"Ugh." Chills of revulsion covered her. Though she struggled against him, he forced a twisted piece of material between her teeth, then tied it behind her head. While she lay on the bed, he rolled her up in the plaid blanket, covering her from head to toe.
"Now, I'm taking you home, m'lady." Blackburn threw her over his left shoulder, the hard muscle and bone jabbing into her stomach painfully, near knocking the breath from her. He carried her out into the corridor.
She wished she could see if Leith still lived but could see naught beyond the blanket. She said a quick prayer for him, then tried to scream but the sounds emerged muffled behind the gag. She smashed her knees into his chest, but in response, he merely clamped her legs tightly to him and kept going down the spiral steps. Anna's head upside down, dizziness assailed her.
He carried her through the warm kitchen then out the door. His feet tramped across the wet cobblestones as the high winds roared overhead.
"Halt!" a man yelled off to her left.
"Leave him be!" another man ordered.
Sword clangs rang out a few yards distant, as did the grunts and curses of the two swordsmen.
"I thank you, Gegrim. You'll be rewarded." Blackburn ran with her, jostling her about.
Gegrim? Anna remembered that guard. So he was the traitor? If only she could tell Neacal. Where was he? Beyond the walls, fighting?
Turning this way and that, Anna could not escape Blackburn. The blanket slipped a bit and she glimpsed the edge of the postern gate as they passed through it. The wind drove the rain sideways, dampening the blanket and her clothing. Though she could not see much beyond the plaid, she heard shouts, sword clangs and sounds of battle in the distance. She prayed again that Neacal had been unharmed while fighting and that he would stay safe.
***
Constance braved the gale force winds and the rain on the ramparts to see what was happening below. She watched as Blackburn carried someone—Anna, she assumed—rolled up in a blanket across the courtyard and out through the postern gate. She switched her attention to the battle happening a hundred yards distant on the mainland. Neacal fought and killed soldier after soldier of the enemy clans. She narrowed her eyes and ground her teeth, hoping his rival's next strike would kill him. But it didn't. Damn him and his hawk-like focus.
She could not wait until he learned that his beloved Anna had been taken away, that she was lost to him forever. Constance wanted to see the devastation in his eyes, the same devastation she felt every minute since Neacal had killed Farquar.
She ran down several flights of steps to the great hall, and then out into the bailey, being careful not to slip on the wet cobblestones or slick mud. She passed Gegrim and another guard, lying dead in their own blood, near the open postern gate. Had they killed each other, or was an enemy lurking about? Not pausing to find out, she dashed outside and along the wall, ignoring the wind and rain. She wanted to be the one to tell Neacal that Anna was gone, that he would never see her again. She wanted to be the one to break him, to shatter him, mind and soul, while at the same time distracting him. Then his opponent would deliver the death blow. Finally, she would have her revenge for Farquar's death.
***
Blackburn ran down a hill, jarring Anna painfully against his firm, bulky shoulder. The gag in her mouth prevented her from screaming to draw attention and gain help.
He sprinted over flatter ground, first grass and then wet sand. The roaring sound of the loch and the tide reached her ears. The wind and rain buffeted against her. Where was he taking her?
His feet thumped against wood as he climbed into a small boat and lowered her into the bottom of it. The boat shook as he leapt off and shoved it from the shore.
Was he mad? Going out on the loch during a gale storm? The wind could easily capsize the tiny vessel. A new flood of terror consumed her.
She heard the oars splashing through the water as waves tossed the wherry about. Moidart was a saltwater loch, subject to the tides. And though the waves were not like those at sea, the wind and tide churned the water enough to rock the small boat. He was a madman. If the boat should capsize, she would be dead. Not that she knew how to swim even if she was untied. She tried to calm herself and focus on breathing. She must come up with a plan if she was to survive this.
She twisted about, hoping he wouldn't notice as she dislodged the blanket. Finally, she could see him and the turbulent gray and black sky overhead. Good heavens, 'twould be a fearsome storm and this was only the front edge of it. A cold wind and icy raindrops stung her face.
