His grip loosened as he struggled to expose himself and Islaen took quick advantage of that. Her fingers curled like talons, she slashed at his face. When he screamed and his hands instinctively went to his face, she darted away. The injury was not severe enough nor was she quick enough. With a savage growl he grasped at her skirts. They tore as he yanked and she fell. Before she could scramble to her feet, he was upon her.
Pinning her arms over her head, he rubbed his flacid organ against her breasts. Islaen choked on the bile of revulsion. She tried desperately to buck him off but he laughed at her efforts. Islaen felt a chilling fear for the child she carried, certain that it could never survive much of the ordeal he so clearly planned to put her through.
Seeing a slight movement to the side, Islaen felt a brief flare of hope. Unfortunately, Fraser, despite his distraction, also sensed danger. Even as Storm stuck him with her dagger, he turned to deflect her blow.
“Bitch. Sassanach bitch,” Fraser hissed as he caught Storm’s wrist in a bruising grip, then slapped her. “Ye will pay for this.”
Storm cried out softly as Fraser twisted her wrist. Islaen watched the dagger fall from Storm’s hand. Fraser then threw Storm to the floor and leapt upon her. Islaen watched in shock as he put his hands around Storm’s slim throat. He seemed oblivious to the way Storm clawed at his hands as he choked the life from her, cursing her all the while.
Terrified that he would kill Storm before she could stop him, Islaen scrambled for the dagger. Without any thought of what she was doing save that she needed to stop him, she plunged the dagger into his back. He bellowed and swung at her, sending her slamming into the wall, knocking the breath from her body, and leaving her groggy.
She nearly wept when she saw him stand up and turn towards her. Struggling to her feet, she prepared to meet him but then, still glaring at her, he fell to his knees. She knew a moment of sheer terror when he grasped her skirts but then his eyes rolled back until only the whites showed. Then he sprawled facedown upon the dirt floor and did not move. Islaen looked to Storm who was on her hands and knees gasping for air. Carefully avoiding Fraser’s body and tearing off the piece of skirt he still clutched, Islaen rushed to Storm’s side.
“Is he dead?” Storm rasped as she collapsed in Islaen’s arms.
“I think so. I have ne’er…” Islaen began in a shaking voice.
“I know what ye are feeling but t’will pass as soon as ye are o’er the shock enough to recall what he planned to do to us.” Storm shook her head. “My fault. I did not plan my strike. I woke up, saw what he was doing to ye and simply went for him. I wanted to stop him before he could perform that final indignity.”
“I dinnae think he can. Seems Iain did something to him when they fought.”
“Ah, aye. Considering what the man was trying to do, Iain could well have delivered a damaging blow or two. There lies the seed of his madness.”
“So I thought. What do we do now? If his men discover this they could weel kill us. They might actually be loyal.”
“I doubt it, but best we not take any chances. Come, we will work at that weak place on the back wall. Did ye hear something?”
“Aye, I…” Islaen’s words strangled to a halt as she looked to see Fraser standing up. “God’s teeth, he isnae dead.”
At that moment one of Fraser’s men burst into the hut. “The MacLagans have come. They killed five men e’er we e’en kenned they were about. Best ye flee now, m’lord. The game is lost.”
“Nay, not completely. Kill these bitches.”
The young man looked at Storm and Islaen in horror. He not only seemed shocked by the order but by the clear evidence of their having been roughly handled. Islaen wondered if the lad had not listened to Fraser, who had undoubtedly made his plans very clear, or, perhaps, simply had not believed any of it. She knew in her heart that he would not kill them, could read it in his light grey eyes.
“I cannae,” the youth croaked. “Ye ne’er said…what have ye done to them? They are but lasses, wee lasses. I willnae do it.”
“Fine. Then die with them.”
Islaen cried out when Fraser thrust his sword into the youth. The man stumbled back a few steps staring at Fraser in surprise, then crumpled to the floor. She and Storm tensed, readied for Fraser’s attack but he just laughed and went out the door. When Islaen heard him bar the door from the outside she thought a little wildly that he had at least planned well for keeping them captive, then hurried along with Storm to see if Fraser had killed the youth.
