Helmert shoved hard against her, sending her to the rocky shore. He hovered over her with his hands on his hips. “Who do ye think ye are to speak to me that way?”
Searching for words that would get her point across without losing her head, she told him, “If he hurts her, the MacAulays will have all of yer heads on pikes. Ye ken it as well as I. Please, Helmert, do no’ leave her with him.”
He thought on it for a moment before grabbing her arm and pulling her to her feet. His fingers dug into her flesh. “Verra well, I fear ye may be right,” he admitted. Turning his attention toward Darvord, he said, “Ye will stay with her until night falls, then ye ride as fast as ye can to Stornaway. And do no’ harm her, do ye understand?”
“Ye really wish to take her with us?” Darvord asked with a nod toward Laurin.
“Aye. We all ken how precious Josephine finds her. There’s naught she would no’ do for her safe return,” Helmert said as he pulled her toward the horses.
“We did no’ bring an extra horse fer her,” John MacAdams, a young man of no more than twenty, politely pointed out.
Helmert was in front of him in two long strides. Removing his dirk, he slid it across the man’s throat before anyone had time to react. Laurin stood frozen in terror, her hands flying to her mouth to keep her screams from escaping.
The young man fell to the ground as blood oozed from his throat, with a look of bewilderment frozen permanently on his face.
“Now we have a spare horse.”
14
Darvord watched in stunned incredulity as Helmert, Clarence and the others left him behind. He’d known Helmert for years, knew him to be slightly tetched. But now? Now he was thoroughly convinced the man was insane. He stared down at John MacAdams dead body, unable to fully believe what he’d just witnessed.
“He has lost his mind,” he muttered. “He’s completely mad.”
He heard a scuffling from behind him and remembered he’d been left in charge of the girl. He turned around to see that she had grabbed her dress and was now holding it against her chest. There was no mistaking the fear in her eyes.
He let out a heavy sigh. “Get dressed,” he told her gruffly. “I’ll no’ have ye dyin’ of the ague.”
Turning her back to him, she stepped into her dress and laced it up quickly. Grabbing one of the drying clothes, she wrapped it around her shoulders before turning back to him. “They’re going to hurt her, aren’t they?”
He expelled another long, heavy breath. “Aye, they probably will.”
She was quiet for a long moment. “Are ye goin’ to hurt me?”
Were the circumstances different and had he not just witnessed Helmert slice the throat of one of his own men, he might very well have been tempted to take what he wanted from the girl and just leave her. But he was in no mood for it, no mood at all.
“Nay, I will no’,” he said. “As long as ye do what I tell ye.” He saw no sense in giving her any false hope or letting her believe he wouldn’t.
Her expression said she did not believe him. She left him standing where he was and went to sit on the grass, with her knees drawn up, the drying cloth wrapped tightly around her shoulders. “’Twill be rainin’ soon,” she told him.
He glanced at the horizon. Dark, gray skies were heading toward them. “Could this bloody day get any worse?” he ground out.
In less than an hour’s time, he would have an answer to that question when Albert MacAulay and three other men came bounding toward them on horseback.
15
Their wedding night had been everything Josephine had hoped it would be. Graeme was tender and thoughtful. As well as ravenous and passionate.
They made love three times before finally succumbing to exhaustion just before dawn. It had been everything her mother-in-law had promised it would be. Sweet, passionate, exciting, and aye, Graeme pleased her more than once. She was left with no doubt that he knew exactly what he was doing.
She fell asleep with his arms wrapped protectively and lovingly around her waist, her body pressed against his. Warmth emanated from his body to hers negating the need for the fire that burned low in their hearth.
They spent the first few days of married life, hidden away in their bedchamber, away from the rest of the world. Oblivious to anything taking place outside that barred door.
Eventually, it became easier for Graeme to speak the words in his heart without tripping over his own tongue. Especially when they were in their bed. Why ’twas easier for him to say such sweet words while he was caressing her or in between tender kisses, Josephine neither knew nor cared.
Wrapped in the cocoon of contentment and big, safe arms, she dreamt for the first time in an age. They were older, wiser, and still very much in love, and surrounded by their many children. But something sad hung over her heart, like a thin veil of mist that she could not grasp in her hands no matter how hard she tried. It was there, just within reach, or without, lingering, begging to be seen.
Before she could make any sense of what exactly lay in that foggy mist, they were both roused from their sleep by a great pounding on their bedchamber door.
Graeme was wide awake, alert, and shooting to his feet while she was still trying to wipe the cobwebs from her mind.
“Graeme!” ’Twas Connor shouting from the other side of the door as he pounded his fist against it.
The urgency and desperation in his tone shook what remnants of sleep remained from her mind. Graeme was wrapping a plaid around his waist as he opened the door.
Connor and Bruce came rushing into the room. From their pained and frustrated expressions, Josephine knew something horrible had happened.
“What be wrong?” Graeme asked as he searched for his boots.
Connor and Bruce cast anxious glances at one another before Connor answered. “Mayhap we should speak alone?” He cast a wary and brief glance at Josephine.
