by Tia Isabella
“No’ a chance,” she laughed right back.
“I dinna think yer being fair tae yer laird. My wife has used me good this eve.”
Maris clucked her tongue, but didn’t relent. “And what do ye think me and Lord Chance do when we disappear from yon hall? Sew tapestries and sing ballads?”
Thomas chuckled heartily. “Nay, lass, I dinna think it. And when, pray tell, is Reginald going tae make an honest lady of ye?”
“At Michaelmas.”
“Michaelmas? Why wait ‘til September when he can wed ye now?”
“Because,” Maris winked, “I enjoy playing mistress tae my Reggie. Get’s me more gifts, I’m thinkin’.”
Thomas boomed out a rich sound of laughter as he picked up Maris and twirled her around. “Vixen.”
Maya and Sara laughed from the audience, both of them having heard the conversation between the laird and governess. Maya turned her attention away from them and scanned the group of dancers for some more familiar faces. She shook her head and chuckled, nudging Sara to look in the direction of Sir Harold and his ladylove who were in the huge parlor adjacent to the great hall. As vast as the great hall was, the parlor had been opened up to accommodate all of the merrymakers and a second parlor had been readied in case it was needed.
“Why is she swatting his hand away?” Sara asked, wrinkling her nose and standing on tiptoe to see above the crowd.
Maya rolled her eyes. “He’s groping her like the pervert that he is.”
Sara chuckled. “Ah, it looks as though the Hamilton is saving poor embarrassed Helen from Harold’s overly zealous clutches.”
The two friends chuckled, having a great time of it this evening.
Reginald strutted up to Maya and Sara a few minutes later and bowed formally to them. He glanced at Maya and winked. “Since your husband throws a wild fit any time a man approaches you, I will not be asking you to dance, Maya dear.”
Maya placed her hands indignantly on her hips. “He does not!”
“Yes he does!”
“Well I’m sure he’d make the exception for you, Daddy C.”
Reginald grimaced. “I don’t think I’m good enough at my sword play just yet to test that theory.”
“Daddy!” Sara shook her head. “You’re too much.”
“And what about you, daughter of mine?” Reginald asked with a smile. “Your husband and Lady Lena are dancing, so will you give your old man the privilege of claiming this dance?”
Sara grabbed his hand and smiled. “You better believe it.”
A scarce moment later, Sir Argyle scooped Lady Maya up off of the ground and twirled her around. She threw her head back and laughed, enjoying every moment of it. “I take it you have forgiven me for winning all of the ginger candies back from you this afternoon, Argyle?”
“Aye,” he admitted with a feigned grumble. “I ha’ forgiven ye, milady cousin, yet ha’ I no’ forgiven yer husband.”
“Ah,” Maya teased, “still upset that he learned the game so quickly, eh?”
“’Twas beginners luck, I’m thinkin’, yet am I glad tae be grievin’ him sorely just now.”
“Grieving him? How so?”
Argyle showed a dimpled, mischievous grin. “If I ken the laird, and ye can best believe that I do, then he is glaring daggers at my back even now fer darin’ tae dance with his lady wife.”
Maya laughed in disbelief, but cocked her head to see if he was right. “Well I’ll be damned,” she breathed out, trying to keep a straight face. “He really is glaring daggers at you.”
Argyle smiled triumphantly. “It’s good fer the mon, I’m thinkin’.”
Maya considered that notion a moment, a wicked gleam Argyle knew all too well glowing in her eyes. “He does um”—she coughed discreetly—“perform awfully well when he’s jealous.”
“Hmm,” Argyle prodded, “then leave it tae yer favorite cousin tae see ye well bedded this eve.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do as I say and wrap yer arms aboot my neck, tight as ye can now, lass.”
Maya complied, giggling at their plan as Argyle whirled her around in a circle and danced with her body pressed close to his. “He’ll be here any moment,” Argyle whispered conspiratorially. “’Tis only so much the possessive mon will be able tae handle, wed tae his cousin or no.”
“Argyle!” Thomas bellowed from across the courtyard. He released Maris into Reginald’s arms and strode swiftly toward his wife and cousin. “Ye ha’ danced with my lady long enough, ye ken? Go find yer own wife!”
