When a Laird Loves a Lady (Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts Book 1) (37 page)

Lachlan set his hand on Iain’s
shoulder from above him on the stairs. “We will triumph.”

Iain nodded. “We must.”

Froste’s fetid breath fanned Marion’s face as he
pulled her roughly to him. She was acutely aware that only the thin material of
her léine separated her skin from his bare chest.

I’m going to be sick!
her mind screamed, as he captured the edge of her léine and started pulling it
up. Her mind flashed to the time when she had tried to teach Iain to dance, and
the lesson had ended with him stripping her of her léine. That had been like
Heaven while this…this was Hell.

Her ruse to keep Froste from
joining with her had finally run its course. His watchwoman had reported
Marion’s flux had come and gone, and he’d appeared like a nightmare. Froste’s mouth
found her neck as he roughly tugged her clothing higher and higher. There was
no fear in her, only a deep disgust and fierce boiling anger. She tried to buck
away, but he crushed her between the wall and his body. Frantically, her gaze
darted around the room, praying there was something to kill the man with that
her father’s knights had left behind.

Her heart lurched with excitement.
The maid who’d come in with Froste not long ago had left a tree branch by the
fire that she must have used to tend to it! If Marion could reach it, she could
hit him in the head and flee.

The man pressed a slobbery kiss to
her neck again, and she flinched, in spite of knowing she had to feign to like
it long enough to get him to release her. “Be at ease, Marion. This can be
pleasurable, I assure you.”

That was it! She’d play up to his
arrogance and pride!

“I don’t want to fight you, but I’m
afraid,” she whispered. “It was never pleasurable with my husband,” she added,
trying to instill a sense of shame into her tone. “And I’ve never seen a man’s
body. He always joined with me in darkness.”

Froste pulled backward and stared
at her with astonishment, then his mouth curved into a smirk. “I should have
known a filthy Scot would not know how to please a lady. And what a fool the MacLeod
was not to see your body clearly by a blazing fire—or better still the
daylight,” Froste added while running his gaze over her. She clenched her jaw
against her revulsion. “Tomorrow, I’ll join with you in the daylight, but
tonight”—he looked around the room—“go tend the fire.”

She had to bite down on her cheek
to stop herself from showing any relief as he released her. This dim man was
used to giving orders, and this time was no exception.

Nodding, she stepped around him and
ambled to the hearth, thinking on how to take him unawares. She grimaced as she
realized unclothing was the best way to distract him, but she was prepared to
do anything to escape that man joining with her. She slowly turned in a languid
motion, met Froste’s stare, and pulled her clothing up over her head. She let
the garment drop in a puddle at her feet, her stomach roiling violently.

“Do you like what you see,
William?” she asked, using his Christian name. Her voice didn’t hold the
slightest tremble. Iain would have been proud.

A lecherous look came to Froste’s
face. “Very much.” He started toward her, and as he did, she bent down, picked
up the thick branch, and stuck the tip of it into the fire as if she meant to
tend to it. Her pulse raced as she heard him draw near.

She gripped the wood tightly. If
she didn’t kill him, or at least cause him to swoon, he’d surely kill her, but
she could not—
could not
—stand meekly by and let him take her.

“Marion, face me so I can see you
again,” he said in a low voice that made her stomach churn. She stood and turned
toward him, swinging the branch hard. It smacked him in the face. He howled as
the fire singed his flesh and the wood made a deep gouge across his cheekbone.
Blood poured from the wound, but when his feral gaze locked on her, she knew
with terrifying clarity that she’d not hit near hard enough to kill this man.
Bellowing his rage, he raised a hand to hit her, and she scrambled to lift the
wood once again to defend herself but he swatted the branch away from her. The
branch fell to the floor at her feet.

His hand clamped like a vise around
her neck. “You bitch,” he snarled, spittle flying from his mouth. “You will pay
for that dearly.” His grip became tighter and tighter until specks dotted her
vision and the room spun. He was going to kill her, but still she wondered if
death would not be better than his touch. Sluggishly, she remembered Iain. She
would live for him. She began clawing at Froste’s hands, even as someone
pounded on the door.

“Froste, open the damn door! The
Scots are here!” her father roared.

Froste released her, and she fell
to the floor in a heap, so close to the fire that heat consumed her.
Instinctively she shoved her body away and curled into a ball, holding her neck
as she gasped for air. His hard footsteps pounded across the room, and then the
sound of the door banging open reverberated around her.

“We’ve a problem,” her father said,
but Froste’s reply was muffled by their footsteps as they walked away…leaving
the door open!