Drawing the blankets up, she sat ramrod straight as fear traced up and down her spine. Her mind raced to the only logical place it could: her brother. “’Tis Helmert,” she murmured.
Connor and Bruce shook their heads. “Aye,” Connor answered. “And his friends.”
As Graeme scrambled to dress, Josephine’s confusion grew. “What has he done?”
Another glance passed between brothers.
“Ye best get on with the tellin’ fer she is certain to find out sooner or later,” Graeme said as he tucked his trews into his boots.
“Elise and Laurin were out swimmin’,” Bruce began.
“Laurin cannot swim,” Josephine told them. “She’s terrified of the water.”
“Aye, we ken that. Elise was teachin’ her to swim. They were just preparing to head back to the keep when Helmert and his men came out of the woods.”
Josephine felt her blood turn cold. She stood speechless as she waited as patiently as she could for Bruce to explain what had happened.
“They took Laurin. They want the Gladius.”
Graeme and Josephine stared at him, bewildered. “They have Laurin?” Josephine whispered.
“Aye, but Elise is well,” he said.
“After Elise and Laurin were gone too long for Albert’s likin’, he went in search of them. That’s when he came upon Elise at the loch. The one named Darvord was with her.”
“Please tell me he did not hurt her!” Josephine exclaimed.
“Nay, he did no’ have the time. When Albert found out what had happened, he killed Darvord where he stood.”
Josephine slipped into her robe, slid from the bed and came to stand next to her husband. “I cannot say I am sorry to hear that.”
“Neither am I,” Graeme said. “But we will get her back, Joie, I swear it.”
Numb and dizzy all at once, she nearly fell to her knees. She knew what Helmert and Clarence were capable of.
Before she could utter another word, Albert’s voice boomed from the hallway. “I will kill him. If he has so much as hurt one hair on her head, I will kill him.”<
br />
Albert stood with his hands on his hips, in full battle gear. Chain mail, helm, sword and dirks. The half helm did not cover his face entirely. And it could do nothing to mask his fury. Purple with rage, his eyes afire with barely controlled rage, he stood with his shoulders back and a fierce glare that warned he meant every word he spoke.
“Albert, I be so sorry,” she told him. “I do no’ ken how he came to know about the sword or why he wants it.”
“Joie,” Albert said as he took one step forward. “I do no’ give one bloody wit about the Gladius. Ye are me sister now and I would never do a thing to bring you any pain. But Laurin? I love her with all me heart.”
He needn’t say more. The pain, the anguish, blended with fury, were clearly evident.
“I will not ask you to show any of them any mercy,” she told him.“Laurin is the sister of my heart. Please,” she choked on her words. “Bring her home.”
16
They traveled a good distance but were unable to outrun the rain. Laurin trembled near violently, as the rain beat down, stinging her cheeks and bare skin. Her chemise clung to her skin, as did her dripping hair.
Sharp pains radiated from her wrists, which were bound tightly together with strips of leather. Helmert had bound them as soon as he had tossed her atop the horse.
Silently, she prayed that Albert and his brothers would come for her, would rescue her once again from these evil men. But the closer they drew to Stornaway, the more her hope dwindled.
’Twould be some time before the sun rose again. Even as dark as it was, she knew where they were going and it terrified her. If they succeeded in getting her on a boat and back to MacAdams land, her life was over. Even if Graeme agreed to exchange her life for the Gladius, her life was no longer her own. She would once again be nothing more than a prisoner to Helmert and Clarence. Theirs to do with as they pleased, just as it had been for years.
A small voice began to warn that if she allowed them to get her to Stornaway and onto a boat, she’d not survive more than a few days. Oh, they would keep her alive until they either got the sword or realized Josephine wasn’t giving it up. Either way, her days were numbered.
And what hell and torment would they put her through in the meantime?
Memories of them on top of her, slapping her, taunting her, came crashing through. The countless times they had taken their turns with her and left her in a heap of sobs, only to come back the next night to do it again.
From somewhere deep within, she found at least the courage to try to think of a way out of her current situation. Under no circumstances could she allow them to get her on that boat.
Her mind raced, trying to come up with a solution. She could feign illness, fall from her horse and run as fast as she could for cover. Nay, they would surely catch her before she could make her way to the trees.
The damp cold seeped into her bones as her teeth chattered. There had to be a way out. There just had to be.
Cloaked in darkness, with no moon nor stars, ’twas difficult for them to make their way across these strange lands. Laurin was thankful for the slow pace for it gave her time to plan her escape.
It didn’t matter if she failed or not. A failed escape, even if it meant risking her own neck, was better than what lay in store. Nay, death was preferable to that.
They stopped at the base of a large hill. Clarence was cursing the land, the weather, and the darkness, taking his vengeance out on anyone within earshot. Helmert’s silence was more than unsettling.
The clouds had rolled on, taking with them the rain. A strong breeze came in on the heels of the storm.
“We’ve already been this way once!” Clarence shouted. “We need to head east!”
’Twas next to impossible to tell which way was which, but no one had the courage to tell him.
“Mayhap we should wait until sunrise,” one of the men suggested.