Thomas plucked Maya from Argyle’s grasp in one fell swoop, then shoved her body tightly against his own. Maya winked at Argyle from over her husband’s shoulder, mouthing a silent “thank-you”.
Argyle chuckled, shaking his head in mirth as he meandered his way through the courtyard to claim his wife from Sir Dugald.
“Ye will dance with no more men this eve, Maya, do ye ken?”
“Thomas,” Maya answered, “Argyle is the only man I have danced with besides you all evening long.”
The MacGregor’s nostrils flared as he glared down at the wife he had plastered against his side like a piece of baggage. “There is no’ a thing wrong with that, lass, that I can tell ye.” He growled, the vein at his temple ticking next to his plaited braid. “I’m thinkin’ ye need reminded of just who ye belong tae, wife.”
Maya gulped. Desire coursed through her blood. She hadn’t expected him to react so swiftly, but she decided against complaining about it. She and Argyle would have to put their heads together more often.
Maya smoothed her hands across her husband’s face and tugged gently at the braids at either side of his temple. She kissed him provocatively on the mouth. “I think you’re right, husband. Please remind me.”
Thomas growled, fiercely erect. He planted his wife on one hip and marched across the great hall, carrying her away like a rag doll. He found an empty chamber at the castle’s west wing and hoisted her up against its wall. Lifting her skirts, he shoved his plaid out of the way, and drove into her full force.
“Tell me. Now,” he gritted out as he surged into her. “Who does this wet flesh belong tae?”
“To the MacGregor,” she moaned, wrapping her legs around his hips. “To you.”
“Always,” he growled, pounding into her slick flesh over and over again. Clasping her buttocks with his callused hands, he picked up the pace of their lovemaking and thrust into her mercilessly.
Maya groaned as she secreted away a smile.
Her eyes rolled back into her head.
Yep, she and Argyle would definitely have to talk more often.
Chapter 48
Maya all but skipped up to her bedchamber to clean herself up from the sticky after-effects of her husband’s recent lovemaking. She hurried her step, for she didn’t want to miss the feast that cook and his helpers would be spreading out any time now. She could smell the scent of the meal in the air rising up from the kitchens, and knew it would be as good as it smelled. Cook’s fare had become that of a top rate chef ever since Harold and Argyle had brought back buckets of spices from the future.
Maya picked up her skirts and ran up the stairs and then smack dab into the solid chest of an almost bald villager. It was like hitting a wall of steel, she mused. “Oh hello there. I’m sorry I didn’t see you. Are you lost?”
Robert MacAllister smiled sweetly down to her, bowing politely. “Nay, milady, I ha’ been waiting fer ye.”
“For me?”
“Aye.”
He grabbed her forcefully by the back of the head, clapping a hand over her mouth to quiet her inevitable screams. “I ha’ been waiting fer ye fer a verra long time, sweet.” He replaced his hand with his mouth, branding her painfully on the lips. He then forced Maya’s hand down between his legs so she could feel the fierce erection she had caused him to have. Maya bit down on his lip, causing blood to spurt from it.
“Ye bitch!” he yelled, releasing her to smack her soundly across the face.
Maya fell to the floor, but didn’t waste a precious moment. She screamed at the top of her lungs, shouting her husband’s name in a panic. Robert jerked her to her feet and clamped his hand down roughly over her mouth again.
They struggled together for long moments until Robert regained control of the situation and secured Maya firmly, irrevocably, against his side. He smacked her across the face again, then picked her up and carried her down the hall, opening the door to the chamber where this had all began so many years ago.
* * * * *
Little Margaret, named after her mother, had been awoken by her lady’s screams. She clapped her hands over her five-year-old ears, afraid that her mother’s friend was dying.
Margaret glanced over to her brother as well as to Angus and Elizabeth, whom she had recently slumbered next to in the nursery, then made her way toward the chamber door. She opened it quietly, afraid her mum or da’ would catch her and tan her hide.
The lady was crying. A bad man was hurting her.
