by Stone, Jenna
Rowan’s head fell forward against his chest. Sweat poured from his brow and dripped to the ground in front of him. His arms, still tethered to the post, burned as they now supported the full weight of his body. He struggled to remain conscious. He thought of Anna and managed to smile slightly despite his overwhelming pain. Loving Anna had been worth it. He would make her proud now in the last act of his life, going to his death bravely. Rowan closed his eyes and hoped that there really was a heaven, for if there was, he knew that he would be reunited with Anna there.
He would not cry out.
He would not shame his wife, nor dishonor the love that they shared.
Murdock watched as the Scotsman clung to life. He was on his knees now, arms stretched out fully above him where they were bound to the post. The muscles of his arms and back trembled visibly. His body glistened with sweat. Gritting his teeth together, Murdock stepped forward to finish the unpleasant task at hand. Only a few lashes remained, but Murdock was unsure if the Scotsman could withstand much more.
A few members of the crowd cried out in protest, taking pity on the nearly dead Scotsman. Murdock paused and glanced over his shoulder at them, challenging the dissenters with his authoritative glare. He finished the whipping and looked back at the magistrate, who motioned towards the small fire that had been built to heat the iron brand.
Murdock shuddered. The Scotsman’s punishment was not quite finished. Murdock grabbed the branding iron from the fire and stalked towards where his prisoner was tethered to the whipping post. Using his free hand, he gripped Rowan’s hair and jerked backwards, forcing the man’s face up. The handle of the branding iron was growing warm in his hand. Murdock looked into the Scotsman’s eyes. They were emerald green and still sparkling with defiant rage.
Rowan Murray had taken his wife’s punishment bravely.
Murdock brought the branding iron up to Murray’s cheek.
Rowan refused to close his eyes. He stared at Murdock with burning hatred. Rowan felt the residual heat from the branding iron against his skin. He gritted his teeth together, bracing himself for the impending pain.
At the last second, Murdock lowered the branding iron and pressed it against the skin of Murray’s pectoral muscle, not on his cheek as he had been directed to do.
The scent of burning flesh lingered in the air.
Rowan screamed, a tortured and agonizing sound.
Anna felt her heart shatter in her chest. She had no more tears. She felt empty. Broken. There was nothing that she could do for Rowan.
He had paid the price for their love.
Rowan relented to his pain, retreating into the welcome solace of unconsciousness. His body went slack against the whipping post, dripping with blood and hanging lifelessly by his tethered arms.
..ooOoo..
“Rowan!” Anna screamed as she bolted through the door of the physician’s office and saw her husband splayed out on bed. He was still unconscious, his face gray and ashen. Beads of sweat dotted his brow. The physician had positioned Rowan on his side to avoid laying him on the mess of lashings that covered his back.
Kneeling down next to Rowan, Anna ran her hand over his forehead, terrified to discover that his skin was cold beneath her fingertips. Her fingers slid down his neck to find his pulse. It beat steady and strong, giving Anna a glimmer of hope. She saw the telltale “A” that had been seared into Rowan’s flesh and her heart wrenched in her chest.
“I’m here now,” Anna whispered into Rowan’s ear, glancing nervously over her shoulder at Murdock, who stood in the doorway. “Look what you’ve done to him!” she roared, glaring at Murdock before turning her eyes back to Rowan’s mutilated back. “You’ve nearly killed him,” she said hollowly, her voice trembling as she turned her attention back to Rowan.
Rowan’s flesh rose in angry welts next to the lashings of where the whip had split his skin. His blood was beginning to clot now, crusting to the skin that had not been brutalized by Murdock’s whip. When Anna looked at Rowan’s back, she felt an anger unlike anything that she had ever experienced rise up within her.
She stood abruptly and marched over to Murdock. She slapped him hard, right across the face, causing him to recoil from the force of her unexpected blow. “May you burn in Hell, Meriwether Murdock,” Anna said, full of hatred. Then she used her other hand to slap his face again with all of the strength that she could muster.
..ooOoo..
Quinn Murray had watched silently at the edge of the crowd as Meriwether Murdock had whipped Rowan within an inch of losing his life. His hands had been clenched at his sides as he had watched Rowan valiantly accept Anna’s punishment.
