With all his strength, Murdac backhanded Brigette, sending her sprawling on the floor. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. “It's beyond my ken how MacArthur abides wi’ ye and yer mouth,” he spat, “but I amna’ as soft-hearted.” He gestured to the two serving women.
Brigette's head spun dizzily. She forced herself to rise, and in a moment, the women had divested her of skirt, blouse, shoes, and stockings. Brigette stood there, clad in her chemise.
Murdac devoured her with his eyes and, unable to resist, tweaked one of her breasts. “Ye've thirty minutes to get away,” he said, gesturing to the hall's entrance, “and then we're comin’ after ye."
“Let's go,” Brigette said, but intense fear kept Antonia rooted to the floor. Taking her sister-in-law's hand in hers, Brigette led her out of the hall.
“Do what ye want wi’ the blonde,” Murdac told his men, “but the copper-haired wench is mine. He who forgets is a dead mon."
Goosebumps erupted on Brigette's arms when they stepped into the courtyard. Damn, she cursed inwardly. It was summer by the calendar, but too cold to run half naked through the woods.
Brigette cast Antonia a measuring look and knew her pampered sister-in-law would slow her down. They would be lucky even to leave the immediate vicinity of the keep before thirty minutes was up, she realized in dismay.
Drawing Antonia along in her wake, Brigette walked briskly into the outer courtyard and headed straight for the gate. Alerted by the earl, the guards allowed the women to pass unmolested.
“I dinna know aboot anyone else,” one of the warriors said, licking his lips with anticipation, “but after the earl passes by, I'm joinin’ the hunt."
“But what aboot Weem's defense?” a second asked. “If Dunridge attacks while—"
“The devil take Weem's defense,” the first man spat. “If the earl was worried aboot MacArthur, he wouldna’ be offerin’ us the wenches."
“I agree wi’ ye,” a third warrior piped in. “Why should we miss the fun?"
“I never futtered a high-born lady,” the second warrior said, persuaded by the others’ comments. “I've a mind to know what it feels like."
“The earl willna’ kill all of us for leavin’ our post,” the first man reasoned.
“It's settled, then,” the third concluded. “We'll go."
Terrified, Antonia halted just beyond the gate and refused to budge. Turning back, Brigette urged her onward.
“I canna,” Antonia cried.
Grabbing her sister-in-law's shoulders, Brigette gave her a rough shake, then slapped her tear-streaked cheek. “Listen to me,” she snarled. “Do you want those vile men touching you?"
Antonia's eyes widened. She shook her blond head vigorously.
“We'll go into the woods that way,” Brigette told her. “Once out of their sight, we'll double back and hide on the other side of the loch."
“Loch?"
Brigette nodded. “There's a loch behind Weem. I saw it from the window. When it's dark, they'll give up the hunt, and then we'll start for Dunridge."
“But we'll freeze to death,” Antonia whined.
“You blockhead,” Brigette snapped. “Don't you think Iain is already on his way to Weem? We'll meet him long before we've frozen. Let's go."
With Brigette in the lead, the two dashed into the woods south of Weem. Once out of the guards’ sight, they left the path and plunged into the dense woods surrounding them. Periodically, Brigette glanced behind to check on Antonia. Unused to physical activity, the Highland beauty was tiring quickly and soon developed a painful stitch in her side.
“Brie,” Antonia cried as she tripped and fell.
Swearing, Brigette trodded back to her. What else could she do? Leave Antonia behind? “Are you hurt?” she asked.
Tears brimmed over Antonia's eyes. “I've twisted my ankle and my side hurts terribly."
Brigette helped her stand. “Put your arm around my shoulder."
“I canna make it,” Antonia wailed. “Why dinna ye save yerself?"
Tempted to do just that, Brigette hesitated, her eyes meeting Antonia's. Her sister-in-law had no scruples and so believed no one else did. No doubt Antonia would be long gone if their roles were reversed.
“Well?"
“Shut up,” Brigette hissed.
“Why dinna ye leave me?” Antonia repeated.
“And have your ghost return to haunt me for the rest of my days? I think not."
A wild, lusty shout sounded in the distance. Both women stiffened, gut-wrenching fear sweeping through them.
“The hounds of hell have caught our scent,” Brigette observed wryly. “Thirty minutes cannot have passed. The bastard's cheating!"
* * * *
“The gate's open, and I dinna see any guards,” Percy said. “Do ye think it's a trap?"
Grim-faced, Iain shrugged his shoulders. “Trap or no', I'm ridin’ in."
The MacArthurs had arrived at Weem Castle and, hidden by the dense woods, separated into two groups. Iain and Percy led the main troop in the woods facing Weem's gate. Dugie and Jamie led a smaller group that had circled around the keep to locate the postern gate.
“Dugie must be in position by now,” Percy said.
Iain nodded. “There'll be nae escape for Menzies this time. My only regret is I canna kill him twice."