She couldn't see the shore or the castle from her position in the bottom of the boat. Where was Neacal? He obviously thought she was still safe inside the castle. She would have to depend on her own wits to survive this time. It would not be the first time.
The craft pitched up and down violently upon the waves, making her nauseous. Moments later, it bumped roughly against sand or rocks. Blackburn leapt off, splashed into the water and lugged the boat onto the shore. Where were they? He lifted her and when the blanket slipped away, she saw that they were on a small island not too far from the castle. She had observed the bush-covered island many times from the ramparts.
Blackburn carried her over his shoulder while the storm lashed at them. Was there a cottage or building on this island that she didn't know about? At least it was safer than a boat.
Moments later, Blackburn carried her into a windowless structure and lay her down on old, moldering straw. It appeared to be a byre. Although the stone building contained no door, it sheltered them from the wind and rain.
"Since we're far from the others, I'm going to remove your gag. No one will hear you if you scream."
She nodded.
He cut the gag loose.
"What on earth are you doing bringing me out here?" Anna asked.
"Once the storm passes, I'll take you further along the loch. We'll disembark on the bank of the mainland and walk up toward Loch Shiel. There, I'll hire a galley to take us further inland."
"You're a madman. You'll never get away with it."
"Get away with it?" he growled. "You're my wife and I have every right to take you home. Anyone who stands in my way will be cut down!" He threw off his sodden cloak and pulled at his belt buckle.
A prickle of warning went through her. "What are you doing?"
"I've waited too long to consummate this marriage."
Revulsion shook her. "Nay! I am not your wife."
He smirked. "I have a certificate that says otherwise. It contains your signature."
"A forced marriage is not a legal one," she declared.
"'Tis also signed by a priest." He raised his brows smugly.
"A corrupt one you paid a great deal of money."
"Do you think that matters? In the eyes of the law and the church, 'tis legal."
Anna had to focus on what mattered, the whole reason she'd been forced to sign the damnable document. "Where is my sister?"
"Would you cease about her for a quarter hour?" Blackburn said through clenched teeth.
"Nay, I will not! Did you hurt her?"
"Not yet. But I will if you don't hold your tongue and submit to me." He leaned toward her. "I'd much rather have your tongue twined around mine."
She grimaced, not caring if he saw. "Keep your hands off me!"
"As your husband, I have every right to put my hands on you anywhere, anyway and anytime I wish."
Bastard. She had to think of something fast to prevent him from carrying through with his plans. She forced herself to speak in a docile tone. "At least untie me… so I can enjoy myself."
His eyes widened, then searched her face. "Ha. If only I believed you. I ken you will fight me."
She dropped still, pretending to be submissive. "I won't fight you. If you promise not to harm my sister, I'll do my wifely duty."
He cut the rope from her ankles. "Have you lain with that Neacal bastard?"
"Nay. How many more times will you ask me this?" She had no
choice but to lie if she wished to live. Now, she only need convince him to cut the rope from her hands and she could grab the knife on her ankle, hopefully before he saw it. The building was dark and that would work in her favor.
"I didn't think so… once I saw his face while you two were on the ramparts. He's scarred so hideously, I'm certain no woman will go near him. Unless he forced you." His eyes narrowed. "Did he?"
"Nay, of course not!"
Blackburn nodded. "If you birth a bairn which is not mine, I'll know it."
She frowned, wondering if he was insane and arrogant enough to think he would know such a thing.
"I won't harm your sister, if you cooperate with me. We both ken you're no virgin, so there is no need for me to be gentle, aye?" He laughed.
Nausea consumed her. "On second thought, I prefer to wait until we have a bed to officially consummate our marriage. 'Twould only be fitting for a chief and his wife. We are not peasants. 'Twould be beneath us for our first time to be in a byre like animals."
"You're right, but I suddenly feel animal-like." He gave a nasty grin. "You've stirred my lusts to boiling. And I find I'm an impatient man. I've waited long enough for you. I can wait no longer."
Anna ground her teeth. "Then surely you will untie my hands, aye?" she asked in what she hoped was a reasonable tone. "'Tis uncomfortable with them behind my back."
