by Ruby Duvall
His hand clamped onto her elbow and she flailed her arms, pulling out of his grasp. “Don’t you dare touch me!” She fell onto her side and he grabbed her again. She screamed as he dragged her away from the fire. She kicked the air, twisted and struggled but it did her no good.
“Iain, help me!” she cried out. “Iain!”
—
“Close the door and sit down, Iain,” Aili said from her seat on the far side of the table. Kenneth was sitting across from her, his back turned to the table and Iain was pacing back and forth in front of the open door, clenching a long lock of soft blonde hair in his fist. The old woman had already told him earlier to shut the door, saying that night had fallen but he had refused. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to do it. It was as though closing the door meant that she wouldn’t come back.
“I willna,” he said. “I promised James I wouldna leave the house tonight but I didna say I would close the door.”
“So ye’ve said,” she nodded.
“She is alive, Iain. Ye must rest for tomorrow,” Kenneth urged. Iain threw a glare in his friend’s direction but did not stop pacing. His legs felt restless. His hands itched and his chest ached. Aye, she was alive but she was not safe.
Just before sunset and as the cart holding Donald’s carefully wrapped body was about to depart, a redheaded MacGregor had ridden into their glen on Donald’s stolen horse and tossed down a wad of cloth, yelling instructions and then riding away.
“Tomorrow at dawn! The boy for the MacGregor! If we see anyone besides the crofter and the Campbell laird, the boy dies!”
“What about the girl?” Iain had hollered, fighting to break free of Kenneth and James’ hold.
The MacGregor had laughed. “Ye’ll get her back—if she survives the night!” Iain did the only thing he could and cursed the MacGregor for the bastard he was. Only when he had ridden out of sight did Kenneth and James release him. Running to where the MacGregor had appeared from the west, he had snatched up the wad of cloth and opened it to find two pieces of hair. The shorter hair was mousy brown and the longer hair was reddish-blonde.
When he imagined what they were doing to her…
“How can I rest?” he ground out.
“Tomorrow willna go as well as ye may hope,” Aili said. “Ye’ll be of no help to the laird or Emma without yer strength and if ye willna close the door, then at least sit down.”
He couldn’t. His imagination tortured him. The day’s events haunted him. He stood on the edge and was wildly flailing his arms to keep from tipping over.
“I heard her,” he confessed in a raw whisper.
“What? Heard who?” Kenneth asked.
Iain paced faster. “I heard her screaming…a moment before Donald found us.” Aili gasped. “I wasna sure but—Christ, I should have checked. If I had only gone outside…”
“I didna hear aught,” Kenneth said. “Ye could have imagined it.”
As upset as he was, Iain couldn’t help the wry look he cast at his brother-in-law. “I imagined hearing a scream just before Donald died in our barn?”
Kenneth frowned, saying nothing more. With his free hand, Iain rubbed the back of his head. The headache pounding there reminded him of the first night Emma had come to stay with him. She had given him medicine and he recalled suspecting that it was poison.
“Iain, please. Sit down,” Aili bade. Finally taking her advice, Iain walked to the table and took a seat next to Kenneth, though he put his back to the fire. His right leg bounced impatiently. He looked across the table at Aili, who was oddly still. He had never seen her not doing something in the precious few moments when her mouth wasn’t flapping.
He looked down at the table and its half-made meal. “What if they see her lahket?” Uncut vegetables, a bowl of shredded cabbage and another with a few raspberries sat on the uneven surface. “What if they take it from her? They dinna know and she could…”
Though he couldn’t bring himself to finish his thought out loud, he was sure Kenneth and Aili both knew what he had almost said.
She could already be dead.
—
Emma was scared out of her mind. Far worse than when she had realized where the locket had brought her, being dragged through a dark forest by a man intent on rape had her shrieking. Her cheeks were wet again and she blindly shook her head, still somehow trying to deny that any of this was really happening.
She wasn’t sure how far he took her—no doubt he wanted a little privacy—but it seemed like not far. All too soon, he stopped walking.
