Fraser 02 - Highland Quest (13 page)

“You murdered my uncle using the same excuse, one that holds no credence on Scottish soil. I’ll not see an innocent man put to death on my account.”

“Please dinna take him.” Maeve crossed the room with a wild cry, then clung to Dungal’s arm, but her plea went unanswered. He shook her free with a force that sent her crashing to the floor.

Fergus’ back stiffened and his expression turned lethal. As if given the strength of ten men, he broke free of his captors and lunged at Dungal. “I’ll kill you with my bare hands if you ever touch my wife again.” He raised his fist, then grunted as Dungal’s brother struck him hard on the back of the head with the hilt of his sword.

Fallon watched in horror as Fergus tumbled to the floor in a heap. Blood matted his gray hair and trickled down his cheek.

“What do you want me to do with him?” Dungal’s brother nudged Fergus with the toe of his boot. Getting no response, he wiped the blood from the grip then sheathed his weapon.

Fallon’s heart clenched. This was her fault. Fergus had only been trying to protect her and now he would surely swing from the gallows. No matter how much Maeve begged, Dungal would show no quarter. He’d feel compelled to set an example.

Dungal bent down, fisted his hand in Fergus’ hair, and raised his head. “I warned you,” he snorted and released his grip, allowing Fergus’ forehead to strike the floor with a loud crack. “Drag him out of here and put him in irons. He’ll give you no trouble. Pick two men to accompany you and take him back to the camp. The rest of us will meet you there.”

“Nay! Please dinna take him.” Maeve made another attempt to intervene, but Fallon grasped her arm and held her in place.

“You canna stop them, Maeve. Fergus would be furious if he knew you tried. I know how much you love him and want to help, but there is nothing you can do.” Her voice trailed to a whisper and tightness squeezed her chest as Maeve sank to her knees sobbing. She wanted to offer the older woman comfort, but Dungal’s hand wrapped around her upper arm and he yanked her away.

“Now, my little chit, tell me about your visit to the Bruce’s camp. Did you go for a roll in the grass with Fraser while there?” He lifted a stray strand of hair from her shoulder and twisted it around his finger.

“Dinna speak to me in such a lewd manner. I dinna go to the Bruce’s camp and I roll in the grass with no man.”

“A good tumble is exactly what you need. If I raise your skirt, mayhap you’ll be more cooperative.” Dungal dragged her into his embrace. “Either Fraser is a eunuch, or you are lying.” He buried his face in her hair and nipped at her neck.

“I told you before, I’d rather die than permit you touch me.” Fallon struggled to break free. She pounded on his chest with clenched fists and tried to knee him in the groin when he refused to release her.

Dungal trapped her wrists and held her at arm’s length. “Your death can be arranged, but I have plans for you first.”

Maeve slowly climbed to her feet, her face flushed and streaked with tears. “What do you intend to do with her? She is innocent, as is my husband.”

“You’re wrong, Madame. I can give you a list of her offenses. She will be interrogated at length then accompany me to Loudon Hill as my prisoner.”

“What do you hope to gain from this? For her to go with you without an escort is not proper, and arresting her will serve no purpose,” Maeve pressed.

“As long as she is in my company, Fraser will think twice about attacking my camp. When the time is right, I will offer to trade her life for his.”

“You have no intention of honoring such an agreement, do you?” Fallon fought to hide the tremor of fear in her voice. “Bryce won’t fall for your trickery.”

“I have no intention of letting either of you go.” His sinister laugh filled the inn. “Once Fraser gives himself up, I will present you both for execution.”

Chapter 13

Fear and uncertainty gnawed at Fallon’s belly as she was unceremoniously taken from the inn. There was no point in fighting or trying to escape—not yet. Dungal’s size and brute force were enough to deter an attempt. Being surrounded by the enemy dashed any hope.

Dungal lifted Fallon onto his warhorse, swung his leg over the animal’s back, and mounted behind her. He dug in his heels and the powerful destrier sped away, leaving a cloud of dust and a spray of dirt and gravel in their wake.

Heavily muscled arms encircled her waist as he gripped the reins and guided the beast through the winding streets of Turnberry. Certain she’d tumble over the animal’s neck at any moment, Fallon furled her fingers in the coarse, black mane, and prayed she’d remain seated.

Within minutes they arrived at the MacDougall camp on the outskirts of the village. Greeted by the shouts from his men, Dungal slid from the saddle, pulling Fallon with him. She spotted Fergus tied to a tree a few feet away. He sat slumped over, eyes closed, with his chin resting on his chest. His age-weathered features were ashen. Without regard for her own safety, Fallon bolted to his side and fell to her knees.

