“Heming looked sorely wounded when we rode away,” said Hervey. “I think he may be dead.”
“Which gives the MacNachtons e’en more reason to attack us,” said Angus, used to and bored with this type of conversation where Hervey went through every possible reason for not doing what needed to be done and expected Angus to agree with him, which Angus rarely did.
“Weel, if we dinnae see them by the end of a sennight, I would guess that they are nay coming. For all we ken, Sir Heming may have been utterly despised by all his kin and they are glad to be rid of him.”
“Hervey, we tortured that mon nigh onto death and he ne’er told us a thing about his kinsmen. That isnae the sort of mon any kinsmon wants to see dead. Ye need that sort in a clan to keep the thieves and traitors in hand. Give it up, my friend. The MacNachtons will be coming here to make us pay as dearly as possible. Then they will go and gut your friend Carbonnel.” He stared at Hervey and said, “Now let us talk about my wedding wee Brona.”
“Now? When we may soon be in a war with men that can suck out a mon’s soul?”
“‘Twould seem a verra good time to me. Who kens what may happen to one or both of us. Best to get the business of Brona, her dowry, and her inheritance all settled.”
Narrowing his eyes at Angus, Hervey growled, “Oh, aye, her inheritance. If I dinnae beget a son, all she has to do is marry and she gets all of Rosscurrach. Ye seem verra eager to make ye the mon who would be standing at her side if I died without an heir.”
It did not surprise Angus that Hervey had finally thought a little bit about that particular aspect of Brona’s inheritance. The man was not as stupid as he acted at times. Angus knew he was going to have to tread very carefully to make Hervey let go of all those suspicions he could read on the man’s face. Angus had no intention of marrying Brona and then killing Hervey. That would rouse far too many suspicions for his liking. He would just make sure that Hervey never had a chance to marry and beget that all-important heir.
“Hervey, ye ken verra weel that I have wanted the lass since I first set eyes on her. I didnae e’en ken what the old mon had said must be done after he died.”
“Oh, I am nay questioning that ye lust after my cousin. I just wonder what else ye are lusting after. Could be the verra chair I am sitting in.”
This was not good, mused Angus. “I just want Brona. Ye can keep the cursed laird’s chair. The priest is cowering in the chapel because he is terrified that the MacNachton demons might sniff him out and suck up his soul. We can get Brona, take her to the chapel, and I can marry her. Then ‘tis all done and settled ere we face the enemy. I may e’en have enough time to grab a wee taste of the wench. I have been wanting one for long enough.”
“Nay.”
Angus stiffened and subtly put his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Nay? Did ye just say nay?”
“I did. ‘Tis my place as her laird to decide who she marries and I have decided that I dinnae want her married to a mon who stands so conveniently at my back.”
“Ye bastard! Ye have promised me that wench for years.”
“Weel, it seems I may have a much better deal than ye offered.” Hervey pulled a wrinkled piece of parchment from his pocket. “It seems our neighbor wishes an alliance and it is to be sealed with the marriage of his son to my cousin.”
“His son is barely fifteen years old. He has nae e’en grown a wee bit of down on his scrawny face.”
“He will grow and he will breed her, which will keep her at that mon’s keep and out of mine.”
Angus slowly stood up. “Ye have gone back on your word.”
“I do that all the time. No one should ken that any better than ye. If ye still want the wench after she is wed to this boy then go to her and take her. Since the lad has so little experience with women or in battle ye ought to be able to woo her into your bed simply because her husband is so bad there she is in need of a real mon. And if the lad catches ye cuckolding him, ye have enough experience to cut him down without e’en raising a sweat.”
“And thus destroying the alliance? What do ye get out of this, Hervey?” he asked in a hard cold voice as he began to decide which wound would kill the fool the fastest. He would prefer to have the man killed very slowly, but with the threat of the MacNachtons hanging over his head, he could not afford the time needed to really enjoy it.