Helmert finally spoke. “And risk the MacAulays catchin’ up to us?” he shot out sharply. “Verra well. If anyone here wishes to make a wee camp, start a fire, warm their bones, and wait to be slaughtered by Graeme MacAulay and his family, then by all means, wait here.” His words dripped with sarcasm.
Clarence was beside Laurin, holding the reins of her horse. He was mumbling under his breath, cursing these lands, paying very little attention to her. Wallowing in his own self-pity, he hadn’t paid attention as the rest of the men pulled away from them to follow Helmert.
She knew exactly where Clarence kept his dirk; sheathed on the right side of his belt. Just inches away and very much within her reach.
Had she moved too quickly, the other men would have been close enough to hear. Had she hesitated too long, she would have missed her opportunity.
Either through divine intervention or sheer luck, she moved at just the right time.
Slowly, with her bound hands, she reached out and felt the handle of his dirk. So lost he was in his own mind, he didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late.
Swiftly, she grabbed the dirk, and with both hands, drew upward, then down, thrusting the blade into his upper chest with as much force as she could manage.
Caught off guard, and then in a good deal of pain, he let go of the reins, too stunned to speak or cry out. Still holding the knife in one hand, she leaned forward, grabbed the reins, and kicked the flanks of her mount. All in the span of a few rapidly pounding heartbeats.
Breathing heavily, fear spiking up and down her spine, her stomach knotted with fear, she pushed forward and away from the men. Holding the reins and knife with a deathlike grip, she kicked her mount’s flanks again, urging him forward, flying across the land.
She had no idea where she was or in what direction the keep lay. All she knew with any certainty was that she had to get away and quickly, before anyone realized what she’d done. She would ride her horse right into the ocean if she had to, for she no longer cared.
Mud kicked up from the horse’s hoofs splattered her feet, legs and chemise. Racing across the land, over the next hill, the wind bit through rain-soaked fabric, but she ignored it. She could barely hear the shouts of angry men through the blood rushing in her ears, her heart pounding against her breast.
Sorely outnumbered, she had only one thing to her advantage at the moment: her sheer will and determination to remain alive.
She dared not look back to see if the distance between her and Helmert’s men had increased or shortened. With unmitigated desperation, she urged the horse on, faster and faster, through the falling evening.
Unable to see anything clearly, she could only feel herself going up one hill then down the other side. Praying the horse’s instincts were better than her own, she gave him full rein, allowing him to lead the way while she begged him to go faster.
Soon, they were crashing through a thicket of trees. The horse slowed ever so slightly as low hanging branches scratched against her skin. Like ghostly arms with sharp claws for fingers trying to hold her back. Crouching low over her mount’s neck, she begged and pleaded with him to hurry, prayed that he would take her home, or at the very least, to safety.
Much to her great relief, they made their way out of the forest. She could still hear the men shouting behind her, cursing loudly, making bold promises of what they were going to do once they caught up to her.
Ignoring them, she tried tamping down the lamentable fear, refusing to give up her endeavor to flee. The landscape soon changed and her mount all but stopped. Urging him forward with her feet and pleas, he snorted, jangling bit and rein before taking cautious steps forward. Soon, she realized they were heading down a very steep embankment. She could not remember going this way earlier and dread crept in again.
Once they reached flat land, the horse splashed through a deep stream, lunging forward. Her feet plunged under the frigid water for long moments before the horse lunged forward once again, up and out and back on dry land.
He struggled up the small hill, but once the land flattened out, he w
as off at a full run once again. Glancing first to her left, then to her right. Ahead, nothing but a purple sky at gloaming, to her left, the sun sinking lower. It was just enough to tell her she was heading north.
The MacAulay keep was northwest of Stornaway and that was about all she knew. With no idea where she currently was, she could only hope that by veering west she would eventually make it to their keep.
Though sunlight would have allowed her a better glimpse at where she was, the dimness currently acted as a welcome shield. Hopefully, they would soon lose sight of her and where she was heading.
The horse was beginning to slow, pushed too far and too fast this night. She had the sensation they were traveling across a glen. Chancing a glance over her shoulder to see how close her pursuers were, she found no relief. They were still charging behind her.
Looking forward, she did not see the felled tree until it was too late. The horse spooked, came to an abrupt halt before rearing. She tried hanging on, but her hands were soaked in sweat and she lost her grip on the reins and the knife. The horse reared its head a second time and tossed her to the ground.
She landed on her back with such force the air was knocked clear from her lungs. Pain radiated up and down her spine as she sank into the cold mud.
Gasping for breath, she struggled to roll over, clawing at the wet earth, unable to find purchase. No matter how hard she tried, she could not get to her feet.
Enveloped in sheer terror and in a good deal of pain, she rolled to her belly. Seemingly out of nowhere, two strong hands grabbed her around the waist and pulled her up.
Horrified, she took in a deep breath, but before she could let loose the blood-curdling scream, one hand clamped over her mouth.
Then she heard a familiar voice whisper into her ears. “Wheest, lass!”
With Love from the Highlands : A Highlander Love Story Duet, One Page 16