“Do you hear me, Lorna? You are mine. You’ll never be his!” She felt his fumbling with the closure of his trousers. “I’ll never let him take another of my women!”
What followed was a horror she had endured once before. Through it all she stared wide-eyed at the ceiling, unmoving, making no sound, trying to block out the grinding thrusts, the grunting, the feel of his body intruding into hers. After the last groan, the final jerk of McGregor’s hips, her eyelids fluttered as he left the settee.
“You should not have pushed me, Lorna,” he told her. “I would not have dishonored you if you had been reasonable but now you are mine in fact and deed.”
Saying nothing to his words, Lorna kept her eyes on the dark ceiling. She lay sprawled on the settee like a broken doll as he got up and stuffed himself back into his pants. She didn’t move when he eased her gown down to cover her nakedness. He surprised her by calmly taking a seat in the chair across from her. From the corner of her eye, she could see he was shaking.
“I did not want our first time to be like that,” he said. “I would have courted you gently, taken you as you deserved to be taken but you gave me no choice. If I hurt you, I am sorry, but you belong to me. I but claimed what is mine. You see now that this is the way it is to be. There can be no other. He’ll not take you from me.”
For a long while she lay there as he left her. She felt numb, abandoned. At last, she rolled over to her side facing the back of the settee—not to sleep but to blot out the sight of the beast that remained in the periphery of her vision.
“Why?” she asked silently. “Why didn’t you come, Chrysty?”
Chapter Five
She heard him when he got up from the chair and walked to the door, unlocked it and went out into the first rosy rays of dawn. For the last fifteen minutes she had been listening to the early-rising songbirds as they began the new day. In the distance she could hear the lowing of cattle ready to be milked, chickens squawking, a dog barking, and a trio of sheep bleating. In counter rhythm, McGregor’s light snores grated on her nerves like sandpaper. After he closed the door behind him, she turned over, swung her legs from the settee and stood, wincing at the pain that flooded her lower body.
With mincing steps she made her way into the bathroom and shut the door. There was a dry coating of his seed clinging to her thighs and as she pumped water into the basin she stared into the mirror at the hollow-eyed woman gazing back at her.
“I’ve seen that look before,” she said quietly to the image in the glass. The basin full, she released the pump handle then dropped a washcloth into the cold water. Staring at the cloth floating on the water, she stripped out of her gown then stuffed it into the wastebasket beside the commode. Never again would she wear it. Taking up the harsh lye soap Daniel used to wash his hands after gardening, she lathered the washcloth thoroughly.
Over and over again she scrubbed at the flesh between her legs, her thighs, her breasts where his lips had suckled until the skin was red and chafed. She heard the door handle rattle and stopped what she was doing, turning her head to stare at her brother as he opened the door.
Daniel froze, snapping his head to the side as he closed the door again. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
“Aye, that you are,” Lorna said beneath her breath. She waited until she heard him moving away from the door before she scoured between her thighs one last time. As clean as she knew she was going to feel, she took a towel from the shelf, wrapped it around her and tucked the ends between her sore breasts. She poured the water down the drain, draped the washcloth neatly on the rim of the empty basin then walked out of the bathroom and into her bedroom.
The morning sun was bright coming in the window, heating the room even more than it had been the night before. She made quick work of dressing and when she had her hair combed and plaited into one long braid, she slipped her feet into the serviceable shoes she wore every day then left her room.
Daniel had no doubt gone over to the church for he was nowhere in sight nor was there any sound coming from his room. She made grits, coffee, fried bacon and broke eggs for scrambling, leaving three extra in a bowl she put to one side. She slathered butter on slices of bread and left it in the skillet. Her own bread she slipped beneath the broiler for fried toast was not one of her favorites. Her brother returned from his solitary celebration of Mass as she was washing her breakfast dishes.
“You’ve already eaten,” he commented.
Lorna did not reply. She was sure he saw the fixings for his breakfast laid out but she had no intention of preparing food for a man who would allow his sister to be savagely raped. Pouring a second cup of coffee, she went to the door and out onto the porch where it was cooler.