“A lot of money and a strip of verra good land on our western border.”
“And for that ye would break your word to me?”
“Give the marriage a few months, e’en a year, and then make her a widow if ye still want her so badly.”
“I dinnae want her after some beardless boy has been rutting o’er her for months.”
“And just what do ye think Sir Heming has been doing? Do ye really think she spent all that time with him and he didnae lift her skirts?”
“Mayhap he did, but with those three fools traveling with them, I doubt he did so more than once or twice and he would be careful nay to put a bairn in her. A lad of fifteen will be riding her every night and doing his meager best to fill her belly.”
“Aha! I kenned it! Ye wanted to have her bear ye a son so that ye could try and claim Rosscurrach. Weel, ye can just forget that fine piece of treachery. Nay only is Brona going to marry the lad, but I am going to marry his sister. A sweet wee lass of fourteen. Young and tight and ready to breed.”
Angus drew his sword and swung it. The look of petulant anger was still on Hervey’s face as his head hit the floor. Wiping his sword off on the man’s doublet, Angus slid it back into its sheath. He stared at Hervey’s body for a minute and then cursed. He was still taut with fury and now he had to be rid of the fool’s body.
Grabbing the cloth off the table, he tossed Hervey’s body onto it and then set his head on his chest. Wrapping the body up, he hefted it over his shoulder and stealthily made his way down into the dungeons. A slow smile crossed his face as he made his way to the cage where they had kept Sir Heming. He tossed Hervey into the cage, pausing to put the man’s head back on his chest and then went to throw the cloth from the table down into the pit where they emptied the prisoners’ privy buckets.
Certain that the MacNachtons would soon be attacking, Angus was confident that he would be able to think of an explanation for Hervey’s death. He doubted anyone would question the tale that Hervey tried to flee, was caught outside by vengeful MacNachtons, and murdered. Later, when it was dark, he would toss the body outside. Now he had to go and marry Brona before anyone learned the laird was dead.
The sound of the door to her bedchamber opening drew Brona out of her misery. She looked toward the door and felt as if all the blood in her body had just turned to ice. Angus walked over to the side of the bed and stared down at her. The man felt as if he was about to burst open from the anger inside of him and she greatly feared that anger would be visited upon her even if she did not deserve it.
“Ye have been a verra busy lass, havenae ye,” he said. “Freeing prisoners, running about the country with four men. Did ye service them all?”
Even though a part of her mind told her not to respond to that insult, that it would only prod at Angus’s anger, Brona said, “Of course I didnae. Just because ye and Hervey feel a need to rut with anything that breathes doesnae mean I do.”
The slap he gave her made her ears ring and Brona tasted blood in her mouth. She felt tears of pain sting her eyes but blinked them away. She would not give the man the pleasure of seeing her cry. He was a brute who sought to cow her with harsh words and pain and she refused to allow him to win that game.
“If ye have bedded down with that demon ye will pay for that,” he said as he began to untie her.
Brona felt a twinge of hope and then told herself not to be an idiot. Angus would never set her free. With that thought the fact that he was untying her began to frighten her. Mayhap he intended to put her down in the dungeon, she thought, and felt a cold knot of panic twist in her belly. She decided she did not really wish to know
what he planned to do to her for that would probably stir her panic past her control.
“Now we are going to do what I have been planning to do for years but your damn cousin has continued to find ways to make me wait. Weel, he willnae be playing that game with me anymore.”
Hervey is dead, she thought. Brona suddenly knew without a doubt that Angus had killed her cousin. Hervey had obviously pushed the man once too often and Angus had struck back.
And if he killed Hervey what would he do to her, she thought. Fear became a living thing inside of her but she fought its hold. If the only thing she could do to preserve any scrap of dignity was not cower and cry out for help then she would do it.
She bit back a cry of pain as he yanked her off the bed and started to drag her out of the room. “Where are we going?”
