The Bruised Thistle (The Order of the Scottish Thistle)

by Ashley York

  The slate roof of the chapel lay hidden among the trees past the barn. She was moved by the quaintness of the windowless stone structure. The interior had little light and the moveable, wooden benches were lined up and ready for service. The lanterns that hung along the walls were just waiting to be lit.

  “It is beautiful.” She spoke in a reverent whisper.

  Seumas faced the front of the chapel, gazing around as if stepping back in time. A small smile played on his lips. “My family spent many a day in this place.” He glanced at her. “This is the only chapel around. The priest would come every season for a visit.”

  Iseabail thought of her own family’s chapel and its disuse since her uncle’s arrival. That would not be the way for her family.

  He stepped up closer to the wooden cross, the branches it had been made from still showing their rings and notches. Something caught his eye and he moved in to take a closer look. His body tensed.

  Iseabail came up beside him. “Is something amiss?”

  “I cannot believe it.” His voice was quiet. He picked up something small, rubbing it with his fingers, and inspecting it closely. Tears filled his eyes. She placed her hand on his arm and leaned in to see.

  “What is it?” He opened his palm to her. A small conch shell rested there. “A shell?” He held it closer so that she could see the little design carefully carved out of its center. A cross. “It is beautiful. Did you make it?”

  He shook his head. “It was a gift to my mother.”

  “From whom?”

  “Giles gave it to her when we were six years old. My mother kept it with her right up until she died, and my father returned it to Giles. I cannot believe he still has it.”

  A sweet boy had turned into a ruthless man. His sobbing face flashed in her mind. Mayhap not so ruthless anymore.

  Seumas’s emotions played across his face as he struggled with what to do. His childhood friend had intended to kill him. No one had asked why.

  Seumas nodded as if to himself. “I need to speak to Giles alone.”

  Iseabail followed him back into the light, walking quickly to where Giles had accumulated a small pile of his belongings and was placing them on a wooden cart.

  “Hold, Giles,” Seumas called to him.

  Iseabail waited where she was. She sat at the small table as the two men headed into the barn. She understood Seumas’s turmoil. Giles had once been an important part of Seumas’s life then something had happened to turn him into a vicious man.

  Seumas came out of the barn, seeking out Iseabail. Giles was close behind him and did not make eye contact. They were not smiling, though it seemed they had come to an understanding.

  “Giles will be staying in the barn until he can find another place to go.”

  Giles continued into the barn with his little cart of worldly possessions.

  Seumas came toward Iseabail looking somewhat more peaceful. He quirked a smile.

  Iseabail glanced at the barn. “How long will he be here?”

  “He will go tomorrow to see if he can find work closer to the sea. Mayhap there is a family that requires help. He is still strong and hardy.” He turned toward her more fully, and she went into his open arms. “Let us begin again.” He stepped away to smile down at her. “Come, my love, see yer new home.” He swept her up into his arms and brought her to the front door.

  Seumas ducked to clear the entryway as if he had done so a million times before and placed her in the middle of the room. Iseabail looked around with delight. A large stone fireplace with shelves flanking either side sat before her, and an open area with a simple table for taking meals was to her left. The light streamed through the window beyond, casting a glow on the bouquet that sat in the middle of the table.

  Iseabail gasped in pleasure. “Your home is beautiful.”

  “Our home,” he corrected her, hands on his hips.

  She went to push the small wooden bench in closer to the table then straightened out the tapestry that hung at the window overlooking the yard. Gently, she fingered the material, now bare in spots. No doubt made by his mother. She could well imagine the woman toiling away at the flowers decorating the material.

  She smiled at him. “I would enjoy making a home for you anywhere, but this is especially pleasing. I have the history of your own dear parents to guide me by their spirit.” She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close.

  “I have more to show ye,” he whispered in her ear before nibbling it. “Will ye come with me?”

  She nodded, and he led her up the center staircase to the top floor landing. The three chamber doors were centered around this opening.