“You’re not going to make my food?” he queried and when she did not answer, he mumbled something she couldn’t make out then began fixing his own meal.
“Good morning, Miss Lorna.”
Lorna turned her head as the smithy Royce Gilmore and a young man who bore a striking resemblance to him came around the corner of the house. She nodded but did not greet the duo, sipping her coffee as they walked past her.
“Gonna be another blasted day of heat looks like,” Royce said. “Oh, this is my son, Thad.”
“A pleasure my lady,” the young man said, tipping his black hat.
Once again Lorna nodded. She had no desire to carry on a conversation with any man from the Hill—jovial or not. When her brother came out on the porch, she ignored him.
“I need you to put bars on all the windows, Royce,” Daniel said, cutting a quick look to Lorna. “And put keyed locks on the inside of the doors.”
Royce looked past Daniel to Lorna, a frown on his beefy face. She stared back at him with hard, brittle eyes and tightly pursed lips. “Whatever you say, Rev,” Royce said, exchanging a quick look with his son.
Daniel watched the smithy and his son as they began putting the bars over Lorna’s window then moved to sit in the rocker beside his sister. His hands were cupped over the rolled edge of the chair arm so tightly the knuckles were white.
“You brought it on yourself,” he said in a low voice.
“Mr. Gilmore?” Lorna called out.
“Aye, my lady?” Royce replied.
“What are your feelings on rape, Mr. Gilmore?”
“Lorna!” Daniel hissed, his head snapping to the side.
“Ah, I don’t…” the smithy began. His face turned red as he cleared his throat. “It’s …. That’s to say .…”
“Is it wrong or is it something permitted here on the Hill, Mr. Gilmore?” she asked.
Daniel shot out a hand to grip her wrist. “That’s enough,” he said under his breath. “You’ll not air our dirty laundry in public.”
“I’d like an answer, Mr. Gilmore,” she said, snatching her arm from her brother’s grip. “Is rape condoned or not?”
“Well, no, my lady, it ain’t condoned,” Royce said. He looked pleadingly at Daniel.
“Is there a law against it?”
“That’s enough!” Daniel said. He shot to his feet and reached for Lorna’s arm but she was already out of her chair and off the porch, her hand clutched around a kitchen knife she’d drawn from the pocket of her apron.
Royce and his son were gawking at the brother and sister with stunned expressions on their faces.
“Is there a law against it?” Lorna snapped.
“Aye, my lady, there is,” Royce replied. “Why are you asking?”
“Because…” Lorna started to say but her brother stepped off the porch, coming at her with a fierce grimace stretching his fine features. He put out his hand and she made a vicious swipe with the knife and he leapt back to keep from being sliced.
“Have you lost your mind?” Daniel bellowed. “Give me that damned knife!”
“You come any closer to me Daniel Ray Brent and I swear to God I will gut you, you cowardly bastard!” She backed up, edging her way closer to the border of wyndstones.
“My lady, be ca
reful where you step!” Royce’s son warned her.
Lorna glanced down and behind her, saw the stones, and stopped. She stared into Daniel’s angry eyes. “What do you think Papa will say when he learns you cringed in your room while I was being brutalized last night, Daniel?”
“Shut your mouth!” Daniel shouted.
“Do you think he’ll be proud of you once he learned you let a man rape his only child and never lifted a hand to stop it from happening?”
Royce swung his startled attention from Lorna to her brother. “What’s she saying, Rev? What happened here last night?”
“Cailean McGregor raped me, that’s what!” Lorna shouted. “And my useless brother allowed it to happen!”
“Cailean?” Royce asked with a gasp. “Nay, he’d not do such a thing!”
Daniel turned to the smithy. “She belongs to Cailean by sanction of the Tribunal. It is he who has been designated çhiarn ny çheerey by Elder Jubal.”
The smithy drew in a quick breath. “Cailean will be the new laird?”