“To the chapel,” Angus replied, pulling her along after him as he went down the stairs.
“Why?”
“Because ye are going to marry me.”
Brona tried to drag her feet and slow him down but he yanked her along so hard and unrelentingly that she had to move or she would end up being pulled along the floor and the rocky ground. “My cousin isnae here and he has to approve this.”
“He approved this years ago and I mean to see that he finally keeps his promise.”
By the time they entered the chapel Brona’s arm was hurting her so badly from all the pulling that she was biting back tears of pain. She looked around the chapel and saw the priest, a plump man of uncertain morals, cowering near the altar. It was not likely that such a cowardly man would help her and stand against Angus but Brona felt she had to at least try to win his aid.
“Father, I havenae agreed to this!” she said and cried out when Angus hit her again.
The priest’s only response to that brutality against the old laird’s daughter was to cower some more and look around frantically for some route of escape. Brona knew there would be no help to be found there. He would do whatever Angus told him to. Just as so many other people at Rosscurrach, the priest was thoroughly cowed.
“We are here to be married, Father,” Angus said.
“But where is the laird?” asked the priest. “Mistress Brona is his kinswoman and he should be here.”
“He cannae be here right now, so get on with it.”
“But there is a war—”
The priest squealed to a halt when Angus drew his sword and held it at the man’s throat. Brona thought for just a moment that the priest was going to fall at their feet in a faint, but despite his trembling, and to her utter disappointment, he waved his shaking hand in a silent command to kneel before him. She tried to keep standing but Angus knelt and pulled her down beside him. Brona landed on her knees so hard that she knew they would be bruised and painful for days. It took all of her willpower not to faint from the force of that pain.
In a weak, shaking voice, the priest began the marriage service. Brona tried to catch the man’s eye, tried to silently plea for him to help her, but he kept his gaze upon Angus’s now sheathed sword. When she was asked to repeat her vows, she hesitated, but Angus drew his sword again and pointed it at the priest’s throat once more. The threat was clear and she could not be responsible for the trembling priest’s death. Brona repeated her vows even though she choked on each and every word. Her stomach was clenched and bile stung the back of her throat as she thought of how Angus was forcing her to lie before God, as she had absolutely no intention of honoring a single vow she was now taking.
Once the vows were done and a tremulous blessing was given, Angus started to take her back toward the keep. Brona ceased fighting his pull, for it hurt and she knew she might need to use that arm in the very near future. She kept a few paces behind him, however, refusing to walk by his side as if she had accepted him as her husband. Just as they reached the wide stone steps leading into the keep a man ran up to Angus, shouting his name, and Angus cursed viciously before turning to face the man.
“The MacNachtons are here,” the man said, his fear ringing in his voice. “They are outside the walls.”
Brona wanted to run up on the walls and see them. She even pulled against Angus’s grip, but he yanked her right back. Brona wondered if Heming was there and she ached to see him, to see that he was alive.
“I told ye they would come. That was why ye were all put up on the walls,” snapped Angus. “Told that fool Hervey, too.”
“But what shall we do?”
“Ye shall watch them, fool. If they do anything more than just stand there or hurl insults at ye, then kill them.”
“Are ye nay joining us?”
With a speed that was startling, Angus hit the man, sending him sprawling in the dirt at his feet. No wonder everyone was terrified of the man, Brona thought. She had become so good at staying out of his and Hervey’s way, at staying hidden and quiet, that she had almost forgotten how the two men were so good at just striking out, often for what appeared to be no reason at all. That constant expectation of violence and pain striking at any moment had obviously been inside of her but she had smothered it, hiding it even from herself. It made one afraid, however, and she had been afraid all of the time. Just as this man was afraid.
“Watch the bastards,” growled Angus, “and unless they are flying o’er the walls or coming up through the floor, dinnae trouble me with questions ye already have the answers to. I am going to be verra busy for a while consummating my marriage.”
