Celtic Fury (32 page)

It all happened so quickly. She was no match for the strength even in one of Rory’s hands as it had locked around her wrist to drag her to Caleb’s mount. Brielle was thrust up beside him. Shawn had a hold of Liam and they began to ride so fast, it nearly knocked the wind out of her. She could feel Ruiri’s anguish as they were hastening away. She felt his hurt as if it was her own. Then she realized, it was her own, for if he hurt, so did she…and she had caused his heart to nearly burst in his chest at her unkind words. All she succeeded in doing was hurt the only man she would ever love. He was not going to leave the fight. She should have realized that from the start. She had failed him. She felt his disappointment and anger. Oh…his anger was something she hoped never to unleash again. It was horrible and dark, born from pain and it ripped at her own heart like savage claws. She had succeeding in one thing, for sure. She had succeeded in breaking his heart; something she never really wanted; something she would never be able to forgive herself for.

Ruiri, I love you, please believe me…I lied to protect you
…

As she thought those words as they were almost beyond his sight, he turned for a brief moment; his eyes meeting hers, as Caleb was taking her away. Instead of hearing “I know” or “I love ye’ too
,”
she felt the full force of his fury. It felt so far from love, that it shook her to her very core. He quickly turned his back on her and joined in the fray. Caleb did not say a word to the girl. He was too angry with her to trust himself to speak to her. He knew why she had done what she did, but that still had caused irreparable damage.

*****

Liam lapsed in and out of consciousness and Caleb was afraid that he was going to lose two sons this day. One had surely died from the terrible words that would have pierced Rory as sure as the arrow that had pierced Liam. He had seen the look of fury and despair in Rory’s eyes and he hoped that Rory knew the lass didn’t mean any of it and that she was trying to protect him. It was just that the look of desolation was back in his son’s eyes. Had her words destroyed the fragile trust he had newly won? Had Rory’s soul been damaged again beyond repair? That fact could cause
Rory
to not care if he lived or died. Then there was Liam; the arrow still protruding from his side. The wound could be mortal. Caleb had seen many a man die from just such a wound. It would depend greatly on the removal of the point. God only knew how far it had lodged and if it had nicked vital organs. Caleb did not want to think of the gruesome task ahead of him in the removing that shaft from his son’s side.

*****

Ruiri heard Brielle’s words as plainly as if she had spoken them out loud. While he wanted to rejoice in them, he could not. His brother may have suffered a fatal wound and it was all Rory’s fault. Many of his men were engaged in battle, but he could see they were easily taking down whatever for
ces were left to Campbell’s rag-
tag group of fighting men. It was time he faced the
“D
emon
S
pawn
”
once and for all.

Brielle’s state had not gone unnoticed. She still had traces of welts and bruising obviously born as a result of slaps against her fair and delicate face. She had been neglected and abused. She looked like she had not eaten in days. Her clothes were tattered and not more than rags. Her hair was wild an
d
unkempt. The battered state of his wife was almost too much to bear. It was time to finish this!

Rory made his way into the keep. The unnatural stillness, coupled with the squalor of the place disturbed Rory deeply. He knew he was entering the
den of a man who had succumbed
to madness. At the smell of putrefying refuse, Rory, wanted to hurl. This was where his precious Brielle had been kept? It was not fit for beasts, let alone his beloved wife. Making his way further into the keep, Rory actually stepped over what he was pretty sure was vomit. What sort of barbarian would not clean up his own puke? He knew that Roderick was prone to the drink and surely, having been in his cups a few times, he knew that nothing short of purging one’s stomach could alleviate the effects from over partaking of the drink. But surely, someone could clean up such a thing. That was, of course, unless it was so much a daily part of Roderick’s life, that it had become the norm. Rory made his way through the castle, picking his way carefully through the tumbled down mess that was now Castle Campbell. He was wary of potential hiding places, where Roderick or any of his henchmen could be hiding, lying in wake of ambush.