  “You have many rooms.”

  Seumas smiled sheepishly, “Methinks we will be able to fill our rooms just fine. What say ye?” He rubbed her stomach suggestively. “Perhaps we already have a start.”

  The thought of her being with child gave her pause. How wonderful that would be. She tilted her head, giving him a saucy smile. “You have certainly been doing your part, m’lord, to make that happen.”

  He beamed at the compliment, before making a determined face. “I am not one to wait for the desired results. Come. I will be happy to do my part again.”

  He took her hand, and she allowed him to lead her into a bedroom that was magnificently laid out in comparison with the simplicity of the rest of the house. A large four-poster bed covered the far wall, with windows flanking either side. She squealed in delight, bouncing on the bed. It creaked under her as its ropes pulled tighter. Iseabail got up on all fours and beckoned to her husband.

  “Come, m’lord, let us see again to that growing problem you keep having. Methinks we can surely master it this time.”

  His kilt fell quickly from his body, and her teasing shifted to longing. She inhaled slowly as she perused his splendid body. She admired the rippled muscles along the length of his thighs as he approached her. He stopped beside her, his eyes beseeching her to touch him. She licked her lips and dragged one hand down the length of his torso to his stiffened rod. She wrapped her hand around it, squeezing gently. He closed his eyes and groaned.

  “Would it not be fair to say I do my part?” She began a rhythmic push and pull against him.

  His moan sounded low in this throat. When he opened his eyes, his raw desire pierced her, stilling her hand. He tunneled his fingers under her hair, pulling her against his length, ravaging her mouth. The intensity caught her off guard, but he held her to him, his body giving her its own answer.

  “I want to fill ye until ye cannot take any more,” he said.

  Her head lolled to the side as he sucked at her neck. She shivered against him. “Yes, fill me.”

  Leaning her back, he slid his hand up her leg, taking her dress up with it. “I cannot wait. I need ye now.”

  “Do not wait,” she whispered her encouragement, spreading her legs for him.

  He entered her quickly, and she moaned in pleasure, every part of her attuned to the sensation.

  “I want ye to grow heavy with my child,” he whispered against her ear as he rocked into her. “Let it be here and now.”

  She tilted her hips up to better receive him. “Give me your seed,” she panted against his mouth.

  He moved more quickly until he was thrusting into her. He slipped his hand under one leg, lifting her, and entered her more fully. The sensation was exquisite, and she yelled out his name as he did indeed pleasure her, spilling his seed deep in her womb.

  His chest heaved when he rolled off her. Tears were in her eyes as she snuggled into his embrace.

  He was breathing heavily and placed a kiss on her head. “I cannot get enough of ye.”

  She kissed his bare chest. “And I hope you never will.”

  Chapter 32

  Seumas left Iseabail to explore her new surroundings as he became reacquainted with his family estate. He avoided the barn. He had told Giles to keep to himself, that he would allow him a few days to get settled somewhere else. Seumas had sympat
hy for the man, but knew he could not be accepted back.

  He walked to the top of the slope, which gave way to the moors beside the ocean. Seumas looked out over his land. A great swell of pride filled him. His land. His father’s land. His father’s land before him. His own children’s land. He glanced back at the house. If he had been a more selfish man, he would have gone back there now and made love to his wife yet again. He should have been satiated, but the more he had of her, it seemed the more he wanted. He sighed acceptance. She should have some time to herself.

  As he walked along the few remaining rows of rye and barley, Seumas could see that Giles had not exaggerated about how hard he had worked to bring the farm back. It would not have taken long for the fields to be overgrown with weeds. Giles had worked hard and done well.

  Closing his eyes, Seumas breathed in the unique mix of salt air, heather and fallow earth. He had never thought to know that smell again. Overcome with joy, he needed to share this wonder and all but ran down the hill in his excitement to bring his beautiful bride to experience his fondest memories of the place. Would she mind the interruption? Hopefully not. And if he made love to her again? Well, perhaps he was a selfish man after all.

