Betrayed (32 page)

“This time,” Krayne promised in a deathly quiet voice, “William Jardin dies. I will annihilate the Jardin bloodline if it’s my last deed on this earth.”

His mother pulled back to look him in the eye. “You will not harm your wife?” she pleaded. “No matter that she’s a Jardin, Amber is innocent, I feel it in my heart.”

“Amber is a Johnstone,” he said, rising to his feet. His mind was already formulating plans to take the Jardin down, but right now concern for Amber took precedence. “I must find her.”

“Go,” Johanna said, smiling weakly, “go to your wife, son.”

Krayne marched circles through the convent. She was neither in the chapel, nor the refectory, nor any of the gardens. He stopped to peek inside each building, questioning everyone he came across.

By the time he reached the stables, he was mildly irritated.

When he heard that she’d mounted her mare almost an hour ago and ridden from the convent, he was fit to do double murder. First the nun who’d helped her saddle the mare and happily waved her off. And then his wife, who was absolutely befuddled to think it safe to ride alone, wherever she thought to go. He prayed she told the nun the truth, that she only wanted a brisk gallop to clear her head, and that she had not run off again.

She should have returned by now.

“Andrew! Gavin! Jock!” he roared, bringing the three men running from the well where they were taking a drink of water. He explained the situation as he saddled Cronus and strapped his broadsword to his back. “She might have taken a fall…or worse.”

“These hills be riddled with scavenging Elliots,” Jock said dourly.

Gavin added, “And whoremongering Armstrongs.”

“Enough,” ordered Krayne, mounting his stallion and leading the search party through the fortified doors that stood open. Beyond the convent walls, the ground was soft from the early morning dew and he had no difficulty following her fresh tracks that led through the wooded glade.

Surely she wasn’t going home, Krayne wondered uneasily as the trail veered southward along Mossgrain Burn and to the stone bridge they’d crossed last night. Other side the bridge, the tracks changed to a northerly bearing, to the Hart Fells and the endless range of craggy mountains.

“Jesu,” exclaimed Gavin, who’d cantered up ahead. “What have we here?”

Krayne spurred his mount forward to join Gavin. His gut twisted at the scuffle marks left by too many hooves to count. “They come from the direction of Swatte Fell.”

“And head east ta the River Annan.”

“Let’s pray it doesna rain,” Krayne muttered, turning Cronus and kicking in his heels to a flying gallop, following the conspicuous trail left by the bandit army.

The undulating land was mainly gorse and heather, giving him an unhindered view except for the hills. His heart was pounding, and fear plucked his nerves like a bloody harp. Knowing he’d be no good to anyone if he continued thus, Krayne shut down his mind, his heart, the very lifeline to his soul, and clamped his jaw with iron control that would not be released until his wife was once more safely in his arms.

Worried that they’d lose the track at the River Annan, Krayne was relieved to find the outlaws had crossed at a narrow bend and continued directly east. His relief was short-lived, however, for they then came upon the well-travelled Roman Road lying west of Moffat and the band of riders could have gone either way.

“Gavin and Andrew, ye go south. Jock will come with me.”

The Roman Road continued north through thick forest on one side and mountains with many clefts and niches on the other, perfect coverage either side to lose oneself in and make camp for the night. The sun had already reached its noontime high and was starting its descent to the west.

Krayne prayed the outlaws were known to him and had taken his wife for ransom. The other option, that they’d simply come across a beautiful lass riding alone and decided to have some sport, was too horrific to contemplate.

Amber was exhausted from both vented fury and fear. The men had come upon her so suddenly, she’d been surrounded before she could even think of fleeing. She’d screamed and kicked and clawed, but there were too many. They were too strong. She’d been blindfolded and trussed, and flung across hard thighs, and so she’d been riding for hour upon hour. She’d long ago lost any sense of time and place. Her body was bruised, and she could feel the ache in every jolted segment of her spine.

At last the horse slowed from a racing gallop to a trot. Branches tore at her gown and scraped her legs. She had nothing left inside to cry out with.

“We make camp here,” called an abrasive voice.

