sunken. Apparently he had not bathed in quite sometime for she could smell his stench from where she stood.

  “There you are.” His voice was husky and low, weak sounding. She barely recognized him or the sound of his voice.

  “Come to me,” he said.

  She couldn’t move.

  “If you do not come here this instant, I shall have my men bring you to me. And they’ll not be at all kind about it.”

  She did not doubt him. She inched her way slowly towards him and a sense of relief began to come over her. He was sick and diseased. Gone was the strong and terrifying man. Only a shell of the man who had terrified and beaten her remained.

  Hope began to rise; for she knew he could not harm her in the way she feared the most. Kill her? Yes. But there was no way he could take from her what she had denied him months ago.

  “I have been looking everywhere for you,” he told her, motioning for her to come closer.

  “All across the lands, I’ve had men searching day and night for you.” He coughed hard for several long moments before wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

  “You’ve been very good at keeping yourself hidden.” He looked at her with yellowed eyes. “Andrew tells me you have turned yourself over willingly?”

  Aishlinn did not answer. Her mind was suddenly racing towards thoughts of escape. It would take very little effort on her part to hold a pillow over his face until he took his last breath. She could very well then shimmy under the walls of the tent and run for safety.

  “Did you do that? Turn yourself in willingly?” he demanded to know. Aishlinn nodded her head yes as her eyes looked for an opening, a way out.

  “Why?” He tried to shout but could not.

  “Did you come back to stab me again, you whore?”

  Aishlinn could only stare as her mind race for a means of escape.

  “Would you like to know what I’m going to do to you?” He asked. She really didn’t think there was much he could do given his current state of health.

  “I’m going to ask Andrew to
assist me. He’s not nearly as nice as I would have been to you, had you simply given in to me that night.” He took a ragged breath.

  “Andrew’s going to come in and strip you bare, you see. Then he is going to do all those nasty yet wonderful things to you that I wanted to. And I’m going to watch with great pleasure. Then I’ll have every one of my soldiers come in and do it to you again, and again and again until you bleed from it.”

  His face lit with a wicked smile. The confidence she felt just moments ago vanished quickly with his threat. The earl might not be able to carry out his wicked desires, but his men were quite capable.

  Dismay and fear eroded her reserve while her mind raced for a way out of her current predicament. Perhaps if she begged for mercy, pleaded with him. Perhaps if she promised to be a nurse to him then he might change his mind.

  “My lord, I beg you, show mercy. I was but a scared and frightened young girl when last you saw me.” She could not believe the words that were coming from her mouth and nearly choked on them.

  She rushed and knelt before his bed. “I knew not what I was doing, my lord. I knew not what kind of pleasure a man could bring to a woman.” She would most certainly retch all over him, but she had to do something to save herself.

  She had been fully prepared to be disemboweled, hung or tortured as a means of death. Being raped repeatedly by countless men had not crossed her mind and that she could not and would not abide. Determination set in. There had to be a way out of this.

  The earl’s smile broadened. “So. You’ve learned in your time away the pleasures a man can bring to a woman, have you?” He coughed again and his stench was enough to knock a pig over.

  “Aye, I have,” she answered, swallowing hard, trying to look pathetic, forlorn, sorry, anything that would get him to change his mind.

  “Remove the linen,” he told her. She knew she needed to keep him calm. There was no limit to the pain he would inflict if he was angered enough.

  Taking a deep breath, she let the linen fall to the floor. Her filmy shift offered little in the way of hiding her bare skin. A disgusting smile formed on his lips when he caught a glimpse of what lay under the transparent fabric.

  “Remove your shift.”

  She simply could not bring herself to do it. While she had given herself over to them willingly in order to stave off a battle between her clan and the English, she could not suffer the indignantly of assisting him further.

  “Please my lord, do not ask me to do that.” Her voice squeaked with fear.

  He grabbed her by her hair and pulled her to his face. “You’ll do what I say whore, and you’ll do it now.”

  Though he was sick and weak, he had enough strength left in him to pull hard on her hair. She had suffered worse, but it was still quite painful. “My lord, you’re hurting me,” she said as she tried to unfold his fingers from her scalp.

  “Andrew!” he shouted. The wave of panic hit her hard. He would not let go. She should have just grabbed the pillow and held it over his head. It was too late now.

  The tent flap flew open and Andrew stood smiling at the entrance. “My lord?” he said, looking quite eager to help. Tears flooded her eyes for she knew it was all over then. The earl would make good on his promise.

  “Help me, will you? The whore seems unwilling to remove her shift.”

  Aishlinn pleaded with them to stop as Andrew bounded for her. Andrew grabbed her arms and lifted her to her feet. She saw nothing but sheer evil in the eyes that stared back at her.

  “Please! I beg you!” Her cries for mercy fell on deaf ears.

  Andrew pulled her hard into his chest as he grabbed the back of her head and forced her mouth to his. Her stomach churned when he stuck his tongue deep inside her mouth. Repulsed and growing more terrified, she tried to fight him off and struggled against the tight hold he had on her.

  When she had made the decision to relinquish her freedom and turn herself over to the English, she had prayed for a quick death. She realized now that she should have known better. Now that she was trapped inside the tent with two vile men, her instinct to fight was too strong. They’d have to take that which they wanted and she was not going to let them take it without a fight. She would hold on to her dignity for as long as possible.