  *****

  Iseabail smiled as she watched Seumas trudge up the hill to survey his land.

  What a wonderful feeling. His land, our land, our home.

  Sighing, she started to remove the few cooking items—pots and jars—from the shelves alongside the walls to place in a wooden tub she would use as a washstand. Humming a tune as she worked, she glanced out the window. Giles stood at the barn door. He turned toward Seumas, hands on his hips. A shiver ran up her back. When the man was gone, she would feel better.

  She realized the tune was a song her mother had sung to her when she was little, when things were safe. Iseabail stopped, a small cup in her hand. The cloth fluttered in the breeze at the window.

  What was the next line?

  She closed her eyes and imagined her mother’s face as she sang. Starting again at the beginning, Iseabail hoped it would come to her.

  What was it, Mama? How did the song go?

  Her mother turned to look at her. The song stopped. The touch on her arm made Iseabail jump. Her eyes flew open, and the cup dropped to the ground. The crashing sound sparked her memory as the disjointed notes tumbled through her mind.

  Giles towered over her, his breath overpowering when he smiled. He had come in so quietly. Her breath hitched in her throat. She took a step back and tried not to look panicked.

  “Giles, you scared me.”

  His eyes seemed vacant. He was standing too close. She stooped to retrieve the pieces of the broken clay cup. It had been such a pretty little cup. The blade glittered beneath the shelf, and she hesitated only a second. Surprise was her only defense. It was cold against her hand, the hilt fitting perfectly in her palm.

  “Seumas has gone to the field if you are looking for him.”

  He already knew this. She hid her hand in the folds of her skirt. Giles had watched Seumas leave. She had hoped it would remind him it was not appropriate for him to be in the house with her alone. He moved in even closer. Her heart raced. She tightened her grip around the small wooden handle that lay against her thigh. Why would he want to ruin everything he had worked for simply to bother her? Certainly she was overreacting.

  Giles slowly looked her up and down, taking in every detail and pausing short of her face. Dread spread through her. Perhaps she was not. She had seen that look too many times from dishonorable men. Her chest rose sharply with her shallow breathing and heat flooded her face at his blatant expression of appreciation. Like a blast of cold air, she realized Seumas had been right. Giles was a bad man.

  “Shall I get Seumas for you, then?” she asked as calmly as she could, hoping to break the trance that her bosom held on him. “Giles?”

  He finally looked her in the face. His eyes were wide, a deep frown on his forehead. He looked so lost that she felt bad for the assumptions she had made about him.

  “Are you not well?”

  He made no move. Gave no answer.

  Directing him to the table, she said, “Perhaps you should sit down.”

  She moved toward the table to pull the bench out, but Giles took her arm in an iron grip. She swallowed the fear making its way up her body. His was the face of a tortured man.

  “Giles, please.” She said it firmly, trying to reach him. Stop him.

  Seumas was gone for the day. Help would not be coming if things turned worse. She squeezed the wooden handle tighter.

  Giles shook his head as if trying to clear it. “Please?” He looked out the little window that faced the fields.

  His expression held a faraway look and too late Iseabail realized the truth. He was insane. Her gut tightened. All sound seemed to cease. There would be no reasoning with someone who had no capacity for it.

  The haunted eyes turned back to her, wide and unfocused, but his expression softened. “Seumas got you, too? Why am I not surprised?” His grip on her arm loosened, his fingers lightly caressing. Bile flooded her mouth. She glanced at the door. What were the chances she could make it past him? Which fields had Seumas gone to? She bent her elbow slightly, trying to remember the proper thrust needed for the dagger.

  “Aye, Giles.” Her voice sounded unnaturally high. She cleared her throat and forced a smile. “We have not been married very long.”

  “Can he see to your needs, Lady Iseabail?” He held her gaze, adding in a whisper, “All of your needs?”