Rory called, “Roderick Campbell, face me, ye
’
feckin’ coward, once and for all!”  Rory could swear he heard the maniacal laughing of a lunatic as answer to his call. It sounded as if Roderick was just above him. Rory made his way to the stairway leading out of the main hall. As Rory took the stairs two at a time, he once again heard the maniacal laugh of a madman. Then he heard Roderick taunting him.

“The rabid wolf has come to meet his end!!!! Oh how I shall enjoy watching you die. As much as I enjoyed watching your harlot’s blood spill. Did she like my cupid’s arrow?”

Keeping his anger in check, Rory focused his energy in ro
uting out this crazed murderer. Now was not the time to get pulled into the horrible trap of emotional blackmail.
Rounding a corner, Rory came face to face with Roderick Campbell at last. Roderick’s face was nearly purple with rage. He was clouded by violence and Rory could see the obvious signs of madness in his eyes. This madman had held Brielle. It was almost too unbearable to imagine. Circling Rory, Roderick said, “Finally…face to face with the Cur of MacCollum.” With swords drawn, they faced once another.

“T’is been a long time, since I rid the world of yer
’
pasty faced breeding bitch. Who would have thought the arrow meant for ye
’
would have found a home in her breast instead…but when I heard she was carrying your bastard, I was glad to have rid the world of one less MacCollum.”

Those words ended any resolve Rory may have had and they caused him to charge.

“Ye’ bloody bastard! I will have my revenge. Ye’ should have killed me that day, for ye’ will wish ye’ had when I am through with ye’.” 
Roderick laughed at the threat.

They parried briefly
.
Rory’s sword connect
ed
with Roderick’s, but Roderick’s hands were not steady from his years of drinking. While he was sober now, the abuse of the drink had taken its toll on him. He knew with a sword he would
never
win against Rory MacCollum. Rory thrust forward, pushing him further into the room. He took full advantage of the physical weakness in this man. Hatred and vengeance seared through Rory’s veins, thrumming like the very pulse of his life’s blood. He let the darkness lose; finally succumbing to its unholy lure. It actually felt good to give in to it, having kept in check for so long. He slashed savagely, ever pushing Roderick into the corner. Too long had Rory controlled and tamped down the rage. Rory’s eyes blazed with the bloodlust, rampant like a fever. He stalked Roderick like a feral animal locked on his prey. His eyes seemed to pin Roderick, not wavering in his stare. Rory, almost felt transformed. Perhaps he was that monster after all, because he suddenly only wanted to tear this evil bastard apart.
Knowing this suddenly did not feel so abhorrent. No, in fact, it felt
empowering to finally face this human demon before him.

As he pressed Roderick further, Roderick stumbled, nicking Rory’s upper arm as he fell. Rory barely felt the cut, hardly aware of anything save the darkness and violence that had finally taken hold. He thought to finish Roderick now; finally avenging Caitlyn. It was going to be over soon. He would have his vengeance once and for all. Rory could taste the victory.

Roderick had fallen behind a large moldering armchair. Rory slashed his way toward the rotted furniture, building the momentum. His great sword whirred as he swung it through the air, cutting through the deadly silence with a thrumming vibration
, as if ringing out a warning to his foe
. Only, what Rory could not know was that when Roderick fell behind the chair, it had been deliberate. As Rory approached, Roderick quickly leapt to his feet, aiming a cross bow at Rory’s heart. He would not have been able to best him with a sword, but at this close distance, he could easily skewer Rory with a dart from the bow.

“Ye’ cocky shyte
!
Now who will have his vengeance? Ye’ dishonored my sister, stupid whore that she is, and ye’ think to best me at my own game. Nay
,
whoreson, I have waited long for this day. Drop yer’ weapon.” 