“They could not have picked a better man,” Royce’s son said.
“Aye,” Daniel said, “and now you know why there was no crime committed here last eve.”
“No crime?” Lorna shouted. “You don’t call rape a crime, Daniel?”
“Ayns Cairys ny Laird,” Daniel stated. “The rights of the laird. His word is law here. Nothing is denied him.” He took another step toward her and she back up until her bare heel was almost touching the closest wyndstones.
“My lady, please watch where you step!” Royce called out.
Lorna was aware of the white-washed stones behind her. She knew what she had to do. She would not become the forced mate of any man on the Hill. The thought of being at Cailean McGregor’s mercy sent a chill down her back. Her fingers tightened on the knife handle and she lifted her foot with every intention of crossing the wyndstones. So intent was she on fending off Daniel she did not see anyone sneaking up beside her until the hard edge of a hand was slammed down on her wrist and the knife dropped to the ground. Whipping her head around, she saw Euan McGregor’s angry face beside her and she tried to leap over the wyndstones but he snaked out an arm to circle her waist, jerking her off her feet and away from freedom.
“No!” she shrieked, clawing at his arms but his hold was like iron around her. She twisted in his grip until Daniel grabbed her flailing arms to pin them behind her. Her furious shouts and screams were ignored as Euan dropped his grip down her body until he had her legs trapped.
“We’ll take her to the jail,” she heard Euan say. “Cail is up at Dyer’s Knoll consulting with Lady Belle and won’t be back until evening.”
“Let go of me!” Lorna yelled, bucking in Daniel and Euan’s hold but they carried her easily between them.
The people of the Hill stopped what they were doing to stare. Lorna begged for their help but soon realized no help would be offered. The men were looking at her with flint-hard eyes as though she had committed a heinous crime although the women would not meet her wild gaze.
“Please help me!” she pleaded until she was hoarse.
Several men in black were standing in front of the small building Sam had told her was the jail. The door was open and when her captors took her inside, the cloying heat struck her like a hammer blow.
“Daniel, please!” she cried. “Don’t do this!”
“You brought it on yourself,” he said again.
The cell was windowless and the heavy iron-studded door had only a small covered peephole. As she was carried into the six feet by eight feet room, she realized the walls were covered with iron plate. It would be an inferno.
Shrieking as she was dropped unceremoniously to a thin pallet, she struggled to her feet quickly but Daniel and Euan hurried out, closing the door in her face as she reached it. She pounded the panel with her fists, yelled, but she knew it was fruitless. There was no light in the room and the smothering heat soon had her drenched in sweat.
“Are you sure he can’t get in?” Daniel asked, cringing as the door shook beneath his sister’s vicious pummeling.
“Nay, Daniel. He can’t get to her there,” Euan said. “Not with the iron sheathing to block his powers.”
The men left the building, closed the entry door and stood watching as one of the Elders slipped a heavy padlock in the hasp.
“All this could have been avoided,” the Elder remarked.
“Aye,” Euan agreed, “and Cail isn’t going to like what we were forced to do. He believes he can bring her around.”
“I’ve my doubts regarding that,” Daniel said. He plowed a shaky hand through his hair. “She is a stubborn wench.”
“Give her an hour to come to her senses and then have one of the men go in to give her water,” Elder Jubal said. He looked pale and weak as he stood beside his best friend and fellow Elder Jamie MacLeod. “She must not die.”
Inside the sweltering cell, Lorna dropped to the floor—her hands clawing at the door. She could barely breath it was so hot.
“Chrysty,” she moaned. “Where are you?”
There was no answer and she doubted there would be. From all the reading she’d done on the occult she knew the iron plating would keep him at bay.
* * * *
Chrysty paced the confines of the room to which he’d been summoned and cursed. He had felt Lorna’s fear and anger but there was nothing he could do about it. Lilith had called him to Her and would not allow him to go to Lorna’s aid.
“She must be taught,” the Witch Goddess told him still again. “She must see the men of the Hill for what they are. When she does, she will come willingly to you.”