Shock was the first expression on the other man’s face as he slowly stood up and looked at Brona. It was quickly followed by a look that Brona could only describe as pity. Brona felt as if her face was on fire she was blushing so hard with shame and embarrassment. She felt a lot of pity for herself, but it was humiliating to know that now everyone at Rosscurrach would be aware of what was happening to her. Her coming rape by Angus would never be some deep, dark, terrifying secret she could keep to herself. As Angus dragged her into the keep, Brona prayed that the MacNachtons did get inside Rosscurrach, for she knew only a real threat to Angus’s life would stop him from accomplishing what he planned to do to her.
Ten
“Someone died down here.”
Heming exchanged a grin with his father and then looked at his cousin Berawald. He liked the man but often got the feeling that his cousin lived in the world of spirits far more than he lived in the world of men. Then again, if he had lived surrounded by ghosts for as long as Berawald had perhaps he, too, would have some difficulty in holding fast to the line between the two.
“I am nay surprised,” Heming drawled. “‘Tis a dungeon. Sad to say too many have probably died here.”
Berawald simply nodded, either ignoring Heming’s slight sarcasm or unaware of it. “This mon didnae die down here and he died verra recently.”
For a moment, Heming was terrified that he was too late to save Brona and he asked, “Ye are sure it is a mon?”
“Och, aye. Verra definitely a mon.”
When Heming moved to the steps that led up into the keep, he realized that Berawald was marching off in another direction. A heartbeat later, he realized that his cousin was headed for the cage Hervey had kept Heming in. A chill ran over his body and Heming told himself not to be so foolish. He was still alive and, aside from getting Brona back, that was all that mattered. Cursing softly, he then hurried after Berawald. The man had to stop wandering off or he would get himself killed.
When Berawald stopped in front of the cage and held his lantern up, Heming had to force himself to walk up to him. Before he could say anything to his cousin, however, he glanced down at what Berawald was staring at and cursed again. Hervey’s body was sprawled on the floor of the cage, his elegant clothing stained with his own blood, and his head sitting on his chest facing the door. The man’s face was forever frozen into a petulant expression. Hervey had obviously never seen death coming.
“This mon didnae die here,” said Berawald, and then he frowned. “His death was so recent that his spirit hasnae yet und
erstood that he is dead.”
“Weel, Hervey Kerr wasnae always the most clever cat in the pack.”
Berawald actually smiled, but quickly grew solemn again. “If death is violent and occurs quickly, I have discovered, that the spirit of the dead one is often confused. This mon didnae see the blow coming.”
“I thought the same thing.”
“Ye ken who this mon is?” Berawald asked, looking at Heming.
“Aye, as I said, ‘tis Hervey Kerr. ‘Tis the laird of Rosscurrach, my Brona’s cousin, and the mon who held me prisoner here.” Out of the corner of his eye Heming saw his father’s elegant hand curl tightly around one of the bars of the cage.
“This is where he held ye?” Jankyn asked. “In chains?”
“And naked,” Heming said quietly, a little impressed by the vileness of the curses his father spit out. “I am nay sorry that the mon is dead but I am verra sorry that it wasnae I who struck the blow. I had dearly wished to kill him myself.”
“Step back,” ordered Berawald, yanking Jankyn’s hand from the cage and pulling him away.
“What is it? Is something wrong?” Heming felt a bone-deep cold suddenly sweep through him and stepped even farther away from the cage.
“The spirit has gone back into its body. Watch.”
Heming’s eyes widened as a dark shadow swirled up from the floor and over the body. He felt something dark and dangerous in that shadow and could swear that he heard someone screaming in terror as if from a very long distance away. Just as he started to convince himself that he was letting Berawald’s talk of spirits cause him to imagine things, the shadow retreated back into the floor. Heming felt someone pressed close against his back and looked behind him to find a white-faced Peter staring over his shoulder.
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