There was nothing that Quinn could have done to spare Rowan. It was the second time in his life that Murdock had caused him to feel helpless to protect those that he loved.
Enough was enough.
Quinn had watched to ensure that Rowan was still breathing after the whipping. He could tell that his little brother was barely clinging to life, perhaps what kept him alive was his stubbornness alone. Watching numbly as the physician had released Rowan’s unconscious body from the whipping post, Quinn had walked away to make his final preparations.
Murdock’s day of reckoning had come.
Chapter Twenty
“Call out and I will kill ye,” Quinn threatened as he slipped from the shadows in the small room and placed his dagger against the skin of Meriwether Murdock’s neck.
Murdock trembled slightly, the only indication of his fear. He closed the door behind himself. His heart thundered in his chest.
Quinn reached behind Murdock and bolted the door.
“Sit,” Quinn said harshly as he pushed Murdock towards the only chair in the small room rented room of the Windsor Inn.
Murdock brought his hands up shakily in an effort to show Quinn that he meant to comply. The edge of his curled mustache twitched anxiously. Murdock teetered towards the chair and sat slowly. The walls of the small inn were thin. People would hear him if he called out. Murdock’s pulse raced. He would be dead before anyone reached him. The blinding rage burning in the Scotsman’s eyes told him the truth.
Quinn kept the blade of his dagger pressed against Murdock’s skin. He fought the urge to slice the man’s throat and end this once and for all. Meriwether Murdock certainly did not deserve more than that. Quinn moved around in front of Murdock and sat on the small bed, facing his prisoner. Ever so slowly, he withdrew the knife.
“If ye make a sound. I will kill ye,” Quinn warned. “And I willna regret it.”
Murdock nodded and lowered his hands to rest in his lap.
“Do ye even remember her?” Quinn asked, his voice deepened with rage.
Murdock swallowed hard. A large lump had gathered in his throat. He watched the imposing Scotsman who held him captive, knowing exactly who he was asking about.
“Yes,” Murdock said simply.
“Yes, what?” Quinn seethed. He extended his dagger so that the point was right above Murdock’s rapidly beating heart.
“Yes! Yes, I remember her,” Murdock stammered, swallowing hard. “Forgive me….I did not mean to…”
“Ye didna mean tae rape her?” Quinn asked. “Or ye didna mean tae murder her?”
Murdock fell silent. He closed his eyes. His hands were trembling uncontrollably.
“Her name was Mairi,” Quinn whispered. “And she was the loveliest creature, sae pure and intelligent and beautiful. And I loved her,” he said, his voice shaking with emotion. “Ye took her from me, Murdock.”
Murdock said nothing. He forced his eyes open and drew his line of sight up to meet the Scotsman’s.
Quinn stared at him, extending the knife so that it pricked the skin just above Murdock’s heart.
“Ye took her from me,” Quinn repeated as he pressed the dagger further into Murdock’s skin.
Murdock winced. He felt blood trickle down his chest and over his belly. His eyes looked down, watching the crimson stain spread over his white sh
irt. “Forgive me for what I have done,” he whispered, his voice trembling.
“Never,” Quinn answered, twisting the dagger slightly.
Murdock gasped. “Please,” he begged. “Please spare my life.”
Quinn considered Murdock’s words carefully. Murdock deserved to die for what he had done to Mairi. Every fiber in Quinn’s body ached for redemption. He could almost taste the joy that he would feel at driving his dagger deep into Murdock’s heart. Quinn shook his head.
His redemption would have to wait.
“What was Anna’s bride price?” he asked calmly.
“Four hundred pounds,” Murdock said. “Two hundred and fifty pounds were paid to Miss Stanton’s mother at her departure on the Mary Catherine and the balance was to be paid after the marriage took place.”
“Hmm,” Quinn said, considering Murdock’s words. He took the dagger away from Murdock’s heart and trailed the blade over the flesh that was exposed at Murdock’s neck. “It would seem that four hundred pounds is the exact price for yer life then.”
“But I do not have four hundred pounds!” Murdock protested. “Not here! If you will allow me to go to a bank I could withdraw the funds, but I certainly do not carry that amount of money with me,” Murdock said worriedly.