He observed her for a long moment. "I'm thinking you could be a good wife. You're far calmer than you used to be. Mayhap our marriage could work."
Saints. The man had a grand imagination if he thought she would willingly accept him as a husband after all the horrid things he had done to her and her family. All she had to do was pretend amiability for a few more minutes, until he untied her hands. If she didn't succeed in her plan, then so be it. She would rather die than submit to him and his lusts.
She forced her lips to curve upward the slightest bit, watching him with what she hoped was a friendly expression.
"If you'll behave yourself, m'lady, I'll cut the ropes off your hands. Do you promise?"
"Aye, of course." She knew exactly how to behave toward him. Much in the same way he'd always treated her. With ruthless calculation. She had to, if she ever wanted to see Neacal again.
Chapter Eighteen
"Murderer!" Sleat yelled over the harsh gale wind bombarding the mainland. He thrust his sword.
Neacal dodged out of the way. "'Tis on your own head!" Spiked targe on his left forearm and dirk in his left hand, Neacal shoved the targe toward his opponent's face, but Sleat leapt back. "You brought him here to sneak in and ambush us during the night."
The cold rain blew in sideways from the loch. Neacal traversed until the wind was at his back, giving him an advantage. Sleat turned to face him, squinting and blinking against the rain pelting his eyes.
Neacal made a feinted slice toward the other man's shoulder. When Sleat lifted his targe to block the blow, Neacal switched direction, his blade cutting into Sleat's thigh. The man howled out in pain and gritted his teeth. His next thrust was clumsy. Neacal easily blocked it with his targe and feinted another strike to Sleat's injured thigh. When his targe came down, Neacal shifted, his blade flying toward his opponent's shoulder. Sleat was too slow on the defense and Neacal's blade met its mark, but the leather armor prevented it from going deep.
Neacal lunged, his left leg propelling his body forward. Landing on his right foot, he aimed his blade arrow-quick toward Sleat's gut. It penetrated the leather armor and drove deep. Sleat struck out with his blade but Neacal caught the blow with his targe. Withdrawing his sword, he pulled back. Sleat dropped to his knees, his teeth bared.
Well out of reach of his opponent, Neacal surveyed the fighting going on around him, but a small boat out on the loch caught his attention. Blackburn was the man rowing it away from the castle. Why the devil was he leaving? Wait… someone lay in the boat in front of him, wrapped in a plaid, twisting and squirming. Who was that? Could it be Anna? "Nay," Neacal growled in denial, even though he knew it must be. How had Blackburn gotten inside the castle to her?
Running footsteps reached his ears. Neacal forced his gaze toward the person approaching. Sword raised over his head, Titus MacRankin advanced, shouting a war cry. His wet, blood-spattered face pulled into a snarl, he leapt forward and chopped his blade downward. Neacal dodged out of his path and, in the same motion, swung his sword around to slice it across MacRankin's abdomen as he turned.
Neacal had to defeat this bastard quickly if he intended to see who Blackburn was rowing away with and stop him. He blocked every thrust of his opponent's blade. He feinted a slice toward his enemy's ear, then swiftly switched direction to cut the man's calf. He yowled and limped back.
Breathing hard, MacRankin bared his teeth in a vicious grin. "This is for Lady Aislinn!" He struck out with his sword.
Neacal caught the blade on his targe. "I didn't cause her death," he shouted over the wind.
"I couldn't marry a woman who had been used by you, Scots traitor," he spat. "No doubt she carried your bastard!"
Neacal shook his head, for he hadn't lain with the lass. 'Twas just as he'd suspected. "You killed her! You shoved her from the tower!"
Several more strikes were delivered and blocked by both men.
"No choice!" MacRankin said, breathing hard. "She betrayed me! Tried to convince me you were nay a spy for the crown."
What? Neacal was momentarily thrown off-kilter. "She did?"
"Of course. You bastard! You turned her against me. She wanted naught to do with me after you finished with her."
