by Shayla Black
Suddenly, into the shadowed depths of the solar marched Murdoch. Beside him, he dragged a woman with pale curls. Averyl? he wondered. Though he was certain such was not possible, he peered at the woman more closely, gut turning.
Her face was turned away. Her size was undeterminable, for the dimness and the gown that floated about her like a gray storm cloud. But that hair… Could she be another?
Murdoch shoved her to the ground, earning the laughs of three large guards entering the room, clearly willing and able to protect their master at the slightest hint of danger.
Drake returned his attention to the woman, wincing as his half brother grabbed her tangled golden curls and slapped her face. Her back stiffened and her head fell back from the blow.
Stifling a curse, Drake watched as the woman struggled against Murdoch’s hold. Sneering, he held her down. With her hands bound behind her, she was no match for the villain.
Murdoch laughed. “How I love to see someone else humiliated for a change. I wonder if that half-English bastard would want you in his bed if he could see you now?”
Drake’s heart stopped at Murdoch’s words. He peered closer at the woman, praying she was not Averyl, but could recognize naught from tangles down her back and an overlarge gown. Still, who else could she be?
With shaking hands, he tried to rein in the panic bursting through him. What was Averyl doing here at Dunollie?
In the silence, Murdoch slapped the woman again, this time harder. She moaned.
“Have you nothing to say, whore?” Murdoch taunted.
“To such a worthless excuse for a man? Nay.”
Drake’s stomach lurched at the sound of Averyl’s voice. His greedy gaze locked on to her, even as fear burned in his veins. Dear God, how had she fallen prey to Murdoch?
And what was he to do?
Murdoch walked around Averyl in a slow, predatory circle. “Did Drake allow you to defy him like this?” When she said naught, he continued, “I know your father did, the fool.”
“Say nothing bad of my father!”
“Why not? He was foolish enough to grant me use of your dower lands before we wed. Come spring, I intend to use it as a good MacDougall should.”
“To attack the Campbells?” Her voice trembled.
Murdoch smiled. “What else?”
“Drake was right.” Averyl shouted, “Barbarian!”
He scowled and grabbed a handful of her hair. “Be careful, whore, for I could yet decide to kill you for the sport of it.”
Drake trembled with the urge to charge the room and rescue Averyl. But he would only fail now, with those three burly guards by his half brother’s side, and condemn them both to death. Nay, painful as it was, he must wait and plan—and pray for Averyl’s safety.
“Brave words for a mere woman.” Murdoch tossed her a speculative glare. “Perhaps I shall make you my whore as well,” he said with wicked glee.
Drake felt another chill creep over his skin. Murdoch’s idea of pleasure was harsh on any woman, but one with Averyl’s ideals of love would no doubt find it unbearable.
Clenching his fists, Drake knew he must act soon.
“Aye, that might be an idea,” Murdoch continued. “How that would torture Drake!”
“I will kill you upon my first opportunity,” she vowed.
Murdoch grabbed Averyl’s neck in a vicious vice. “Do not think I will be foolish enough to give you that chance.”
“You are nae a man, but a monster!”
With fury heating his eyes, Murdoch warned, “Watch your words well, or I will prove you right in ways you never imagined.”
“I have no doubt you could.”
Drake shuddered at the hate in her tone. For that, Murdoch may well punish her, using terrible means she could scarcely imagine. He wished he could find some way to warn her against such reckless words without revealing himself. But such was not possible. He would simply have to find a way to rescue her before aught happened.
Murdoch sneered. “For your poison tongue, I will teach you the meaning of pain, but I will wait until Drake watches. Such torture to his mind will please me greatly.”
“Rot in hell!” Averyl shot back.
Murdoch grabbed her arm, pulling her to her knees. “The only one who will do that is your husband. When I find him and he learns of your captivity, he will save you.”
“He will not,” she argued.
Murdoch narrowed his dark eyes. “Once he learns I lured you here with a bargain to free him from my dungeon in exchange for wedding me? Nay, Drake will not let you suffer long for your sacrifice. And when he comes, I will be waiting.”