* * * * *
The laughter, music, and dancing in the great hall and beyond wound up into an all-time frenzy. Thomas smiled triumphantly as he ambled through the crowd and made a beeline toward the Hamilton. He clapped his friend on the back. “Are ye enjoyin’ yerself?”
Patrick grinned wickedly up to Thomas and nodded. “Several times already tonight, my friend.”
Thomas hooted with laughter, glad for his success with the ladies. He winked at him. “As long as it is no’ with Maya, ye are welcome tae the spoils.”
Patrick laughed. “Let us no’ speak of that, I beg ye.” He surveyed the crowd speculatively, glancing all around them. “Yer wife can throw a festive good time fer a certainty.”
“That she can.”
“Where is she anyway? I ha’ no’ seen her aboot in quite some time.”
Thomas frowned. “I canna say. ‘Tis been a goodly while since I left her. I was aboot tae look fer her when I spotted ye o’er here.”
“Let us look together then. We will be eatin’ the soonest.”
Thomas and Patrick wandered through the crowd, scanning it for any traces of Maya. They came to a halt a few minutes later, defeated. “I dinna see her anywhere,” Patrick admitted.
“Nor do I,” Thomas said, scratching his chin in puzzlement. “’Tis no’ like my wife tae miss out on a party.”
Patrick straightened his back and narrowed his eyes as his gaze stopped upon one man in particular. The tiny hairs at the nape of his neck electrified and he knew in an instant something wasn’t right. The villein. He was too familiar. “Thomas.”
“Aye?”
“What name does that villein go by?”
“Who?”
Patrick nodded toward the commoner standing on the far side of the great hall. The dark-haired man was feeling up a serving wench, laughing to his friends as she pushed him away. “I dinna know him,” Thomas admitted with a frown. “But he is aboot tae know of me. My clan kens well that I dinna tolerate usin’ a woman against her will.”
They stood there for a moment, watching in silence, deciding to do nothing for the time since the man had let the wench go. And then it dawned on Patrick as recognition bore down. His eyes widened. “Thomas, that mon is no’ a villein.”
“Hm?”
Patrick turned to face him. “Somethin’ is verra wrong, my friend. I know that mon from Bannockburn. Mad as a dog he is!” He pointed vehemently toward him. “That mon is a knight, yet is he dressed in the coarse clothes of a commoner.”
Thomas squinted at the man in question with a frown. “But why—” He took a steadying breath as he unsheathed his sword. “I dinna need tae ask,” he announced as he strode quickly through the crowd and straight toward his quarry.
“Aye,” Patrick hissed from his side. “He’s one of the MacAllister’s.”
If Thomas had any doubts as to whether or not Patrick had been right in his thinking, they were laid to rest when the stranger and his three “villein” friends saw the MacGregor and the Hamilton heading their way like two men possessed. The MacAllister’s men unsheathed the swords that had been hidden from view by their cloaks and shouted their war cry in unison. Thomas and Patrick shouted theirs, all hell effectively breaking loose.
From across the way, Harold and Reginald stood with Dugald and Argyle and laughed it up as all but Harold drank down their ale. Out of the corner of his eye, Harold noticed a blur of movement. He cocked his head to see what was happening, his eyes widening in understanding as the MacGregor shouted a cry of vengeance that couldn’t be heard over the noise, then slashed his sword down onto a man, beheading him with one strike. He unsheathed his sword and bellowed, “Tae arms!”
Dugald and Argyle reacted right away, securing their swords from their scabbards and heading toward the laird at top speed. Reginald stood staring, mouth agape, at the bloodbath unfolding before his very eyes. “Come Reggie! We must fight like men!” Harold shouted.
Reginald blinked, his mouth parched. “Hell nooooo!” he shouted, not caring who heard him act the coward.
“Reggie!” Harold growled. “Ye can do it! ‘Tis part of life here. What of yer pregnant daughter? Will ye ha’ her raped and murdered tae keep ye from wielding a sword, mon?”
Reginald swallowed roughly, wide-eyed. He shook his head in the negative, then followed Harold in a mad dash toward the heart of the drama. “Shit!” Dr. Chance shouted as they ran. “I never thought I’d actually have to use this goddamned thing!”
Chapter 49
“My husband will kill you, you bastard!”