A moment later, she was dragged from the saddle. Rough hands tore her blindfold off and unbound her wrists. She blinked away the white and black spots dancing in front of her eyes as those same hands grabbed her arm and shoved her against the base of a tree.

“Sit still if ye dinna wanna be tied agin.”

Rubbing her wrists, she glared at the scruffy ape. His body was short and thick, and every visible part of him seemed to be covered in matted brown hair, save his eyes and mouth. She shivered with revulsion as he stroked her cheek with one of those fingers.

“Leave the bitch be, Danny.”

Her eyes flashed across the clearing, to the dark-haired man who’d barked the order. He was tall, broad in the chest and would not have been wholly unattractive if not for the cruel sneer that seemed to be chiselled across his jaw.

“We’ll all have a taste soon enou’,” the ape in front of her snickered before strutting off.

Her fingers clenched into the folds of her skirts as his meaning folded white-cold shards of fear through her gut.

She had to escape or die trying. The gloaming was not yet upon them, but the dense foliage provided ample shadows and dark tunnels she could scurry beneath. What were her chances? It mattered not. She pulled her knees up and hunched on her feet, keeping an eye on the men who were momentarily distracted as they tended the horses and made camp.

Her eyes narrowed on one who seemed vaguely familiar, and then her resolve hardened as she placed him. She’d swear he was one of Maxwell’s bandits, one of the two men she’d seen crossing the derelict courtyard while she and Hob had peered from the wall.

This was Richard Maxwell’s doing.

Staying hunched and low, she sidled around the trunk of the tree, then half crawled, half ran through the low-lying bush without worrying about noise. It would take them but a moment to notice she was gone, and this short moment was all the advantage she had.

’Twas not enough. A heavy body brought her down, crushing her face to the ground. Her wrists were clasped tightly at her back with one hand, another anchored in her hair to haul her to her feet. Pain seared her scalp, blinding her eyes with tears.

Her attacker pushed her in front of him, using her hair to steer her.

“I warned ye ta keep the witch tied,” growled the voice behind her as he shoved her to her knees in the clearing.

A voice Amber knew too well.

She rolled over and stared up at her uncle. “I should have known you’d be involved with a blackguard like Richard Maxwell!”

“Shut yer mouth,” he warned cruelly, “or I’ll slap it shut fer ye.”

“What do you want with me?” Amber demanded, too numb to worry about a mere slap.

“Ah,” he snarled. “Eager ta know yer fate, eh? Danny, bring yerself o’er here and show the bitch what she has ta look forward ta.”

A twisted grin marred his face as he stood back and folded his arms.

Amber glanced about her apprehensively. Everyone had stopped what they were doing to gather around in a circle, even the tall, dark-haired man who appeared to be giving orders. So that must be Richard Maxwell.

A tremor went through her as the ape named Danny drew close. She jumped up, kicking and hitting out when he made an attempt to reach for her.

“Firkin’ wench,” he cursed, locking down her arms.

She kicked harder, then raised a knee into his groin.

He flung her away and growled.

“Hold the witch down fer Danny,” ordered William of his men.

She fought for her life, but was no match for the burly men, one grabbing her hands behind her and the other clamping her legs.

Grinning now, Danny came forward again.

Her knees buckled and she knew she was about to pass out.

Nay, she had to fight.

Amber grit her teeth, ready to attack.

Danny clutched a handful of hair at her nape and jerked her head backward, then his fingers gripped her jaw and at the sides of her mouth, forcing her lips open. When his mouth came down on hers, the stench was overwhelming. The moment his tongue slid between her lips, she bit down hard.

He fell back from her with a whine.

Amber was still gagging from the foul invasion when he recovered, stepping up to backhand her across the cheek. Her head spun to the side and stars flickered on her inner lids. She welcomed the pain. Anything was better than the assault of his mouth.

“Enough.”

She opened her eyes to see Richard Maxwell dispatch the crowd with a wave of his hand.

“First we finish the camp an’ then we eat,” he continued, thick brows crossed at William. “The wench will need her strength fer what’s ta come later.”

William conceded with a harsh laugh. “Aye. There’s little sport ta be had if she’s too weak ta struggle.”

Amber’s stomach heaved.