Drake clenched his fists so tightly they trembled. Averyl had come here to exchange her freedom for his? After all he had done to her? Dear God, why?
He felt stunned—and humbled. And now Murdoch intended to use her as bait to lure him to his death.
Wanting to tear Murdoch apart limb from limb, Drake kept to the shadows, vowing vengeance for whatever ills he performed on Averyl. But such would have to be done without risk to her. And that required planning.
With one last cracking slap to Averyl’s cheek, Murdoch slammed from the room, leaving a battered Averyl to be dragged away by Murdoch’s mercenaries.
And leaving Drake more ready than ever to put his plan in motion, have his revenge, and reclaim his wife.
* * * * *
Drake watched the eastern edge of the predawn sky turn from black to a midnight blue tinged with gray as he stood silently before his mother’s grave.
Uncertainty swirling within him, he stared at the stone marker for long moments before kneeling, knowing not what to say.
Slowly, he whispered, “Why did you never tell me the truth? Why did I never see your hurt?” He shook his head, his chest aching. “You let me believe the worst.”
Drake was faintly aware of healing tears squeezing from the corners of his eyes, making hot paths down his face.
His very life had changed in knowing that perhaps his father had been as much to blame for the marriage’s demise as his mother. His perception of the past, of the selfishness and deceit of women—all of that was in question now.
If Averyl’s actions to save him reflected the true nature of love, they cast a shadow over the marriage his parents had shared. Neither had given the other a moment of happiness, had never really given of themselves, to their own detriment. Had they loved at all, or merely struggled for power in a relationship borne of lust?
He sighed, longing for Averyl. Had he pushed her away foolishly, without cause? Had he endured wretched months of icy loneliness when he could have basked in the warmth of her love?
Either way, he must rid his soul of Averyl, before the pain he felt at her absence killed him.
“’Tis sorry I am, Mother. I knew not the truth.”
Suddenly, wind whisked across his face, seeming to carry Diera’s hauntingly familiar scent.
He whirled about, swearing he would find her there, so strong was her presence. Yet he saw nothing but a barren February winterland, white snow clinging to leafless trees.
“Mother?” he called, feeling her with him still, despite the fact his eyes told him differently.
As quickly as the wind had come, it left, replaced by the bite of the cold dawn. Drake tingled with a certainty that Diera had both listened to his words and forgiven him.
From the nearby gardens, he retrieved a few flowers that had survived the winter chill, and laid the snow-capped blossoms across her grave.
He knelt before the simple wooden cross and prayed to God to look favorably upon his mother and allow her past the gates into His Kingdom. He asked forgiveness for his own wayward actions, including those to come. Most of all, he prayed for Averyl’s future happiness and safety.
But now ’twas time to kill his brother—or be killed.
* * * * *
Mi
nutes later, Drake shook Firtha awake.
“What— Who…”
“Shh,” Drake whispered. “I’ve no time to talk. Murdoch has Averyl.”
The maid sat up. “Aye, he is using her to trap ye.”
“I know. Where does he keep her?”
She hesitated. “The gatehouse.”
Drake’s mouth fell agape. “In the dungeon? Upon my word, I will kill him! She is far too delicate—”
“Praise be ye ken that!”
“I do, which is why we must not waste time. If you can, see her. Tell her I will not leave her again, not to Murdoch.”
Firtha nodded. “I will find a way. Now, ye hiv to worry how to free her. Do ye hiv a plan?”
“Beyond luring Murdoch to his death, nay. But I will. Know you how Averyl fares so far?”
“Our Lord Dunollie haes more desire to find ye than bed her. She eats and sleeps alone.”
“Thank God,” he muttered. “But still, I must tread carefully.” Drake rose to pace. “Christ’s oath, I want to free her, regardless of the danger. I want to cause Murdoch pain for the hurt he has done her.”