She gently stroked his brow. His skin felt clammy beneath her trembling fingertips. “Fergus. Speak to me. Please.” She tapped his cheek with the flat of her hand, but he didn’t respond. Her eyes shot in Dungal’s direction. “He is badly injured. I must tend to him.”

Dungal stomped toward her, clasped her wrist, and hauled her to her feet. “You’ll grant him no boons by prolonging his life. Better he die now than to wake up and find the noose around his neck.”

“He’s a Scot and so are you. Have you no honor or pride in your heritage? Where is your compassion?” A swift backhand sent her tumbling to the ground. She tasted blood and her head spun, but she refused to cry out or cower before this brigand.

“Talk back to me or dart off like that again and you will sample a lot worse.” Dungal reached for her arm, but she swatted his hand away.

“I dinna need your help.” Fallon rose on wobbly legs, stumbled, but managed to remain upright. With her shoulders squared, she crossed the camp with Dungal shadowing her every move.

They stopped at a large canvas tent and Dungal threw back the flap. “Get in.” He waited for Fallon to do his bidding, took a moment to speak to one of his men, then followed her inside.

“Is this where you stay?” Fallon glanced at the dimly lit surroundings for possible means of escape. Unfortunately, the only way out appeared to be through the front opening, and Dungal had that heavily guarded.

“Aye. This is where I sleep when we make camp for an extended period of time, but dinna get accustomed to these comfortable conditions. We usually bed down on a pallet of leaves under the open sky.”

A glimmer of hope shot through her mind. Mayhap she’d be able to escape during the journey. Dungal couldn’t possibly watch her every minute and when he was distracted, she would make her move.

Dungal strolled closer, but stopped suddenly and spun around as the tent flap opened and his brother entered.

“I dinna believe the rumors being bandied amongst the men. Now I know them to be true. Are you daft?” His brother glared at Fallon.

“Stop babbling, Keith. Speak your mind then get back to work. I want this camp dismantled, and expect to be on our way within the hour,” Dungal snapped.

“You canna bring a lass along. She’ll be nothing but trouble. I’ve also heard she brings bad luck.” Keith spat on the floor.

“What do you propose I do with her?”

“Hang her for treason along with the old man and be done with the matter. Aymer will be waiting for us at Loudon Hill and we dinna need the added burden,” Keith concluded.

“She is coming with us. I’ll not have my authority challenged. Should any man step out of line in her regard, I’ll personally sever his head from his shoulders.” Dungal opened a wooden chest, pulled out a clay jug, then removed the stopper and brought the vessel to his mouth. After imbibing, he offered the flagon to his brother.

Keith waved him off with a sweep of his arm. “What about Fergus? He is in a bad way.”

“No thanks to you.” Fallon’s words spilled out.

“He got what he deserved, as should you, but Dungal’s head is up his arse, and he thinks with something other than his brain.” Keith grabbed the crotch of his trews and made a lewd gesture.

“Enough.” Dungal capped the jug, tossed it into the chest, and slammed the lid closed. The glower on his face spoke volumes. “If you weren’t my brother, I’d kill you where you stand. Dispose of Fergus however you see fit. Hang him or run him through. The method of execution is unimportant.”

“Fergus is not some mad dog to be put out of its misery. I demand you set him free,” Fallon blurted. “He’s a good man and was only trying to help me. If someone must die, take my life instead.”

“Silence! Dinna give me orders. The decision is made and Fergus will be executed.” Dungal glared at his brother. “I expect this to be carried out quickly. Finish him off then prepare to move out.” He faced Fallon and pointed to the pallet on the floor. “Sit and dinna give me any reason to tie you up. I have issues to attend to. The door is heavily guarded and if you try to escape, I’ll not go easy on you.”

His harsh words and the way he glared at her caused the hairs on her neck to bristle. Had he read her thoughts on running away? Rather than challenge him, she bit back the urge and lowered herself to the pallet. The moment Dungal left the tent, she dropped her head, cradling it in her hands. The image of Fergus’ death brought tears to her eyes and a sob to her throat, but she managed to choke them away.

Her fate was yet to be determined, and minutes dragged until the guard poked his head inside the tent. “Dungal gave me orders to fetch you.” He held back the canvas, allowing her to pass. “He doesna like to be kept waiting.”