“I canna wait any longer,” he said. “Ye just lie still.”
“Go to hell!” she shouted as he crouched over her. She held onto her anger as hard as she could—it was the only thing keeping her sane.
One of his hands was still clamped around her arm and no matter how hard she thrashed, she couldn’t wrench herself free of his bruising grip. He pushed her wrists against her chest again, holding her down and trying to insinuate himself between her legs. She kicked at him, trying to mash her sneaker into his groin and only managing to connect a couple of kicks against his side and leg. He whispered a violent curse.
“Get off me! Get off me!” she yelled. With one knee, he pinned her thigh. His free hand shoved her knees apart. He dropped between her legs, laying his heavy bulk on top of her and laughing at her in triumph. She screamed, shaking her head and struggling even more. She strained her muscles to their limits, trying to roll him off. “Get off me, you bastard!”
“Ye canna win, girlie. Just lie still.” His breath was terrible. He began rubbing himself against her through their clothing and she screamed in disgust and fright. Then one of his hands groped for the hem of her skirt.
No.
Throwing her head forward, she bashed her forehead into his face. He cried out, sitting up and holding his hands over his nose.
Her eyes were wide as she rolled the pen up to her right fist. Desperate, she stabbed at him and the pen pierced what felt like a ripe plum. Shamus screamed. Shocked, she let go of the pen and watched in horror as he flung himself away from her. The pen had punctured his eye and he hurriedly pulled it out.
“Y-ye’re a demon!” he hollered. “A witch!” The man grabbed at his side. A blade appeared in his hand. He came at her, crawling strangely since one hand was cupped protectively over his eye. His mouth and chin were covered with blood. She tried to scramble away but without her hands free and with a skirt twisted around her legs, she couldn’t escape him fast enough.
Wide-eyed, she watched her death coming toward her, watched so intently that she didn’t notice the second man who had arrived. He kicked Shamus onto his back and without pause swung down an enormous sword, hacking it into Shamus’ stomach. The redheaded man went silent except for a wet gurgle and she felt something hit her cheek. The sword rose. Its wielder changed his grip and stabbed down, plunging the sword into the other man’s chest. Shamus grunted, writhing on the ground very briefly before abruptly going slack.
Panting and in disbelief, Emma looked up at the tall MacGregor, who coldly contemplated what he had done. He jerked his sword out of Shamus’ body and wiped the blood off the blade using the man’s own tunic. He then sheathed his sword.
“He was your clansman,” she said breathlessly.
Allan frowned deeply at her. “He was no clansman of mine. Neither of them are.”
“But why?” she asked breathlessly. Allan reached down and drew her to her feet.
“My little sister looks like ye. I couldna let them ruin ye as well.” His grip on her elbow was firm but not painful as he led her back to the fire, leaving Shamus where he lay.
Chapter Eighteen
Kenneth and Aili stayed with Iain through the night and Beth was sent to Thomas’ family in the village. If Iain slept at all, it was only for a few moments at a time and in his dreams—each more disturbing than the last—he was haunted by the screams and sobs of a woman calling for him.
He wasn’t sure how many t
imes he drifted in and out of sleep but he knew that sunrise was not far when he woke to find that Aili had risen from her bed. It was not the sound of her moving about the house, however, but the light patter of rain that had rescued him from another nightmare.
Dawn neared and with it, the laird and the constable entered the glen, escorting a tall, lanky youth who seemed skinnier than Iain remembered. The lad’s eyes were flat, staring at the empty space in front of him, and rivulets of dark water dripping from his dirty tunic ran down his bare legs. If his brown hair were a shade darker and his eyes closer together, he would’ve looked much like Malcolm.
No morning mist afforded the croft any cover from the surrounding trees in which an archer could hide. The light rain was unceasing, eventually soaking everyone who stepped outside for more than a moment. Wearing his breeks and a sword, Iain somberly greeted the laird and constable with a bowed head.
“A terrible morning,” Archibald said from atop his horse.
