by Ria Cantrell
Brielle backed up and murmured, “No…” She felt the walls suddenly closing in on her. She had to get away and somehow convince Rory that she didn’t love him so he would leave. She would never lure him to harm. As she backed away from Roderick, she saw he had forgotten about her for the moment. He was mumbling how it was time to see Rory MacCollum’s blood spill. He was now completely lost in his mad musings.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Rory gave quiet commands. He did not like the stillness that surrounded Campbell Keep because stillness usually meant someone was sitting in wait for them. He said, “Do not charge the keep. Bowmen, no doubt, are ready for yer’ approach. When we make our presence known, I want ye’ to stay just out of the range of shooting arrows. On my lead we will move forward.”
Caleb watched his son, and though he was fighting the darkness constantly, he managed to take command clearly. Though Rory was angrier than Caleb had ever seen him, he was proud of his controlled leadership. The men, both MacCollum and MacDougal responded to him and followed his orders unquestioningly. He was a natural leader. Caleb’s heart welled with pride. It was one thing to see his sons off and fighting, but to fight along side of them and to have the youngest one assume the role of commander was more than a father could ask for. The men followed Rory’s lead to the outer bailey. It was near dusk and they had spent a good part of the day listening to Rory’s plans and tactics.
The men formed a semi-circle around the keep. They waited as three rounds of arrows were shot, keeping just out of the range, as Rory had commanded. As Rory calibrated the sweep of the range, he rode up and down the flank counting the archers and counting the seconds between re-firing. Though the men were itching to move, they waited. Rory had it under control. He directed those who were out of the line of view forward. It was all so calculated, they would come out unscathed. Rory’s plan was not to kill all the Campbell, but to get Brielle out safely. Despite his hatred of Roderick Campbell, he did not want to have to tell Brielle that he had killed her only living kin, so his cautious approach was his only option.
It was all actually working beautifully, as Rory’s perfectly planned approach followed his tactical and logical course. That was, until Brielle had dashed through the entrance of the keep. She moved purposefully, heading toward Rory. Rory was down flank of the men and had not seen her yet. She called out, “Ruiri MacCollum, I dunna’ need rescuing. Leave me be and leave this place.”
It was as if time had slowed. Rory turned toward her and looking up he saw she was in direct line of an archer’s fire. He began riding as fast as he could toward her. Liam also began to charge toward the girl, closing the distance quicker than Rory could. Liam leapt from his horse and rushed at Brielle, pushing her out of the line of fire. In doing so, he pushed her to the ground and just out of range of the arrow that was shot…nearly. In saving Brielle, Liam caught an arrow to his side. As he fell, Ruiri cried out a yell of anguish. Throwing his head back, he let go a cry of torment, sounding more like a wolf than a man.
“NOOoooooooo,” was the howled cry that split the air around them. Liam raised himself up on his side and said, “Easy, Ruiri. I will be alright…tend to yer’ girl.” But the blood staining his leine quickly seeped from the arrow wound and was pooling into the leather trewes Liam wore. It did not take long for Liam to succumb to the loss of blood and excruciating pain. He quickly slipped into unconsciousness and crumpled to the ground. Rory saw Brielle looking stricken and pale. His anger prevented him from seeing her physical state of repeated abuse.
“Damn You! Damn ye’ to hell, Gabrielle Campbell. Look at what ye’ caused!” He was furious. And, he had called her “Campbell” again. She was no longer his wife. She was no longer MacCollum and she knew she had no right to be.
“I…I told Caleb to tell ye’ to leave me be. I dunna’ love ye’…Ye’ should na’ have come,” she rambled, blurting out the things she had carefully planned to say; feeling rattled and shaken just from seeing him and from hearing the anger in his voice…and from having the binding rite negated. Well, she had asked for it and now she had accomplished in attaining just such a declaration.
“The hell ye’ don’t!”
Even in his anger, seeing her again, set his heart pounding. God he ached to hold her…that was, of course, after he had given her a good sound spanking. Even with her lying lips, he could feel her love. What did she hope to gain from lying to him? She was his, love or no and he was never going to leave her in the hands of these Campbell demons.
“I dunna’ love ye’. Cut yer’ losses and go.”