Firtha took his hand. “Ye are in love, Drake.” When he would have protested, she held up her hand. “Ye ken that, I hiv no doubt. Admit it now, whilst ye can.”
He wrenched away. “All I feel now is regret for Averyl’s pain and hate for Murdoch.”
“Ye love ’er,” Firtha insisted, “e’en if ye don’t like it.”
He tried to ignore the burning in his chest as the acknowledgement of Firtha’s words loomed. Aye, fool that he was, he loved Averyl. Six months away from her had changed naught in his heart…except that the pain of their separation forced him to admit the truth.
Still, he could never tell Averyl he needed her like food, like water. He could give no one, least of all her, the key to his soul. She could destroy him with it. She had cause now.
After bidding Firtha farewell, Drake wound through the underground tunnels and emerged from Dunollie, mind racing. He scarce paid attention to the moonlit path.
Though he could not tell her of his love, Drake worried about Averyl in Murdoch’s dungeon. The fiend plotted to rape her, while forcing the man she had professed to love to watch.
When he had imagined revenge, Drake had never expected to destroy anyone but Murdoch and, perhaps, himself. Seeking this renegade justice had cost Averyl her freedom. And Drake had no illusions; before this mad state of affairs played itself to the end, his revenge could well cost Averyl her life.
He cursed. Wondering about her while he laid this death trap for Murdoch, knowing Murdoch had struck and threatened her, all of it stabbed pain in his gut, his heart.
Aye, no doubt anymore. He did love her. Mayhap he had from the start of her captivity, for she’d always drawn him.
And ’twas clear Averyl believed that she loved him. No woman he knew, even Firtha, would be forgiving enough to set aside her pain and fury over a man’s abandonment at her greatest hour of need and still return to Dunollie to wed a monster in exchange for her lover’s freedom.
Had he ever been loved that selflessly? Nay, even his father had conditioned his love to ensure obedience. He had been a good man, but one who demanded his wishes be met. Had that been the reason his parents had known no harmony? Had his father commanded a submission his mother refused to yield?
Had he mistaken their darker emotions and their consequences as love all along?
Not certain how to answer that question, Drake felt the minutes tick by like centuries. He marched his way through the tunnel, praying he could find some way to extricate Averyl from Dunollie without harm. He could not bear the thought of repaying Averyl’s loving deed with Murdoch’s cruelty.
The small, dank space of the tunnel finally gave way to the moonlit night. Drake inched up to ground and edged along the outer curtain wall to avoid detection by Dunollie’s guards.
Instead, he felt a tap on his shoulder.
An alert determination, along with fear, coiled in the pit of his belly as he whirled to his attacker.
Instead, he saw Kieran. Aric stood just behind him.
“What in damnation—” he began.
“We thought you were in Dunollie’s dungeon,” Kieran said. “Did you escape?”
Drake frowned. “Nay, Murdoch did not have me.”
Kieran and Aric exchanged glances. “He lied.”
Drake nodded. “He has Averyl in his dungeon now and plots to use her to lure me to my death.”
“’Tis as we feared,” said Aric, his voice a low rumble, “We must save her and return to England.”
“After I give Murdoch the slow death he deserves.”
Aric grabbed his arms. “Averyl must come first, you dimwitted dolt.”
Drake might have pointed out that Aric began to sound like Gwenyth if the situation were less serious. “And she shall.”
“With haste,” Aric added with force.
Kieran nodded. “Unless you want your babe born in Dunollie’s dungeon.”
Drake’s gaze whipped back to Kieran, who stood with wide arms crossed over his chest, looking unyielding and angry. Had he just said…
“Babe?”
“Aye, in April.”
“But…Averyl? I knew naught—”
“Because you abandoned her, swiving swine. And I am furious enough with you to push a battering ram through your miserable gut. You punish her for Diera’s cruelty—”
“Kieran,” Aric warned.
It fell upon deaf ears.
“Think you Averyl would take one of your family to her bed to spite you? Can you imagine such a deed from her?” Kieran hissed. “If you say you can, I will punch you.”