“He isnae dead,” Islaen said with relief when she felt the youth’s heartbeat.
“I do not know why we fret so. He is one of Fraser’s men.”
“He is but a lad and he wouldnae kill us.”
“Aye, I know it. Fear makes me sharp. Let us bind his wound.” They each tore strips from their petticoats although Islaen’s was so badly torn she suspected her contribution would only serve as padding. “The sword thrust pierced his side cleanly.”
“Do we try to escape now or wait for Iain and Tavis?” Islaen frowned, sniffed the air, then froze. “Smoke,” she whispered.
“That filthy dog. Come on, help me drag this fool boy nearer the back. We must get out. We cannae wait for our men now.”
Iain stared down at the small crofter’s hut and fought the urge to ride down there, sword swinging. He noticed Tavis looking as taut as he felt and suspected his brother suffered a like urge. They had to go slowly but he felt it was the hardest thing he had ever done. He tensed when he saw Fraser come out of the hut. Iain wished he could be sure that Fraser had no men there with him for then he could simply kill the man and collect Islaen and Storm.
“Fraser,” he bellowed. “Give it up. Ye have lost.”
“Aye, but so have ye, Iain MacLagan,” Fraser cried, grabbed a stick from the fire before the hut and darted around the side.
“What is that madman doing?” Tavis grumbled and signaled his archers to be ready.
Fraser darted back to the fire, laughing in a way that made Iain shiver. “Aye, MacLagan, ye have lost too.”
“Nay,” Iain screamed when he saw what the man meant to do with the burning stick he pulled from the fire.
Even as Fraser tossed the stick at the thatched roof the MacLagan archers fired. An instant later his body bristled with arrows. With a maddened bellow echoed by Tavis, Iain charged towards the hut but, by the time he reached it, flames engulfed the place. When he and Tavis tried to get closer, a white-faced Colin ordered the men to hold them back. The hut was burning so fast that even if the men got inside they would never come out alive. They could not even use the water that was near for there was nothing to carry it with.
“’Tis nay so bad at the back,” one man cried and they all raced to where he led.
Islaen did not think she had ever been so scared. She and Storm were breaking through the wall but it seemed to go so slowly. The place was filling with smoke. Her eyes streamed and she felt as if she was choking. She noticed that Storm was no better. Burning pieces of the roof were falling in by the time they felt the hole was big enough to get through.
“Ye go first, Islaen,” Storm ordered. “Do not argue. Ye carry a babe. Get out there and then pull the lad through.”
She knew she would only waste precious seconds by arguing so Islaen wriggled through the hole. Reaching back through she grasped the youth under the arms and was pulling him out when suddenly she was yanked away. Roughly set down away from the rapidly burning hut, she watched dumb-founded as Iain and Tavis yanked the youth out, then Tavis pulled Storm out. Seconds later the roof collapsed in a shower of sparks and Tavis, the nearest to the conflagaration, had several sparks land on him. She heard him curse when too many hands roughly slapped out the embers. It was not until Iain yanked off his tunic and put it on her that she came out of her stupor. She then realized she had been sitting there almost naked while the MacLagan men stood around.
Iain saw her torn clothes and her bruises and felt like
weeping. “We had to wait, lass, to go slow for fear he would kill ye.”
Still blushing over how she had sat so exposed before his men, Islaen only nodded as he helped her stand, then whispered, “’Tis all right.”
“An I had come to him as he had asked, I could have saved you from this.”
“I am alive, Iain. ’Tis all that matters.”
“I feel the same, Islaen. Believe that. No matter what that whoreson did to ye, I care only that ye have survived it all.”
Suddenly realizing what he thought had happened, Islaen whispered, “He didnae rape me, Iain.”
Gently grasping her by the shoulders, he said, “Islaen, there is no need to lie. It doesnae matter. Ye arenae at fault.”
“But I tell ye, he didnae…”
“Sometimes,” Robert interrupted softly, “they say the shock is so great the woman puts it from her mind. Best we get her back to Caraidland.”