Drawing his sword, Iain raised it in the air to signal his men, then nudged his horse forward. With swords drawn, the MacArthur warriors followed. Leaving the protective shelter of the woods, they became vulnerable to assault by arrow, but no defender appeared on the walls of Weem Castle.
The MacArthurs rode closer and closer to the keep, yet all remained strangely, eerily silent. Not a soul appeared to challenge them. Weem Castle was a ghost keep.
“I dinna like this,” Percy whispered nervously as they reached the gate. “Somethin's amiss. Let the men go through first."
“Brie's my wife."
With his brother at his side, Iain rode into the keep. Nothing happened. As they moved through the outer courtyard, a sudden movement flashed between their horses.
“Sly!” Percy exclaimed in a loud whisper.
Iain's lips twitched. “The rascal must've followed us."
Halting his horse, Iain scanned the inner courtyard. Where was Menzies? And where were Brigette and Antonia?
Iain dismounted. The MacArthur warriors also dismounted, albeit reluctantly, certain they were about to be slaughtered. The muffled sounds of stealth alerted them to imminent danger, but it was only Dugie's men circling around from the postern gate.
“I canna credit what I'm seein',” Dugie said to Iain.
“Ye mean, what we arena’ seein',” Jamie corrected. “This place is givin’ me the creeps.” At his words, more than one MacArthur warrior crossed himself for safety's sake.
With Iain leading the way, they entered Weem's main foyer. Sly, having caught the faintest trace of a familiar scent, scurried past them and disappeared through a door. He knew Brigette was here, somewhere.
“A wild beastie,” shrieked a feminine voice.
The MacArthurs followed Sly and found themselves in the great hall. It was deserted except for two serving women and the castle's steward, who exclaimed, “A MacArthur!"
“The MacArthur,” Iain growled, pointing his sword at him. “Where's yer master?"
“W-w-we're only s-servants here,” the man stammered. “The earl is huntin'."
“Huntin'?” Iain echoed incredulously. “Ye expect me to believe he went huntin’ and left Weem unprotected?"
“'Tis true, I swear."
“Give us his hostages,” Iain ordered.
“I—I—I canna do that."
Iain's eyes narrowed dangerously. He flicked a glance at Dugie and Jamie, who grabbed the man's arms. “Cut off the head of his shaft,” Iain ordered savagely.
“Look,” Percy called, squatting beside Sly. A woman's garment hung from the fox's mouth.
Inspecting it, Iain was relieved to fi
nd no bloodstains. “Brie was wearin’ this blouse,” he said, his expression more forbidding than Menzies at his worst. Stepping closer to the steward, Iain snarled, “I'll cut the mon's pecker off myself."
“Wait!” the steward screamed, tears of fear for his manhood sliding down his face. “The ladies arena’ here."
“Where, then?"
“I dinna ken exactly. The earl made them strip and leave the keep. He's huntin’ them for sport."
“Aye, my lord,” one of the women verified. “The earl said the men could have the ladies—if ye ken my meanin'. The guards must've wanted a taste and joined the hunt."
With an oath, Iain raced out of the hall with Sly at his heels. The MacArthur warriors followed behind.
“Jamie,” Iain ordered, halting in the courtyard, “ye and yer group stay here in case they return.” Iain lifted Sly and, nuzzling the fox, commanded, “Find Brie, Sly. Find Brie.” The fox sprang from his arms and dashed for the outer courtyard. The MacArthurs leaped on their horses and followed.
* * * *
Frenzied shouts of unbridled masculine lust rent the air frighteningly near them, and hearing it, Antonia whimpered like a wounded animal. So much for strategy, Brigette thought, staggering with fatigue from bearing Antonia's weight. A few paces more, she told herself, little realizing they would be more vulnerable in the open.
“The loch,” Brigette said, stepping from the edge of the woods. They trudged agonizingly slowly down the shoreline in search of a suitable hiding place.
“Help!” Strong hands wrenched Antonia from Brigette's side.
“You bloody bugger!” Brigette screeched, berserk as a madwoman. Grabbing Antonia's arm, she tugged with all her might and, when that failed, attacked the man ferociously—kicking, scratching, biting.
As if Brigette were an annoying mosquito, he shoved her away and she landed facedown on the grass. Determined to save Antonia, Brigette started to rise but stopped short, her eyes locking on a pair of shining black boots standing beside her head.
“Allow me, Countess.” Murdac's voice oozed sarcastic contempt. He leaned over to capture his prize.
In one swift motion, Brigette poked her fingers in his eyes and rolled away. She leaped to her feet and ran.
Recovering himself, Murdac gave chase. With her flaming hair swirling wildly around her, Brigette looked like a frightened wood nymph as she raced down the loch's shoreline. Two steps behind, Murdac reached out, grabbed her fiery mane, and yanked savagely. Brigette cried out in excruciating pain and toppled back.
“Bitch,” Murdac snarled, whirling her around and viciously slapping her, sending her sprawling on the ground. He loosened his codpiece.
“Iain!” Brigette screamed in desperation. Her world went black, and she missed the deadly barrage of MacArthur arrows that flew through the air from the woods.