“I want McGregor’s head on a pike for what he did to her!” he snarled.
“And I have told you that you will have whatever piece of him you want once he’s served his purpose,” the goddess said calmly. She was lying on a chaise covered in sleek black silk, Her long black tresses curling around her like vines. Her red eyes bored into him as She lifted a milk-white hand to curl Her index finger toward Her to beckon him.
The Nightwind wanted to ignore that flexing digit with its inch-long scarlet nails but he could not. She owned him and when She bid him come, he had no choice but to do as She demanded. He went to the chaise and hunkered down beside it.
“She is my Chosen, Mo Regina,” he said. “When she hurts, I hurt.”
Lilith put Her palm to his cheek. “That is as it should be, pretty boy,” She replied. She caressed his face. “She will be uncomfortable for a few hours then the McGregor will fetch her home to his cabin.” Her ebony eyes glistened with malice. “He will believe her cowed and willing, grateful for his intervention. It will not occur to him until it is too late that there now lurks in her soul a vengeance the likes of which he could never imagine.”
“At least allow me to go back to the Hill, to be close to her. The moment she is out of that place…” he began but She shifted her fingertips to his lips to still them.
“Dearling, listen to Me,” she said firmly. “You must not go to her until she calls again. She believes you have abandoned her but once she is deep in the forest with the McGregor, away from prying eyes and suspicious ears, she will try one last time. It is then you will appear and—only then—to offer her the way to take her revenge on the menfolk of her clan.”
He hung his head. Arguing with the goddess would do no good. She would have Her way and it was up to him to obey.
“Pray don’t pout, Chrystian. You boys can be so petulant,” she said.
A great sigh issued from his parted lips. He had met a few other Nightwinds over the centuries and, of course, Duncan and Allyn were now part of the goddess’ cadre of demons though She seemed not to give them much notice. Those he had met who actively brought women into the Sisterhood had all died horrendous deaths because of the fickle fancy of a faithless woman. Only one other demon had found his true love, his Chosen, and even that woman had ultimately betrayed him, casting him back to A
byss.
“Do not pity Syntian Cree, sweet one,” the goddess said, reading his mind. “He will soon be leaving his lair.”
Chrysty looked up. “You are going to allow him to join his lady?”
Lilith shook her head. “That one is far from this world and thus beyond his reach. I will find him another upon whom to vent his passions. He has atoned for his sins these last two thousand years.”
Cringing at the thought of being confined to the muck of the Abyss for so long a time, Chrysty could not imagine the torment his fellow Nightwind had suffered. He didn’t want to imagine it, grateful he had not incurred the wrath of a woman bent on punishing him as Lauren Fowler had punished Syn.
“He will not be in a good frame of mind when he returns,” the goddess said.
“I would think not,” the Nightwind agreed.
* * * *
Neither was Cailean in a good frame of mind when he was told the woman who was to bear his name had been incarcerated in the hellish hole that was the jail. Fury pinched his handsome face as he strode purposefully to the jail and when he saw the lock barring his way, cursed a blue streak. He spun around and marched to the blacksmith shop two buildings over.
“Who the hell locked the jail door?” he yelled at Royce.
“The Elders,” the smithy replied.
McGregor growled, picked up a sledge hammer from Gilmore’s workbench and strode back to the jail with the handle gripped tightly in his hand. It took one powerful one-handed swing of his muscled arm to shatter the lock. He didn’t bother with the handle, just lifted his foot and kicked the door in, cracking the lintel. Growling like a wounded animal, he jerked back the bolt securing the cell door and pulled it open.
Lorna was lying unconscious on the floor, no doubt having tried to gain even a modicum of air coming in through the crack around the door. She had kicked off her shoes, unbuttoned the bodice halfway down her chest trying to get cooler. Bending down, he scooped her up, wincing at the feel of her overheated body in his arms. Her long hair swept against his calf as he carried her out of the jail and toward the healer’s cabin. He barely broke stride as the healer opened his door and stepped aside.
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