“Aye,” Iain agreed. “Meg can tend to her.”
“Iain, will ye just listen…” she began.
“Come, Islaen, we will take ye to Meg. Ye will learn to accept this,” he said softly, “and understand that it doesnae matter to me.”
“Iain,” she ground out, “I wasnae raped.”
“Islaen, we can all see the truth,” he said sadly.
Following his gaze she did not need to see beneath the tunic that hung on her. She knew all too well how badly torn her gown was. It was not, however, proof that she had been raped. Then she glanced at Storm but the woman could not speak, her voice finally taken due to the abuse her throat had suffered. Storm nodded towards Islaen’s legs, however, and when Islaen looked she gasped for there was blood there, a small trail of blood from her thighs to her calves. For one horrified moment she thought she was losing the child but then became aware of the stinging in her thighs and relaxed. Sometime in her fight with Fraser he had cut her or she had hurt herself in her rush to escape the fire.
Over her head Iain and Robert discussed her as if she were simple. She began to feel furious. No matter what state she was in, no matter how she looked, she should know better than anyone else whether or not she had been raped. She knew her fury was easily stirred because her emotions were raw from her ordeal, but when Iain spoke to her as if she were a small, frightened and somewhat stupid child and the men gathered there looked at her so sympathetically as he reassured her, she cursed and slapped his consoling hands away.
“I hate to prick your noble understanding, Iain MacLagan, but there is no need of it.” She punctuated her words by jabbing a finger into his chest. “Now listen to me, ye wooden-headed fool, I ought to ken what was done to me. Aye, he tried but he couldnae. Fraser couldnae rape a hole in the mud. Ye see, ye great gowk, when ye beat him that day at court ye mashed his cullions to pudding and the bastard couldnae get his pintle stiff if ye put a rod in it.” The look of astonishment upon Iain’s face as well as the sudden silence around them caused Islaen to realize what she had been saying. “Oh, God’s beard, what did I say?” she groaned, one hand covering her mouth as she stared at Iain in growing horror.
“Weel,” he said in a choked voice, “ye certainly made it all verra clear.”
When he burst out laughing and all his men and kin joined in, Islaen thought she would die of embarrassment. She put her hands over her flush hot face and wished she could disappear. No lady would have used such coarse language, Islaen was sure of it.
“Lass,” Iain murmured, his voice shaking with laughter, “ye can stand there ’til the final reckoning and it willnae happen. Ye willnae disappear.”
That seemed to amuse the men even more, which made Islaen forget her embarrassment and glare at them. “Oafs. I am going home.”
“Wait, sweeting,” Iain gasped as he moved after her and struggled to subdue his laughter. “I will get my horse.”
“Nay, thank ye kindly, I will get my own,” she said haughtily, then put her fingers in her mouth and whistled loudly for Beltraine, who quickly appeared from the wood and trotted towards her.
She was just wondering how to mount without exposing too much of her legs when she heard someone mention the wounded youth. One man pointed out that the lad was one of Fraser’s men and several voices offered some very chilling suggestions as to what should be done with him. Seeing that Storm was trying to speak up for the youth but was still nearly mute, Islaen hurried back to where the young man lay. She was partly aware of how Iain continued to stay at her side.
“Nay, ye must not hurt the lad.”
“Did he help ye?”
“Weel, Iain, when Fraser asked him to kill us the boy refused. Fraser cut him down.”
“He was part of it though, sweeting. He didnae stop it.”
Looking at her husband she said quietly, “When he came to tell Fraser that ye had come, he looked horrified at what had been done to Storm and me. He was shocked to his soul when Fraser ordered us killed. I think he is just a lad who was tempted by an adventure and had no idea of the mire he had stepped into. Nay, nor of the mon he rode with. He could have killed us but he didnae and, if Fraser hadnae been weakened by a wound, the lad could have died for that. Can ye nay give him a chance? ’Tis a small reward.”
“Aye, it is.”
Islaen began to feel very weary as Iain saw to the youth’s transport back to Caraidland. She did not try to ride off by herself but waited for Iain. He mounted and had Robert hand her to him. Once she was settled on Iain’s lap, she let her weariness conquer her.