“It is, laird,” Iain said. “I’m sorry to have failed ye.”
“It wasna yer duty to look after my boy,” the laird said, shaking his head. “It was mine. As for the girl, I must admit that I am glad she is with him. After all, she’s one of the good people, aye?” Iain squeezed his eyes shut and turned his face away. If only she were.
“The MacGregor was there when he delivered the hair,” James said, looking toward the west and nodding his head subtly in the direction of Duncan and Finian’s croft.
“The paddock behind the house will be less slippery, laird,” Kenneth said. “It was eaten down only a day ago.”
“Then we’ll wait there,” the laird said. “James, I’m counting on ye.” The constable sharply nodded and quickly made his way behind the house. The laird dismounted and grabbed the MacGregor boy’s arm. The two of them and Iain then set off for the southwestern field to await the arrival of the MacGregors and their two hostages. Aili stood with Kenneth at the door of the house, lifting one hand in farewell.
—
Emma was kicked awake sometime before dawn, cold and wet. The left side of her face felt no better but she was able to open her left eye a little more. The fire had gone out in the rain and only a faint light from the very first rays of the morning allowed her any vision. She looked up and saw Craig’s outline standing over her. He was undoubtedly far warmer than her under his cloak. She wondered who he stole it from.
“Get up,” he said. Glancing down, she saw Colin’s head resting on her arm, his small frame curled up next to her. She hurriedly shook his shoulder and the boy weakly groaned, probably as exhausted as she was.
“It’s time to go,” she whispered. Colin sat up and rubbed his eyes as best as he could with his wrists still tied together. Emma was attempting to get onto her knees to stand up when Allan hooked his hand under her arm and pulled her to her feet. She looked at him briefly and then reached down to help Colin stand up.
Allan had saved her last night and though she should have felt grateful, she couldn’t feel anything but malice toward him. He and Craig had killed Donald. He had helped abduct a child. They obviously believed that their fellow MacGregor was worth the violence but when would it end? If Craig took back his brother and safely delivered Colin to the laird, would either side call it even? Of course not. The laird’s war party had already killed the group of MacGregors who had come to reive cattle. Craig and other MacGregors would want satisfaction.
She already suspected how and when Craig would take his revenge—and who would die first.
“Give me yer hands, girl,” Craig ordered. Emma turned to him, espying another horse behind him besides the one they had stolen. She saw a length of rough linen rope in his fists, one end of which was tied to the front of his saddle. She held up her hands and let him attach her to the other end of the rope. She was to walk, it seemed. After placing Colin on Donald’s horse, Allan swung up and sat behind him. Over the rain, she could hear Colin sniffing.
Emma had been terrified last night of what Craig would do when he found out that Shamus was dead. Though Allan had done the killing, it had been done defending her.
When asked what happened, Allan pushed her down to sit by Colin, who was curled up in a frightened ball near the fire and simply said what he had done. “He offended me, so I killed him.”
Craig shrugged and gave a small snort. “I didna like him anyway.” Emma could tell that she was missing some vital piece of information but knew she would never learn it.
Neither man said anything to her or Colin as to where they were going that morning, or how far their destination was. They simply began walking the horses and Emma did her best to keep up. With every step, she could feel the bruises that had been inflicted upon her in the last day. Her arms and thighs were likely covered with purple splotches from where Shamus had dug his knees and fingertips into her.
They wouldn’t be her last bruises either. A few times when there just wasn’t enough light to see by and no way to hold out her arms for balance, she slipped and fell. Once, she was even dragged by the horse for several feet before Craig thought to stop the animal and let her regain her feet.
By the time the sun was moments from the horizon, she had reached a new level of exhaustion.
Even so, her spirits picked up when she recognized where they were headed. Her eyes darted around and her heart pounded so hard that she thought it might leap out of her chest. She couldn’t help but feel hopeful.
They stopped a short distance from the glen and both men dismounted. Allan lifted Colin from his horse and Craig unknotted the end of the rope attached to his saddle. Colin tried to run to her but Craig caught him by the back of his tunic and growled out a warning. “Ye’ll stay by me.”