That lie cost Brielle so much, because it hurt her heart as much to say it as it did for Rory to hear it. Rory was about to explode.
“My losses, Brielle? My losses? If I lose my brother, I will NOT be able to ‘Cut my losses’ Ye’ are coming with me. I dunna’ care that ye’ dunna’ love me,” he said with venomous sarcasm. He did not really understand her motive for lying because whether she loved him or not, the Campbell would still want him dead.
“No. Leave me alone. I willna’ go with ye’. I never loved ye’,” she lied, saying the words that hurt her to her very soul. Those hateful words seemed to slash at Rory’s heart, even though he knew it for the lie it was.
“It was all a mistake. I confused love for ye’ helping me get well. I am grateful for that, but nothing more. I am sorry, but I willna’ go with ye’.”
Rory did not believe in committing violence against women, usually, but she was pushing him to his limits. He wanted to punish her…and kiss her till she admitted that she lied. Even knowing her words were lies, they cut him deeply. No man should ever hear that from the woman he loved. That stupid little fool! She was braver than any woman he knew…and naïve enough to think he believed her.
“I did not risk my brother’s life so ye’ could stay here. If I have to hog tie ye’, ye’ will be leaving with me. I dunna’ care if ye’ don’t love me. Ye’ belong to me. There is no doubt of that. I have claimed you by right of your maidenhead and what is mine I will not release.”
Brielle was horrified. His words were embarrassing, degrading and crude. She felt no warmth in his claim and she turned to face him. As real as hatred she could feel toward the man she loved with every fiber of her being, she felt now at his horrid words. Seemingly authentic hatred now flared in her eyes.
“I am not a piece of property. Ye’ are no better than Roderick to say such things. Get away from me. I never want to see ye’ again.”
She thought that would have finished it, but she was wrong. His words cut her, too.
“Ruiri, have a care,” came the voice of Stephen MacDougal. Men had begun pouring out from the main entry and had engaged the men in battle. Dragging Brielle more roughly than he wished toward his father, Rory said, “Take her out of my sight Da. Shawn, ye’ take hold of Liam. I will meet ye’ back in the village inn.”
It all happened so quickly. She was no match for the strength even in one of Rory’s hands as it had locked around her wrist to drag her to Caleb’s mount. Brielle was thrust up beside him. Shawn had a hold of Liam and they began to ride so fast, it nearly knocked the wind out of her. She could feel Ruiri’s anguish as they were hastening away. She felt his hurt as if it was her own. Then she realized, it was her own, for if he hurt, so did she…and she had caused his heart to nearly burst in his chest at her unkind words. All she succeeded in doing was hurt the only man she would ever love. He was not going to leave the fight. She should have realized that from the start. She had failed him. She felt his disappointment and anger. Oh…his anger was something she hoped never to unleash again. It was horrible and dark, born from pain and it ripped at her own heart like savage claws. She had succeeding in one thing, for sure. She had succeeded in breaking his heart; something she never really wanted; something she would never be able to forgive herself for.
Ruiri, I love you, please believe me…I lied to protect you…
As she thought those words as they were almost beyon
d his sight, he turned for a brief moment; his eyes meeting hers, as Caleb was taking her away. Instead of hearing “I know” or “I love ye’ too,” she felt the full force of his fury. It felt so far from love, that it shook her to her very core. He quickly turned his back on her and joined in the fray. Caleb did not say a word to the girl. He was too angry with her to trust himself to speak to her. He knew why she had done what she did, but that still had caused irreparable damage.
*****
Liam lapsed in and out of consciousness and Caleb was afraid that he was going to lose two sons this day. One had surely died from the terrible words that would have pierced Rory as sure as the arrow that had pierced Liam. He had seen the look of fury and despair in Rory’s eyes and he hoped that Rory knew the lass didn’t mean any of it and that she was trying to protect him. It was just that the look of desolation was back in his son’s eyes. Had her words destroyed the fragile trust he had newly won? Had Rory’s soul been damaged again beyond repair? That fact could cause Rory to not care if he lived or died. Then there was Liam; the arrow still protruding from his side. The wound could be mortal. Caleb had seen many a man die from just such a wound. It would depend greatly on the removal of the point. God only knew how far it had lodged and if it had nicked vital organs. Caleb did not want to think of the gruesome task ahead of him in the removing that shaft from his son’s side.