Taking no more chances, her uncle yanked her to the tree and bound the rope around her waist and the trunk.

“Why are you doing this?” Amber rasped. “I am of your blood. My father was your brother. Does that mean naught to you?”

“Yer father was always a weakling. Krayne Johnstone and his vermin brother would be rotting bones in a cold grave by now if yer father had a backbone. My son should have been the next Johnstone chief, but fer my useless brother.” His pale eyes narrowed to slits. “But ’tis that witch of a mother o’ yers that ye can thank fer what’s aboot ta happen.”

“Krayne will kill you for this,” Amber spat.

William chuckled cruelly. “Aye, he would. But see here, yer husband will never know who took ye, now will he? These hills be teeming with outlaws, from Elliots ta Armstrongs ta Maxwells and Littils. All he’ll ever find is yer ravished body. Ah, ’tis truly my one regret, that I canna see his face when he kens ye died in the throes of rutting passion.”

“You’ll burn in hell!”

“Aye,” William agreed, almost cheerfully. “But not afore ye. Keep my place warm fer me, will ye?”

With that, he snorted at his own jest and walked off.

Think,
Amber commanded herself. There had to be something she could do. Was Richard Maxwell a man she could appeal to for mercy? She doubted it. She could imagine at least one of his reasons for aiding and abetting William. For hadn’t she thwarted him, stolen Krayne away from under his nose?

When someone brought a flask over and held it to her lips, she almost refused. But she was parched and needed her strength, just in case an opportunity arose. She drank the ale, and later ate the stale oatcake shoved down her throat. And all the while her mind plotted, but to no avail.

With the descent of night, a small fire had been built in the middle of the clearing. The men sat around it, scoffing down ale and picking at the rabbits they’d roasted. She was offered some, but this time refused, her stomach too queasy to hold down more than the oatcake. Silver light flitted through the leafy boughs from the full moon above. The night was mild, yet a fevered sweat kept her brow damp while deep inside she felt chilled to the bone.

She’d never been this scared, never felt so completely alone and without hope.

Krayne,
her heart cried silently,
I love you. Dear Lord above, how I love and miss you.
But her husband likely hated her, she remembered. In his mind, she’d betrayed him once too often. Her blood was bad, her kin the dredge of Scotland. She couldn’t even blame him for believing the worst.

A shout of jeering erupted, drawing her attention to the fire. With numbing terror, she soon realised that the men were rolling dice for turns to take her. The man who’d jumped to his feet, a savage giant with a black beard and pinched eyes, pounded a fist to his chest and roared in triumph, then looked her way with an obvious leer.

“Sit, ye fool,” barked the man to his left. “I may yet get ta share first place with ye. The lass can take two, if ye ken.”

She shuddered as a roar of laughter exploded into the night.

With a sob that started behind her heart and ripped through her entire body, Amber glanced wildly about her, searching for a weapon, praying only that they would untie her first so that she may spear it through her heart. Just then a movement caught her eye, and she swore she heard her name being whispered on the breeze.

Holding her breath, she peered into the shadows, and then her heart leapt into her throat as the figure of a man moved into a beam of moonlight. Krayne. Dear Lord, how had he found her? What was he doing here?

Tears streamed down her cheeks. He’d come for her, of course. No matter what he believed, what he thought her capable of, she was his wife and he was, above all, a man of honour.

He’d sworn to protect her and he would.

Why on earth had she ever lost faith?

“I love you,” she whispered, blinking back the tears. He stepped back into the shadows suddenly and her eyes darted forward. The giant was approaching.

“Richard Maxwell!” she shouted, her voice as strong as her renewed courage. “Richard Maxwell!”

Laughing coarsely, the giant went around the tree to untie the knots and Amber shouted louder. “I demand to speak with you.”

“Wait,” Maxwell issued as the giant hauled her to her feet.

She was spun about to face the Maxwell bastard as he sauntered closer.

“I have a proposition,” she told him.

The giant growled. “I won fair. ’Tis my right ta lance the bitch first.”

“Hold yer tongue,” Maxwell muttered. “The only rights ye have are those I choose ta give. I’ll hear the wench out an’ then ye can split her with yer lance.”