  Andrew finally broke away from her mouth but maintained his tight grip on her arms. Without taking his eyes from Aishlinn, he said to the earl, “I love it when they fight, don’t you my lord?”

  Malevolence flashed from his eyes to hers. In that small flash of time, Aishlinn could see what the future held for her.

  A blood curdling scream came from somewhere beyond just the pit of her stomach. It came from her very depths of her soul. Though she knew it would do no good, for none here cared what might happen to her, she screamed. There was no one here who cared what these men would do to her; they were merely waiting for their turn at her. She began hitting Andrew with her fists but her resistance seemed only to please him.

  “Fight? You want a fight, Andrew?” she seethed. “I’ll give you a fight!” she yelled as she tried to lift her knee to thrust it into his groin. He jumped back, just enough to miss it. His smile rapidly turned to an angry glare.

  As he drew back his hand to hit her, Aishlinn heard an odd sound, like a muffled thump. Andrew’s expression changed in the blink of an eye. He now looked perplexed, as if he were studying some strange and foreign object. A moment later, his grasp on her loosened and he slowly fell to his knees.

  Twenty-Eight

  For a moment it felt as though time had slowed to a crawl. Andrew had collapsed to his knees before landing face down on the ground. Dazed and more than slightly confused, Aishlinn watched as he toppled over. A dirk had somehow become firmly imbedded in the middle of Andrew’s back. Her breath caught in her throat and she could not move, nor could she take her eyes off the dead man who lay at her feet.

  It was the earl’s raspy and angry voice that brought her back to the here and now of it. “Who in the hell are you?” The earl shouted as much as his diseased lungs would allow.

  Aishlinn looked up and saw Duncan as he stood in the entrance of the tent. His jaws were clenched and his face held a fierce look of anger. Relief washed over her at the sight of him. “Duncan!” She cried, unable to say anything else as she rushed to his open arms. He held her tightly, relieved to see that she was alive but still very angry at the situation she had put herself in. He sent a prayer of thanks up to the Heavens when he felt her collapse into his arms.

  A loud commotion began outside the tent as Duncan let loose of Aishlinn and walked to the bed. “Who the hell are ye?” Duncan demanded.

  “I’m the Earl of Penrith you insolent fool!” his body shook as he was overcome by a coughing fit.

  Duncan looked down at the man in utter incredulity. This was the monster that had killed his family? This was the bastard who had tried not once, but twice to rape his wife? His mind could not wrap around it. This could not be the same man he had envisioned running his blade through for the last ten and seven years.

  “Ye? Ye be the Earl of Penrith?” he asked unable to believe the man before him had been the source of countless nightmares and untold anguish.

  “Aye, he is Duncan,” Aishlinn said from the tent opening. “Quickly, please take me away from here Duncan,” she pleaded with him as her body began to shiver.

  Duncan could not take his eyes from the man who lay before him. “Ye killed my family,” Duncan whispered. “Many years ago, ye slaughtered an entire village. Ya killed innocent people. Ya killed my entire family.” Rage began to creep in.

  He could not believe this was the man who had destroyed so many lives. Nay. What lay before him was no man, but a sick, demented monster who derived great pleasure in seeing others suffer at his hands. Duncan shook his head. He could not believe he was this close to him.

  Duncan battled with his conscience. No matter how desperately he wanted to simply run his broadsword through the man’s heart, he could not ki
ll an unarmed man. In the battles that he had played out in his mind over the years, never had he imagined that he would find the whoreson sick and unarmed.

  Duncan would leave the man to suffer with his disease. It appeared that death was not too far off into the future for the earl. He’d let the man suffer in agony and waste away into nothing.

  Duncan turned away from the earl and bent down to retrieve his dirk from Andrew’s back. He wiped the dead man’s blood on the earl’s blankets.

  “Ye’ll burn in hell soon enough,” Duncan told him. The earl remained silent as he watched Duncan closely.

  Duncan went to Aishlinn then and held her for a moment. “Dunna leave me side!” he told her. “Follow me and stay right next to me!”

  Aishlinn nodded her head and took hold of his arm. This had not turned out as she had intended. She was supposed to have saved her clan, but instead, it turned out they were saving her.

  As she turned back to take one final look at the earl, she saw a dagger in the decrepit man’s hands. She shouted a warning to Duncan who had begun to step from the tent. “Dagger!”

  The earl’s knife barely missed Duncan’s head as it bounced off the walls of the tent and landed on the floor. Duncan spun quickly around and flung his dirk across the room. It landed dead center of the earl’s chest as it made a revolting sound when it tore through flesh, muscle and bone.

  Aishlinn gasped as she saw the blood begin to ooze and drench his nightshirt. An odd expression had come over the earl’s face. It wasn’t the sweet release of death but something rather wicked and repulsive.

  Duncan shook his head and retrieved his dirk from the dead man’s chest. When he returned to Aishlinn’s side he noticed then that she was standing in just her shift and for a brief moment, he wondered if he had not arrived in time to save her from these sick bastards. “Did they hurt ye?” he asked.