*****
Ruiri heard Brielle’s words as plainly as if she had spoken them out loud. While he wanted to rejoice in them, he could not. His brother may have suffered a fatal wound and it was all Rory’s fault. Many of his men were engaged in battle, but he could see they were easily taking down whatever forces were left to Campbell’s rag-tag group of fighting men. It was time he faced the “Demon Spawn” once and for all.
Brielle’s state had not gone unnoticed. She still had traces of welts and bruising obviously born as a result of slaps against her fair and delicate face. She had been neglected and abused. She looked like she had not eaten in days. Her clothes were tattered and not more than rags. Her hair was wild and unkempt. The battered state of his wife was almost too much to bear. It was time to finish this!
Rory made his way into the keep. The unnatural stillness, coupled with the squalor of the place disturbed Rory deeply. He knew he was entering the den of a man who had succumbed to madness. At the smell of putrefying refuse, Rory, wanted to hurl. This was where his precious Brielle had been kept? It was not fit for beasts, let alone his beloved wife. Making his way further into the keep, Rory actually stepped over what he was pretty sure was vomit. What sort of barbarian would not clean up his own puke? He knew that Roderick was prone to the drink and surely, having been in his cups a few times, he knew that nothing short of purging one’s stomach could alleviate the effects from over partaking of the drink. But surely, someone could clean up such a thing. That was, of course, unless it was so much a daily part of Roderick’s life, that it had become the norm. Rory made his way through the castle, picking his way carefully through the tumbled down mess that was now Castle Campbell. He was wary of potential hiding places, where Roderick or any of his henchmen could be hiding, lying in wake of ambush.
Rory called, “Roderick Campbell, face me, ye’ feckin’ coward, once and for all!” Rory could swear he heard the maniacal laughing of a lunatic as answer to his call. It sounded as if Roderick was just above him. Rory made his way to the stairway leading out of the main hall. As Rory took the stairs two at a time, he once again heard the maniacal laugh of a madman. Then he heard Roderick taunting him.
“The rabid wolf has come to meet his end!!!! Oh how I shall enjoy watching you die. As much as I enjoyed watching your harlot’s blood spill. Did she like my cupid’s arrow?”
Keeping his anger in check, Rory focused his energy in routing out this crazed murderer. Now was not the time to get pulled into the horrible trap of emotional blackmail. Rounding a corner, Rory came face to face with Roderick Campbell at last. Roderick’s face was nearly purple with rage. He was clouded by violence and Rory could see the obvious signs of madness in his eyes. This madman had held Brielle. It was almost too unbearable to imagine. Circling Rory, Roderick said, “Finally…face to face with the Cur of MacCollum.” With swords drawn, they faced once another.
“T’is been a long time, since I rid the world of yer’ pasty faced breeding bitch. Who would have thought the arrow meant for ye’ would have found a home in her breast instead…but when I heard she was carrying your bastard, I was glad to have rid the world of one less MacCollum.”
Those words ended any resolve Rory may have had and they caused him to charge.
“Ye’ bloody bastard! I will have my revenge. Ye’ should have killed me that day, for ye’ will wish ye’ had when I am through with ye’.” Roderick laughed at the threat.
They parried briefly. Rory’s sword connected with Roderick’s, but Roderick’s hands were not steady from his years of drinking. While he was sober now, the abuse of the drink had taken its toll on him. He knew with a sword he would never win against Rory MacCollum. Rory thrust forward, pushing him further into the room. He took full advantage of the physical weakness in this man. Hatred and vengeance seared through Rory’s veins, thrumming like the very pulse of his life’s blood. He let the darkness lose; finally succumbing to its unholy lure. It actually felt good to give in to it, having kept in check for so long. He slashed savagely, ever pushing Roderick into the corner. Too long had Rory controlled and tamped down the rage. Rory’s eyes blazed with the bloodlust, rampant like a fever. He stalked Roderick like a feral animal locked on his prey. His eyes seemed to pin Roderick, not wavering in his stare. Rory, almost felt transformed. Perhaps he was that monster after all, because he suddenly only wanted to tear this evil bastard apart. Knowing this suddenly did not feel so abhorrent. No, in fact, it felt empowering to finally face this human demon before him.