Rory’s fingers flexed on the hilt of his sword. It was
not
going to end this way. He had underestimated Roderick’s madness and forgot that this man was a man without honor. He hadn’t come this far to end up pierced by a crossbow.

“Fight me like a man. Grab your sword.”

Drawing back, Roderick knocked the crossbow. He had a vision of pinning Rory through his gizzards to the wall. Spittle formed at the corner of Roderick’s mouth as he savored that thought. Rory took a step back slowly, still holding his sword aloft. Roderick laughed evilly. He wanted to goad Rory further and so he said, “I made sure that harlot was punished. I passed her around to my me
n like the common whore she is.
And now, go to yer’ grave knowing that she is breeding…but ye’ will never know if the bastard she carries is yers’ or one of my men’s. There were at least five that enjoyed her
, and I watched each one with joy
.” 

Rory’s throat expanded downward, swallowing the bitter gall that had risen up at those horrible words. At that latest taunt, he lost his sense of reason, no longer able to keep the fury at bay. He charged forward, vaguely aware of the trigger release clicking into place. Rory’s warrior instinct made him duck and roll as the arrow zipped passed his shoulder
, slicing a bit of fabric from his leine as it whizzed by
and embedded into a paneled wall
;
the wood splintering around the shot. Rory was sure that upon standing, another point would be quickly aimed at him. He only had seconds to finish Roderick, for there would be no where else he could duck, this close to his enemy. Rory knew he had to get up, because he was only a sitting target in that position on the floor. He knew his warrior’s training and agility would sustain him
while he was on his feet, but
nothing could be done while
he
remained tucked on the floor. Rory carefully straightened and stood. Every nerve was tensed to the ready as he waited to hear the clicking of the knocked arrow into place. Rory stalked slowly toward Roderick, watching him pull the crossbow into position. Rory knew he would only have one chance
only
to charge before the arrow was released and he waited for precisely the right moment to cleave the bloody bastard in two. He locked eyes with his nemesis, knowing this was it…only one man would live to tell the tale at the end of this. Rory raised his sword in a deadly arc, preparing to bring it down on Roderick with full force.

Only, Rory never heard the crossbow being re-knocked. Instead, he saw it clatter to the floor. There before him sat Roderick; all color blanched from his face. A livid crimson stain spreading garishly across his chest. A dirk was lodged in his left breast. Rory turned to see Stephen MacDougal standing in the doorway.

“MacDougal, what …is this
,”
Roderick gurgled as blood seeped up into throat.

“That is for my brother Charles and for Lady Caitlyn…and Lady Brielle, ye’ sick bastard. May yer’ soul rot in hell.” 

“I’ll see ye’ both there
,”
he spat, blood spewing out of his mouth. With a final roar, Roderick pulled the dirk from his chest, flinging it across the floor. That action caused his heart to pump its last beats, pulsing blood from the gaping hole in his chest like a geyser and Rory watched Roderick’s eyes glaze over in the surprised mask of death.

Rory turned
from the grisly scene to face
Stephen and he said, “I owe ye’ my life.”

“Nay, it had to end here. I suspected he would not fight ye’ like a man, but use some dishonorable tactic.”

Silence stretched between them as Rory digested the horrible words that Roderick had said just before he died. Stephen finally said, “I heard what he said to ye’. Even if it was true, she is yer’ woman. She may have had violence done to her, but she is still yers.” 

Rory felt anguish tearing at his heart. He had still been holding his sword aloft and in rage, he drove it into the floor. It hummed and quivered as it stuck deep into the worn plank of the floorboard. A tormented sound left him and he said, “Oh God…if it is so, how will she ever want a man to touch her again? She was na’ a whore…she was never with a man before me.” 

Clapping Rory on the back, Stephen felt the sorrow Rory was experiencing at hearing such a terrible thing.
Many a lassie had such things done against their will. It was terrible, to be sure, but
having gotten to know Rory in the last few weeks, the MacDougal knew he would be the man to help the girl heal.