Aislinn had been highly intelligent; she'd figured out what Neacal was about, spying for King James. And he'd always thought Aislinn had betrayed him to MacRankin.
"Who told you I was a spy?" Neacal asked.
"He did." MacRankin nodded to where Sleat lay unmoving in the mud and rain.
Damnation! All this time he'd blamed the wrong person for his capture.
"You didn't have to kill Lady Aislinn. She was an innocent."
"Ha! I trust your word about as much as that of a viper. And I couldn't break the betrothal contract." MacRankin lowered his body and charged, blade directed forward.
At the last second, Neacal jumped out of the way. MacRankin barreled forward, tripped over a large rock and fell. Neacal quickly returned for a counter attack while the man was down. He got in two slices before his opponent leapt to his feet.
The sideways rain drove harder against Neacal, the water in his eyes making it difficult to see. The ground had become muddy and slippery. Moving again, he put the rain at his back so his opponent would be forced to change position to face him. MacRankin charged him again and Neacal blocked several of his blows.
"Neacal!" a female shouted from several yards away.
"What the devil?" Neacal glanced briefly toward the castle to see who approached. He hardly recognized Constance with the cowl of her dark cloak over her head. "Get back inside, lass! 'Tis too dangerous out here!"
MacRankin rushed toward her, surprising Neacal. Realizing the danger his cousin was in, he raced after MacRankin.
"Run!" Neacal yelled to her.
But 'twas too late. MacRankin ran her through with his sword and sliced her throat with his dirk. He kicked her to the muddy ground.
Heart in his throat, Neacal growled, "Nay!"
MacRankin turned, bloody blades raised. Neacal thrust his broadsword through the leather armor and into his gut. With the dirk in his other hand, he cut the man's throat, giving him the same death he'd given Constance. Only inches away, MacRankin's icy gray eyes stared into Neacal's as he realized he was a dead man.
"Why the hell did you kill my cousin?" Neacal snarled. Constance had been a menace, but she was still his kin and he would've never wished her dead.
"Cousin?" MacRankin gasped as his eyes rolled back. He dropped to the ground beside Constance.
MacRankin must have thought Constance was Anna. 'Twas the only explanation that made sense.
Why the devil had the idiot lass run out in the midst of a battle? Feeling gored, Neacal shook his head.
Damnation, he had to find out if Anna had been on that boat with Blackburn. He raced down the beach, the pounding rain and wind trying to shove him backward, stinging his skin and eyes. He ran past the large galleys toward the end where two small boats clunked together in the wind. After sheathing his weapons and tossing his targe into a two-oared wherry, he untied it, pushed it into the water and jumped aboard.
The loch was as rough as the sea, but he had no time to worry over it. Something told him Anna had been wrapped in that plaid. There was no one else Blackburn would abduct and try to escape with… unless it was Kristina. But he was near certain Colin had spirited Kristina away some time ago, at the beginning of the fighting. Either way, whether Blackburn's captive was Anna or Kristina, Neacal had to rescue her.
In this weather, Blackburn couldn't have gone far. What if the other boat had already capsized? Saints! Neacal glanced around over the rough surface of the water but saw no sign of another craft.
He rowed more forcefully than he'd ever rowed before, ignoring his cuts and injuries. At the moment, he felt no pain. To save Anna, he would fight until his last breath.
The small vessel rocked and tossed about upon the loch's turbulent water. The ferocious wind, blowing in off the ocean from the west and along the length of the loch, made gaining any distance difficult. Gritting his teeth, he focused on the two oars propelling the boat through the water. He glanced back, squinting against the wind.
A fearsome wave approached. Damnation! He held his breath as the wave smashed into him, toppling the boat sideways. Neacal flew overboard into the water. Letting go of the oars, he pushed himself through the water using his arms and legs. His plaid and weapons were a slight hindrance but there was no time to remove them now. Besides, he would need his sword and dirk soon.
Glad now for all the swimming he'd done over the past several months, he quickly reached the small island. Once his feet were on solid ground, he hurried along the shore.
Highlander Unbroken (Highland Adventure Book 8) Page 27