As he pressed Roderick further, Roderick stumbled, nicking Rory’s upper arm as he fell. Rory barely felt the cut, hardly aware of anything save the darkness and violence that had finally taken hold. He thought to finish Roderick now; finally avenging Caitlyn. It was going to be over soon. He would have his vengeance once and for all. Rory could taste the victory.
Roderick had fallen behind a large moldering armchair. Rory slashed his way toward the rotted furniture, building the momentum. His great sword whirred as he swung it through the air, cutting through the deadly silence with a thrumming vibration, as if ringing out a warning to his foe. Only, what Rory could not know was that when Roderick fell behind the chair, it had been deliberate. As Rory approached, Roderick quickly leapt to his feet, aiming a cross bow at Rory’s heart. He would not have been able to best him with a sword, but at this close distance, he could easily skewer Rory with a dart from the bow.
“Ye’ cocky shyte! Now who will have his vengeance? Ye’ dishonored my sister, stupid whore that she is, and ye’ think to best me at my own game. Nay, whoreson, I have waited long for this day. Drop yer’ weapon.”
Rory’s fingers flexed on the hilt of his sword. It was not going to end this way. He had underestimated Roderick’s madness and forgot that this man was a man without honor. He hadn’t come this far to end up pierced by a crossbow.
“Fight me like a man. Grab your sword.”
Drawing back, Roderick knocked the crossbow. He had a vision of pinning Rory through his gizzards to the wall. Spittle formed at the corner of Roderick’s mouth as he savored that thought. Rory took a step back slowly, still holding his sword aloft. Roderick laughed evilly. He wanted to goad Rory further and so he said, “I made sure that harlot was punished. I passed her around to my men like the common whore she is. And now, go to yer’ grave knowing that she is breeding…but ye’ will never know if the bastard she carries is yers’ or one of my men’s. There were at least five that enjoyed her, and I watched each one with joy.”
Rory’s throat expanded downward, swallowing the bitter gall that had risen up at those horrible words. At th
at latest taunt, he lost his sense of reason, no longer able to keep the fury at bay. He charged forward, vaguely aware of the trigger release clicking into place. Rory’s warrior instinct made him duck and roll as the arrow zipped passed his shoulder, slicing a bit of fabric from his leine as it whizzed by and embedded into a paneled wall; the wood splintering around the shot. Rory was sure that upon standing, another point would be quickly aimed at him. He only had seconds to finish Roderick, for there would be no where else he could duck, this close to his enemy. Rory knew he had to get up, because he was only a sitting target in that position on the floor. He knew his warrior’s training and agility would sustain him while he was on his feet, but nothing could be done while he remained tucked on the floor. Rory carefully straightened and stood. Every nerve was tensed to the ready as he waited to hear the clicking of the knocked arrow into place. Rory stalked slowly toward Roderick, watching him pull the crossbow into position. Rory knew he would only have one chance only to charge before the arrow was released and he waited for precisely the right moment to cleave the bloody bastard in two. He locked eyes with his nemesis, knowing this was it…only one man would live to tell the tale at the end of this. Rory raised his sword in a deadly arc, preparing to bring it down on Roderick with full force.
Only, Rory never heard the crossbow being re-knocked. Instead, he saw it clatter to the floor. There before him sat Roderick; all color blanched from his face. A livid crimson stain spreading garishly across his chest. A dirk was lodged in his left breast. Rory turned to see Stephen MacDougal standing in the doorway.
“MacDougal, what …is this,” Roderick gurgled as blood seeped up into throat.
“That is for my brother Charles and for Lady Caitlyn…and Lady Brielle, ye’ sick bastard. May yer’ soul rot in hell.”
“I’ll see ye’ both there,” he spat, blood spewing out of his mouth. With a final roar, Roderick pulled the dirk from his chest, flinging it across the floor. That action caused his heart to pump its last beats, pulsing blood from the gaping hole in his chest like a geyser and Rory watched Roderick’s eyes glaze over in the surprised mask of death.