  Iseabail jaw tightened. Bastard.

  His lips curled up at one side. “I did all I could to make sure he would not be able to.”

  And you failed miserably.

  The cruelty of his words reminded her of the scar Seumas bore, a scar which had caused him to believe he would never be able to have a wife or children. The malicious statement cut to the quick.

  Giles quirked a brow.

  “Tsk. Tsk. It was only what he deserved.” His voice was flat, and his gaze searched her face. His dark, hooded eyes paused on her lips, the tip of his tongue darting out to wet his own. “You are too beautiful. He does not deserve you.”

  Iseabail’s jaw cramped as she ground her teeth. She had fallen for Malcolm’s charms and been used by her uncle. She pressed her lips together to stop them from trembling. She would not be treated so again. Giles worked his fingers around her neck, into her hair. The muscles in her arm tightened.

  “He has always had everything, you know. A father who loved him and treated him with respect. A farm where he could raise a family and provide for them.” His eyes narrowed, as if in pain, when he looked away from her. “Why did he have so much when I had so little?”

  Why did men always feel the need to explain their cruelty? The thought surprised Iseabail, but she knew it was true. Her uncle had said he did it because he loved her mother. Malcolm said he would violate her so that she would have no choice but to marry him. They all thought their words could justify their deeds. Misdeeds.

  Giles’s grip loosened. She took advantage of it and pulled away. He yanked her back against him, his snarling face contorted with rage, then shoved her against the wall.

  She hissed in pain.

  No, no. Not again.

  He gripped her throat, and her eyes brimmed with tears.

  “Methinks not, my dear. He is wrong!” His angry voice filled the small house. “He does not deserve everything. I should get something.”

  He ground his hips into her, flattening her against the wall. The shelf dug into her side, pinning her arm down. He grabbed her chin, yanking her head toward him. She turned away and fragments of the little cup crushed beneath her feet. With his hands on either side of her face, he held her head still, his angry mouth slashing across her lips. His body effectively kept her nailed to the wall and her hand clamped to her side.

  “No.” Speaking against his crushing lips, she fought to keep the panic from her voice. “Do not do
this, Giles.” Her arm could not get free, but she twisted the dagger so that the blade pointed up, the way Seumas had taught her. “You have a chance for a new life.”

  He grabbed the hem of her gown and tugged it up, breaking the hold that kept her arm in place. He slid his sweaty hand up her thigh, and she saw again her uncle’s leering face. Giles’s arousal was solid against her leg.

  She shifted to free her arm. “This will not do you any good.”

  “Oh, it will,” Giles said. “I have not had a woman in a very long time.”

  She closed her eyes and braced herself. He hiked her skirt up higher and rubbed his calloused hand up her thigh.

  I can do this.

  The smell of her uncle’s putrid breath surrounded her.

  Never against my will. Never again.

  Malcolm’s leering face as he laughed at her filled the room.

  Giles forced her legs apart.

  One. Two.

  “It will be enough to take his woman since I could not take his life.”

  Three.

  She slammed her knee into his groin as the little knife found its mark under his ribs. His muscles seized as he released her, and he groaned. She gagged and shut her eyes tight but jerked the knife deeper. Her hand grew sticky where his lifeblood trickled down the knife. His body arched in response and his head fell limply to her shoulder. She shoved him away from her, and he dropped to the floor. Her heavy panting was the only sound in the room.

  The crack of the wooden door hitting against the wall and the burst of fresh air forced her to open her eyes. Seumas hesitated in the doorway, his hair blowing about his shoulders.

  “Iseabail—” His eyes widened as he took in the scene. “I heard Giles yelling— What has happened?”

  Her knees buckled.

  He moved closer, stepping over Giles’s crumpled body.

  Iseabail collapsed against him.

  “Are ye hurt?” he asked.

  “No man will ever take from me again, Seumas.” The tears flowed down her cheek, seeming to contradict her words, but the determination that grew in her chest would not be denied.