“Here are my conditions, Murdock,” Quinn began as he against positioned the tip of his knife over Murdock’s heart. “And I would advise ye tae listen carefully,” he said, arching an eyebrow. “The price of your life is four hundred English pounds. I shall accompany ye tae the bank tomorrow. Ye will write a letter tae the magistrate proclaiming my freedom from indentured servitude as well as that of my brothers’. We will not live our lives looking over our shoulders,” Quinn warned. “Ye will explain tae the magistrate that it was all a misunderstanding and that we have, and have always had our freedom. Do ye understand my conditions?” Quinn asked as he jabbed Murdock with the tip of his blade.
“Aye,” Murdock nodded.
“And after ye have done these things, I shall grant ye mercy,” Quinn added, his voice regretful. “I shall allow ye tae leave this place on the condition that I never see yer face again. For if ye trouble my family any further that ye have already done, I will hunt ye like a dog. And then I shall have my revenge. I will kill ye just as I would love tae do right now,” Quinn said as he twisted the tip of his knife, causing another trickle of blood to stain Murdock’s white shirt.
Murdock nodded in understanding.
“Do we have an agreement, Murdock?” Quinn asked.
“Aye. We have an agreement,” Murdock said readily.
“Good,” Quinn said as he slowly removed his dagger from Murdock’s chest. He wiped the bloody tip of the dagger on Murdock’s linen pants, watching the crimson blood mar the pristine fabric. “Write the letter,” Quinn said as he stood and motioned for Murdock to move to the small desk by the window.
Murdock stood and walked shakily to the small desk. His hand shook as he penned a letter to the magistrate. Quinn watched over Murdock’s shoulder, his steely gaze causing beads of sweat to break out on Murdock’s brow.
“Quinn Ramsay Murray,” Quinn said as he peered over Murdock’s shoulder. “Rowan Alexander Murray,” he said as he watched Murdock carefully write the names on the letter. Quinn stood up and raked his hand through his hair. He sheathed his dagger in his belt and walked over to the bed to sit down. “And Malcolm James Murray,” he finished.
Murdock finished the letter and leaned back against the chair.
“Seal it.” Malcolm ordered.
Murdock nodded. He heated the red sealing wax in the flame of the candle, folded the paper and pressed a glob of wax on the edge of the paper. Having no formal seal to press into the wax, he used his thumb, then handed the sealed document to Quinn.
Quinn took the proffered document, shoving it into his breast pocket.
“Have ye any weapons on ye, Murdock?” Quinn asked from where he sat on the bed.
“Not on me,” Murdock replied honestly. “I’ve a pistol and a dagger with my uniform, over there,” he motioned to where his clothes were neatly folded on the small table in the corner of the room.
Quinn rose from the bed and found the weapons, adding them to the arsenal in his belt. “Ye best get tae bed, Murdock,” he said. “For we’ve a long day ahead of us tomorrow.” Quinn stalked back to the bed and sat, reclining back against the headboard. “Ye can sleep on the floor, like the dog that ye are,” he added, half-smiling at Murdock.
Murdock nodded but did not move immediately.
Quinn studied the man in front of him, his blood still boiling with hatred. His thoughts centered on Mairi. Quinn hoped that he would not regret letting Meriwether Murdock live. Somehow, he knew that he most likely would regret not killing the vile man.
But letting him live was the only way.
..ooOoo..
Quinn rode through the night, pushing his lathered horse at a breakneck pace. Murdock’s velvet purse was heavy in the breast pocket of his jacket. He arrived in Williamsburg under the light of the full moon.
Jerking his horse to a stop in front of Jonathan Arbor’s residence, Quinn dismounted hastily, leaving the horse’s reins swinging in the breeze. He stalked towards the door, pounding fiercely against it with his fist. “Arbor!” he called out in the darkness. “Open up!” he bellowed, still striking the door with his fist.
There was a clatter behind the door and Quinn stepped back just before the heavy door swung open. He was greeted with the barrel of a pistol, leveled right between his eyes.
“I’ll see Lieutenant Arbor. Now,” Quinn said sharply. He reached out and brushed the pistol aside, taking the man servant by surprise.