Marion didn’t waste a second. She
crawled to her gown and jerked it on as she ran to the window that pointed out
to sea. Like spots in the ocean, ships peppered the water, and hope and fear
both bloomed within her. She was sure it was Iain, but she was also sure that
she had to do something to help him win the battle. She hurried out the door,
paused to make sure there was no one to see her, and then continued down the
stairs toward the front entrance. If she could somehow get to the drawbridge,
perchance she could lower it.

The main keep was deserted, which
didn’t surprise her as everyone would have been ordered to take up arms. As she
burst outside, the sounds of men and horns filled the twilight. As far out as
she could see, the moat and the bailey below teemed with knights. She started
to make her way to the stairs that led to the bailey, but a hand clamped on her
arm.

“Lady Marion, get back inside to
safety. The Scots are already winning the battle!”

“What?” Marion gasped turning to
look in Peter’s face.

“Don’t worry!” he rushed out. “We
will triumph!”

He’d misunderstood her. She jerked
out of his hold. “You’ll not triumph, Peter,” she said, raising her voice over
the deafening noise. “My father is trying to take the throne from King Edward,
and the king is my husband’s ally. Even if Father wins now, King Edward will
come for him. You must take me to my husband and join with him.”

Peter gaped at her. “Baron de Lacy
means to overthrow the king?”

Marion nodded. “With Froste’s help.
Please, Peter. Feign that you’ve captured me and help me find my husband. I
love him!”

Peter was a good man, and she could
see him battling between his vow to her father and his duty to the king.
“Edward is your king,” she nudged. “Your duty to him comes before any vow of
fealty to my father.”

Peter nodded. “Come.”

He took her by the arm, and they
made their way down the stairs and through the crowds of knights and servants.
No one questioned them, presuming, she was sure, that Peter had her in hand.

Her heart raced as they came to the
inner bailey, where chaos reigned. Everywhere she looked, knights fought Scots,
sword to sword. The drawbridge had been lowered, and Scots poured forward into
the bailey. Yet there was something else—or rather someone else—coming to their
aid. She squinted but could not make out the banner, until Peter exclaimed,
“It’s the king’s men!”

Iain did not let anyone who got in his way slow him
down. He cut Froste’s and de Lacy’s men down as they came toward him. Most men
fell with one easy blow, but a few of his enemies required two. Lachlan was by
his side, and Lachlan ended as many lives as Iain did. Around them, Scots from
the MacDonald and MacLean clans, along with King Edward’s knights, fought
alongside Iain to destroy the potential usurpers and rescue Marion.

Iain battled his way into the
bailey, searching the sea of faces for Marion. Was she out here? Or was she
locked in her room or worse, the dungeon? All Iain wanted was to find her, and
as he finished fighting yet another knight, he turned in a circle, trying to
determine where Marion might be in this melee. And as he did, he caught sight
of the one man he was certain would know—Froste.

Froste strode directly toward him,
sword in hand and a snarl on his face. Blood covered one side where a deep gash
was. Froste sneered at Iain. “You’ve proven to be a worthy opponent.”

“Ye’ve nae,” Iain responded. “Where
is my wife?”

Froste circled his sword in
readiness to fight, and when Iain saw one of his men move toward Froste, Iain
ordered him back.

“Where is Marion?” Iain demanded
again, his rage flowing through him like a river.

Froste’s mouth twisted into a
lecherous smile. “Your wife is naked in my bedchamber where I left her after
enjoying her body and killing her.”

Reason left Iain in a blinding
flash of red. He charged Froste, as if he’d waited a thousand lifetimes to kill
the man. Their swords met in a loud clash, swiveled down in an arc, and then
drew upward once more. As Iain surged forward and then was driven back, he had
to fight not only Froste but himself. He could not let his anguish consume him
and defeat him. Froste drove him back ten paces before a deadly calm finally
descended and Marion’s face faded in his mind, along with all noise. He
defended every strike Froste offered and then turned the tide and unleashed his
rage with one brutal blow after another.

Marion could not see Iain anywhere in the crush of
bodies, and then suddenly, there he was. To her right, near the newly built
stables, Iain battled Froste.

“Peter, come!” She grabbed his
hand, and they dashed around fighting men as they made their way toward Iain.
Marion gasped at the sight of her husband in a frenzy of fury, delivering
repeated blows to Froste. Her breath caught in her chest in horror and relief
as Froste staggered and then fell to his knees after Iain sliced through the
man’s chest plate with his sword. Froste’s sword clattered from his hands, and
as the man looked up at Iain, Iain lifted his sword.

“For Marion,” he shouted, bringing
his sword swiftly back down and ending the man’s life with a clean cut.