Stunned, Drake said naught. But his spinning mind considered the question over and over. Nay, he could not imagine such a thing. But when his father had first fancied his mother, he doubtless never imagined such an event, either.
“Let us consider Averyl’s safety now, hmm?” suggested Aric.
Drake was all too willing to turn his mind to her rescue. “You and Kieran free her from the dungeon and meet me by the tunnel entrance in the upper bailey. I will show you its location when we get inside.”
“And what will you do?” Kieran scowled.
“What I came here to do—kill Murdoch.”
“Hellfire! Can you forget this revenge for once? It will be the death of you!”
“If I forget it, what will happen?” Drake whispered as furiously as discretion allowed. “Murdoch will hunt me, hunt her. We will know no peace, no life, no future as long as he wants to see her as his wife and me in my grave. Even after Averyl turns eight and ten, he may lose his fortune but not his power with the clan. He and everyone I have known all my years will stalk me until I hang from a rope by the battlements.”
Aric, ever calm, separated him and Kieran. “If this is your wish, we will follow it. What is your plan?”
For the next hour, they debated the possibilities, drawing sketches in the dirt, arguing over the best strategy. As dawn broke, they formed a solid plan.
Drake only hoped Averyl did not lose her life, nor he lose his friends, in the process.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Drake crept into the quiet of Murdoch’s chamber. His guards were nowhere in sight.
Finally, now, revenge would be his.
Aye, but it had cost him life with Averyl, the babe she would bear—and his heart.
Pushing the thought away, he stared at his sleeping half brother as moonlight spilled through the windows bared to the coming dawn. And he hesitated. Why had he never been as close to the brother with whom he shared blood as he had with the warrior brothers of his heart, Kieran and Aric?
He frowned. Like the biblical Cain slew Abel, Drake readied to kill his brother, too. Suddenly, he wondered if his father would be disappointed. And why he felt naught but dread.
/> Drawing from the anger he’d gathered during his life, Drake swallowed and drew his blade. Still he hesitated, uncertain.
Murdoch woke suddenly and opened his eyes.
Slowly, he focused on Drake. Their gazes locked.
“You!” Murdoch’s eyes bulged with recognition. “’Tis hoping I have been you would come for your death, my brother.”
Fury tightening his gut, Drake shook his head. “No one here will die but you and ’twill be by my hand!”
Murdoch spit in his face. “You will prove nothing but your own bloodlust if you kill me.”
“The clan already believes me dangerously mad, thanks to you. I have naught to lose by ending your worthless life.”
With that, Drake charged Murdoch, who rose from bed clad in his braies and hopped to the floor. With a flash of an arm, Murdoch grabbed his own blade from the nearby trestle table.
Cursing, Murdoch charged, lunging with gritted teeth. Drake sidestepped the oncoming blade, then thrust at his half brother. The short blade missed its mark by a breath.
Before Murdoch could recover, Drake rushed toward him and took a wild stab at his chest. Murdoch jumped from the knife’s path and scrambled across the room.
“Where is your warrior’s training now?” taunted Murdoch.
Drake knew his anger was building dangerously, had felt it from the moment Murdoch awakened. He drew in a breath, seeking calm. He found only Murdoch’s sneer dominating his gaze.
Murdoch grinned. “How will you feel when I make your wife mine and take her to my bed? And I will, even if her belly is ugly and swollen.”
A spark of an image, Averyl tied to Murdoch’s bed, swept through his mind. Anger exploded in Drake’s veins, and he gripped the knife tighter. By hell, the fiend deserved to die.
“You will never know,” vowed Drake.
Attacking Murdoch once more, Drake growled at the man as he shifted in the shadows. His blade made contact with skin. Murdoch howled as his cheek bled onto his bare chest. He reached up to swipe the blood away, retreating.
The blood only gladdened Drake.
“Bastard!” cursed Murdoch.
Before he could move, Drake lunged again. Murdoch backed into a bench beside the fireplace. It crashed to the wooden floor, deafening in the early-morn silence.