“Lieutenant Arbor is asleep,” the bleary eyed servant said, dropping the pistol to his side. Quinn pushed past him and walked into the foyer of Arbor’s plantation style home.
“He canna still be asleep. Not after the ruckus that I made.”
“I’ll go fetch him, Milord,” the man servant said, knowing that excuses would be futile against the raging Scotsman that now stood in the foyer.
“Good idea,” Quinn said curtly.
Quinn reclined against the heavy wooden door, his eyes studying the richness of Arbor’s home in the dark. The candles had been extinguished for the night, but still Quinn could see the opulence with witch Lieutenant Arbor surrounded himself. Quinn tried to picture Anna living in this home, surrounded by such finery. He shook the silly thought from his head and fished Murdock’s purse from his pocket.
The sound of footsteps on the stairs forced Quinn’s eyes upward.
He recognized Arbor at once, remembering him from when he had taken Anna.
“Arbor,” Quinn said as means of a greeting.
“Forgive me, but I do not remember your name,” Lieutenant Arbor said as he made his way down the stairs. He made no effort to hide the loaded pistol that he gripped in his right hand.
“Quinn Murray.”
“Mr. Murray,” Arbor nodded. He came to stand right in front of Quinn, stroking his thumb over the ivory handle of his pistol. “What business have we, Mr. Murray, that brings you to my home in the middle of the night?” Arbor asked, not wasting further time with niceties.
“This,” Quinn said. He lifted the purse and shoved it against Arbor’s chest. “I’ll not deny ye the fact that my brother wronged ye by stealing Anna away,” Quinn said, his voice calm.
Arbor took the purse from Quinn, holding it with his free hand.
“This is about Anna?” Arbor asked.
“Aye,” Quinn answered. “This is her bride price. All of it. Even the part that ye didna yet pay.”
“I see,” Arbor said. He dropped the heavy purse on the entryway table but did not ease up his grip on the pistol.
“I’ve come tae make this right between us,” Quinn began. “I apologize for any wrong that has been done tae ye. Both for my brother, Rowan, and for Anna. They didna intend tae wrong ye,” Quinn said quietly.
“Is that true?” Arbor asked, his voice steady.
“Aye, it is true. Anna was most regretful for wronging ye, and Rowan, well Rowan was sorry for taking Anna away from all of this,” Quinn said truthfully, his eyes flitting up towards the richness of Arbor’s home. “But ye canna help who it is that ye fall in love with,” Quinn said quietly.
Arbor relaxed his grip on the pistol and sat the weapon on the entry way table next to the red velvet purse.
Quinn reached out his hand to Arbor, waiting in silence to see if his apology was enough. Relief flooded over him when Jonathan gripped his hand and shook it firmly.
“Is there peace between us now?” Quinn asked, his voice reverent.
“Peace,” Arbor nodded as he released Quinn’s hand. “She would have never found it in her heart to love me,” Arbor admitted quietly. He picked up the purse and the pistol, staring down at them in the darkness of the foyer. “Will you tell Anna that I am glad she is happy?” Arbor whispered.
“Aye,” Quinn nodded. “That will ease the burden on her heart greatly,” Quinn said as he reached for the door and stepped out into the moonlight.
Chapter Twenty-One
“I thought I’d lost ye,” Rowan’s voice croaked into the pitch blackness of the bedroom, startling Anna awake from the chair in which she slept next to his bed.
She nearly pounced on him, being so happy to hear his voice. “You’re awake!” Anna exclaimed, joy evident in her voice. “I thought I’d lost you!”
“It would take a lot more than that,” Rowan chuckled and then groaned in the same breath. Even Anna’s slight weight on the bed had jostled his back, shooting fire through his nerves. He took in a swift breath, clenching his teeth to hold onto consciousness, fighting the pain with every thread in his being. “Where am I?” he asked as the wave of pain receded.
“Oh, love, I’m sorry,” Anna said, realizing that her hasty action had caused her husband’s pain. She jumped up from the bed in an effort to make things better, but her quick movement elicited another groan of pain from Rowan. Anna watched Rowan struggle in the darkness, fighting the unbearable pain of his injuries. He had endured this for her sake. Anna’s heart swelled with love, but also with regret.