Emma watched the cringing boy with a frown of sympathy and then looked to see what Allan was doing. Her back went ramrod straight to see him pull out a bow and a quiver of arrows from behind his saddle.
“If it isna going well,” Craig said to the taller man, “shoot him.” Emma looked back at the shorter MacGregor, horrified.
“You can’t kill him! He’s only a child!” she protested. “He’s just a—a b-baby,” she stuttered when Craig sneered and walked toward her. “Please.” He slapped her across the face. Heat and pain exploded within her already sore cheek and she stumbled back a step.
“Dinna speak again until spoken to or ye’ll get more of the same,” he warned. Keeping her eyes downcast, she nodded and was suddenly grateful for the rain that masked her fresh tears.
Craig made some sort of motion at Allan, who ran off into the woods without comment. He then told her to walk in front, nodding in the direction she was to go, and they set off again on foot while he tugged Colin along by the back of his tunic.
Emma desperately hoped that their shared nightmare was almost over. She was incredibly anxious to see Iain, to have him hold her, to hear his voice reassuring her. In her mind, the glen was sunny, the breeze strong and a little cool. Her bonds were cut and she was running, flying over the grass. Iain would run out of his home, calling her name, and reach out for her.
What she saw when they entered the glen was much different from what she had imagined but not unexpected.
The muted light of an overcast day and the haze of light rain washed out the bright colors of summer. In the paddock directly behind the croft, three people awaited them. One man was holding the arm of a gangly youth and Emma could only guess that the man was the laird. Exhausted as she was and with one eye still a bit swollen, it was difficult to see through the veil of rain.
Even so, she knew that Iain was the third. His height and the breadth of his shoulders were unmistakable and she knew he was looking at her as ardently as she was looking at him. She could feel it.
“Iain,” she whispered. Her feet sped up. She saw him take a couple of steps toward her but the laird put a hand on Iain’s shoulder and he stopped. “Iain!” she screamed. She began to run. He was so close! Only a moment more and she would be in his arms.
/> She was yanked back, her bound wrists following the hard tug that twisted her around. She looked to Craig, who growled something she didn’t quite hear and was pulled off her feet when he jerked on the rope again. She tried to brace her fall but she landed on a rock protruding from the ground and was certain that her arm nearly broke.
“Emma!” Iain bellowed.
The MacGregor dragged her backward for several feet. She then watched his boots walk up to her and didn’t realize his intent until he kicked her in the stomach. She almost vomited. Colin, still being hauled around, began to cry.
“That’s enough!” a man yelled. It took Emma a second to realize that the laird had spoken. “Are ye kin to this boy?” Holding her stomach and gasping for air, Emma lifted her head and watched the laird bring the young man forward.
“Aye, I am. Ye’ll let him walk to me and I’ll do the same with this one,” he shouted back. Emma looked up at Colin, who was watching her with fear in his eyes. She held his gaze for a few seconds and nodded, hoping he understood. His face scrunched up even more but he returned her nod.
In a quieter voice, Craig said, “Do nowt but walk. Dinna look back. Dinna run. Dinna speak to my kinsman.” The MacGregor pushed Colin forward, releasing the back of his tunic. Colin hesitated for a second but then shuffled away. “Get to yer feet, girl,” Craig said.
Emma braced her hands on the ground and rolled to her knees. Her arms and legs shook as she stumbled to her feet under the weight of her waterlogged wool dress and her fatigue.
“Look there,” he said, nodding in Colin’s direction. She glanced briefly over her shoulder and saw that Colin was nearly halfway to his father. “He is safe now. If ye wish him to stay safe, ye’ll tell me what I asked.”
She thought of Allan hiding in the trees, armed with a bow. Would he really shoot at a child? Would he be able to hit Colin from so far away? She couldn’t risk it.
“You wanted to know the fate of the MacGregor clan,” she said. “I’ll tell you but you won’t like the answer.”
“Say it quickly,” he ground out.