* * * *
“Brie.” Someone whispered her name. Brigette opened her eyes and gazed at her husband's worried expression.
Iain smiled with relief and held her protectively close. “Do ye hurt?” he asked, when she began to weep.
Clinging to him, Brigette shook her head, then pressed it against his chest and closed her eyes. Slurp! Something wet licked the salty tears from her cheek.
“Sly!” Brigette exclaimed, opening her eyes.
“In case ye hadna’ noticed, brother”—Percy's voice sounded beside them—“yer wife is almost bare-arse naked.” Grinning, he handed Iain a blanket, then walked away.
“Antonia?” Brigette asked, her face scarlet with embarrassment.
Iain shook his head. “She took an arrow, but didna’ suffer."
“Menzies?"
“Willna’ be botherin’ us again."
Iain wrapped her in the blanket and lifted her into his arms. His dark eyes held hers captive, and cocking a brow at her, he asked, “See what happens when ye dinna obey me?"
“I'll never disobey you again,” Brigette vowed, wrapping her arms around his neck.
Iain's lips twitched. “Ye know as well as I, lovey, lyin's as great a sin as disobedience."
Epilogue
Edinburgh Castle, December 1566
“Make haste, will ye?"
Hearing the impatience in her husband's voice, Brigette cast him a sidelong glance. Dashingly handsome, Iain wore the black and green MacArthur dress plaid, topped with a white silk shirt and black velvet doublet. Frowning, he stood in front of the chamber's hearth and watched her.
Brigette smiled placidly, then teased, “Has anyone ever told you what well-shaped legs you have? The sight of your calves makes me quiver all over."
“Dinna vex me, Brie,” Iain snapped. “Can ye no’ hurry?"
“Fetch my gown, please.” In an instant, he was at her side with her new court gown of forest-green velvet. “Put it over my head,” Brigette instructed, “but don't disturb my hair or I'll have to start over."
“Why am I, the Earl of Dunridge, reduced to playin’ yer tirewoman?” he asked, irritated. “Why didna’ ye bring Spring along?” Brigette's answer was muffled beneath the folds of her gown. “What?” he asked.
“I said,” Brigette repeated, coming up for air, “Spring is in the earliest stage of pregnancy."
“So?"
“So, she's prone to vomiting. Anywhere, at any time."
“Oh."
“Spring and Sheena and Avril, all with child,” Brigette said. “This is certainly a year for babies."
“Dinna forget yerself.” Iain grinned and patted her swollen stomach. “Five months gone, and aboot ready to burst. It must be another lad."
“Four of us pregnant at the same time. I wonder, do you think something was carried on the Highland wind?"
Iain burst out laughing, then scoffed, “Dinna be silly. I made ye swell, no’ the wind. Turn around and I'll battle yer buttons."
“One thing is for certain,” Brigette told him, turning her back. “I'm burning that damn cot."
Iain smiled at her back. “The cot didna’ make ye pregnant either."
“It helped."
Finishing his task, Iain gently twirled her around to face him and kissed the tip of her upturned nose. “Ye never looked lovelier, sweetie."
“The cot still goes.” Brigette turned away to study herself in the pier glass. I'll do, she decided, then frowned, seeing the profile of her bulging stomach.
“If we dinna leave now,” Iain said, biting back his laughter, “we'll be late for Percy's investiture."
“Just imagine,” Brigette said, “Percy will bear Murdac's title and live at Weem. I wonder what Black Jack would think. I still don't understand how this can be."
“By the courtesy of Scotland's law and the queen,” he explained, “when a mon marries an heiress, he may receive her family's title and estates. After today, Percy will be the Earl of Meinnich and Weem Castle will be his home."
“We English don't do things like that."
Iain tilted her chin up and gazed deeply, lovingly into her emerald eyes. “Ye English are barbarians."
Unamused, Brigette let the insult pass. “How exactly did the feud with Menzies begin?” she asked. “Did Black Jack abduct his aunt?"
“No, though Murdac may have believed so."
“Well, then?"
“Black Jack dinna abduct or murder Menzies's aunt. I canna tell ye any more, lovey, ‘til the Duke of Argyll passes away,” he replied, escorting her to the door. “Will ye trust me ‘til then?"
“Yes."
Iain opened the door, and both started through at the same time but couldn't fit. They stepped back and faced each other.
Brigette giggled and gestured to the doorway. “There's an old English proverb that covers this exact situation."
“Which is?"
Brigette scurried across the threshold, then turned around. Rubbing the mound of her stomach, she said, “The one with the belly leads the way and the one without follows behind. What say you to that, my illustrious earl?"
Smiling, Iain fol
lowed Brigette across the threshold and closed the door, then drew her into the circle of his arms and kissed her thoroughly, stealing her breath away. “I love ye, hinny,” he whispered, then nibbled on her irresistible bottom lip and added, “but I could love ye so much better if ye werena’ so damn fat."
“Ohhhh!"
* * *
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Highland Belle Page 27