“The blood upon your legs, Islaen?” Iain asked softly.
“Cut myself somehow. Either in fighting Fraser or in crawling out through the hole in the wall,” she replied tiredly. “Did ye find Robbie?”
“Aye, he was trying to get back to Caraidland. He will be fine.”
“Fraser?”
“Dead.”
“There is one threat gone then. A shame MacLennon’s madness cannae make him as foolish as Fraser.”
“Aye, a shame,” Iain agreed softly, then realized that she had fallen asleep and he tightened his hold upon her a little.
He stared down at the sleeping woman in his arms. From the moment he had heard that she was in Fraser’s hands he had been fighting panic. He had kept thinking of all the days he had stayed away from her, days that could never be regained. The depth of his fear for her told him something he did not really want to know. She was not pulling at him any longer—she had him.
Chapter Sixteen
Holding back a smile Islaen fought not to look at Storm knowing she would see laughter in the woman’s eyes and lose her control on her own. Gamel Brodie, the youth she and Storm had rescued, was vowing his undying devotion, swearing to sacrifice all in their service. Islaen decided the youth had listened to too many minstrel’s tales of knights and chivalry. Worse, he had taken it all to heart.
As soon as they could, she and Storm left him. When they felt they were far enough away so that he could not hear them, they gave into their laughter. They were still giggling over the matter when they entered the hall where Tavis and Iain awaited them. They told their husbands, who exchanged rueful glances, what they found so amusing, for it was clear that neither Tavis nor Iain saw the humor of it. That lack became clearer as the days passed and Gamel healed enough to start trying to prove his devotion.
Iain glared at young Gamel when he found the youth singing love songs to Islaen as Islaen sat by the fire in the hall doing her mending. He sat next to Islaen and continued to glower at the youth but Gamel paid him no heed. It was not only the way Gamel paid such attention to Islaen, for the youth paid equal attention to Storm, but the handsome young man made Iain all too aware of the years that separated himself from his young bride. He could not stop himself wondering if Gamel would make Islaen aware of it too.
“Storm is having a wee bit of trouble settling her bairns for the night,” he lied smoothly. “Mayhaps ye can soothe them with your singing, Gamel.” He smiled with satisfaction when Gamel left.
“I was enjoying that, Iain.”
“That drivel?”
“Aye, Gamel has a sweet voice. I also ken that Storm ne’er has trouble settling her bairns.”
“Are ye saying that I lied?”
Looking at him in wide-eyed innocence, Islaen said sweetly, “Nay, merely that ye may have been mistaken. I also feel sure that ye but forgot Tavis’s threat to make Gamel eat his lute an he doesnae cease singing love songs to Storm.”
Sprawling more comfortably on the settle, Iain smiled faintly, “Nay, I didnae.”
“The boy means weel, Iain.”
“Islaen, that boy is near one and twenty.”
“Aye but he is a boy still in many ways.”
“Nay in the ones I think on.”
“Gamel doesnae think on that. To him, Storm and I are the ladies of his songs. He plays at the old courtly love, love pure and from afar.”
“Hah. I have seen courtly love. So have ye, in the halls e’en. T’was neither pure nor from afar.”
“Ah, aye, weel, I did say the ‘old’ sort of courtly love.” She sighed for, while it was nice to see this jealousy in Iain, it was not something she wished to go on for too long nor to worsen. “I admit he can be tiresome but he means weel. He feels he owes us his life.”
“He does.”
“Aye, I suppose. He has no one, Iain. I cannot toss him out.”
“He has kin.”
“Iain, ye ken weel that they tossed him out.”
“Aye, for nearly causing a bloody feud by singing love songs to anither mon’s wife. The lad didnae learn by it, ’tis clear.”
“Actually, I think t’was more that he challenged the mon because the mon had raised his voice to the lady.” She giggled when Iain cursed softly. “So, ye best not yell at me, Iain.”
“I ne’er yell at ye,” he bellowed.
“Nay, of course not,” she murmured, then laughed.
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