Maya watched the MacAllister’s every move in apprehension as she lay bound at the wrists on the dust-coated bed, her face in great pain and her entire body shaking.
Robert slowly disrobed before her, then shrugged. “Mayhap.” He smiled. “But I will use ye well first.” He grinned, merriment twinkling in his mad eyes. “Just like I used his mum.”
Maya sucked in her breath, her eyes widening. “You killed her.”
It was a statement, not a question, but the MacAllister treated it as the latter. “Aye. I had me a sportin’ good time afore I sank my dagger through the whoor’s heart.”
“You make me sick.”
Robert laughed, enjoying and savoring each moment of this long awaited conquest. He threw his plaid to the floor, standing before the bed fully erect. “Call me what ye will, but ken that ye are aboot tae get the fuckin’ of yer life.”
“With that little worm?” Maya taunted, not caring whether or not she angered him. If she was going to be raped and murdered, then she’d at least mock him with all she had. “It would be more like a tickling.”
“Ye bitch!” he spat, his face beet-red with anger. “I’ll show ye a worm!”
* * * * *
“Where is she?” Thomas bellowed. “Has anyone seen my wife?”
The MacGregor didn’t wait for an answer as he charged through the corridors with the Hamilton, Dugald, and Argyle at his heels.
“She is no’ in her chamber!” Argyle announced. “I ha’ already looked.”
They strode up the stairs, taking two at a time, then came to a halt at the top. “Who is the lassie?” Patrick asked.
“My mon Stephen’s daughter,” Thomas replied absently as he strode past her and threw open the doors to the nursery to make certain his children were unharmed. He closed the doors a moment later, vastly relieved for his bairns, yet fearful for their mother.
Thomas looked down at little Margaret, then squatted to pat her atop the head. Her eyes were round with fright. “What is it, lassie? Ye are no’ scared of the likes of me, are ye?”
She shook her head no.
“Then what is it?” he prodded.
“’Tis…‘tis…the bad mon.”
Four ears perked up at that telling bit of information. Thomas’s eyes widened in surprise and much apprehension. “Ye ha’ seen the Lady MacGregor, sweeting?”
She nodded.
Thomas took a dee
p breath to steady himself, knowing he’d never get anything out of the wee one if he frightened her. “Where did she go, lassie?”
Margaret pointed down the left corridor, a wing not often used. “The…the bad mon weeth no hair took milady there. Milady cried when he hurt her weeth his fist.”
The hair on the nape of Thomas’s neck stood up. He managed to remain calm, shooing the girl into the nursery. “That’s a good lassie. Stay here and watch o’er my bairns until I come fer ye. Bolt the doors behind ye.”
Margaret nodded, her eyes wide as he closed the door quietly behind her.
Thomas turned hard on his heel and ran down the corridor. “Split up! Each of ye search a different chamber!”
* * * * *
Maya screamed as Robert struck her in the face, then flailed her feet at him as he tried to lift her chemise. She was beginning to worry that Thomas wouldn’t arrive in time. Her hands bound and useless, Robert had already managed to tear her gown from her. “Bastard!”
He laughed, undaunted. “Keep fighting me, lass. I love it, I do. Makes it the sweeter.”
Robert ripped her chemise from her body, the silk shredding into two pieces. “Mmm,” he grinned as he scanned her naked body appreciatively. “I think I may be fuckin’ ye fer awhile.”
Maya screamed at the top of her lungs, praying that someone—anyone—would hear her. Fear lanced through her body when she realized that all the MacAllister had to do was spread her legs. And then he’d be able to rape her.
The chamber doors burst open a moment later. Maya darted her gaze to the door, then smiled, tears of hysteria stinging her eyes. It was Thomas. He had made it in time.
Robert leapt from the bed, grabbing his sword, and gave his war cry. Thomas cried his. Maya turned her face from the inevitable carnage, knowing without looking who would emerge victor and who would leave the chamber a dead man.
Patrick and Argyle arrived a moment later, saw that Thomas was taking care of the MacAllister well enough, then sprinted toward Maya who lay bound, naked, and sobbing on the bed. Argyle reached her first.