Following the guard’s demands, she stepped outside, pausing long enough for her eyes to adjust to the bright sunlight. Behind her, the tent was collapsed, the musty smelling canvas rolled before being secured to a packhorse. The speed with which the warriors tore down camp astounded her.

“Dinna make any sudden moves. Dungal told me to stop you any way necessary.” The guard slid his hand over the hilt of his sword.

“I understand.” Fallon’s search of the encampment stalled on the tree where Fergus had once been tethered.

Tears burned her eyes and a rush of emotion squeezed her chest. His lifeless body swung from a high branch, a rope around his neck. She crossed herself and offered up a silent prayer, hoping he had not regained consciousness before the execution. Her heart ached for Maeve and guilt hammered at her soul. He’d given his life in an attempt to protect her. A debt she’d never be able to repay.

“The same fate awaits the Bruce and his sympathizers. Best you keep that in mind.” Dungal clutched Fallon’s arm and dragged her toward his horse. In one swift move she was in the saddle. He hopped on behind her, then kicked his steed into a trot. The men fell in behind them.

“Nayyyyyyyy!” A woman’s hysterical cry echoed around them, but no one turned.

“Maeve,” Fallon whispered. “She was waiting for us to leave so she could tend to her husband.”

“The fool failed to consider the ramifications of his actions. He now leaves behind a grieving widow.” Dungal’s cynical tone held no hint of remorse.

“You are a heartless bastard, a kin to the Devil, and destined to spend eternity in Hell for your deeds.”

“Remember that and we will get along fine. I dinna have time to play games.” Dungal molded his chest against her back and growled in her ear. “Fergus was as good as dead, and I granted him a boon. He died a martyr like your uncle.”

His hot breath caressed her neck. She shuddered with disgust. Would he honor the threat made to his brother and slay any man who dared to get out of line? Did he include his own actions in the oath? The intimate press of his manhood against her backside and the rub of his muscular thighs against hers indicated otherwise.

Dungal kept a quick and steady pace, stopping only once so she could tend to her needs. They rode for hours, putting a fair bit of distance between them and Turnberry. But as the sun dipped behind the trees, he slowed his steed to a trot, eventually coming to a halt in a small clearing where he dismounted.

She tamped down the urge to dig in her heels and send the horse into a gallop. Despite her skill as a horsewoman, she knew she’d never outride a band of trained warriors.

“We’ll make camp here.” Dungal tipped his head back, taking in a cloudless sky. “The night will be fair. There’ll be no need for tents.” He moved to the left side of the horse and lifted her out of the saddle.

Dungal’s cousin approached, his eyes trained on Fallon. A suggestive grin curled his lips. “Where will the lass sleep?” He circled around her, sizing her up and down as if she were prize livestock at town auction. “I’d like to take her for a tumble when you’re done with her.”

“No one tups the chit.” Dungal balled his fists at his sides, his face flushed red and contorted with anger. “She will remain untouched. Her virtue—what little is left—will be my reward for a battle well fought. Providing she doesn’t do something to warrant it sooner. In any event, I will decide who beds her and when. Do I make myself clear?”

His cousin inclined his head and backed away. “Aye. Very clear.” He stormed off, grumbling beneath his breath.

“How dare you insult my honor?” Fallon raised her hand to strike him, but Dungal deflected the blow.

“My informant gave me more than enough reason to question your virtue. He reported what went on between you and Bryce Fraser during your stay at the Bruce’s camp.” Dungal’s lips spread to an evil grin. “If you knew I was in the Bruce’s camp, why did you not say so when you abducted me from the inn?”

“Your denial served to prove my point. You are a liar and canna be trusted. My spy also verified that you are not the innocent maiden you pretend to be. A night spent in the forest, performing lewd animal acts, hardly attests to your innocence.”

Heat rose in Fallon’s cheeks. “Your informant lied. Nothing indecent happened between Bryce Fraser and me. We got lost and it was too dark to travel.”

“I dinna care if you are chaste or not. I prefer my women with experience.” He fisted his hand in her hair then yanked her head back.

She stared into lust-filled eyes, causing her stomach to tumble. He captured her mouth in a ravenous kiss and forced his tongue past her lips. She bit down hard.

He yelped in pain, but refused to release his hold. He twisted her arm behind her back until she whimpered in pain then ravaged her mouth again.

When he finally let her go, Fallon staggered backward and wiped the smudge of his blood from her lips. “You’re a vile creature and I pray you rot in—”

“We’ve already established my destination.” Dungal’s sinister laugh rebounded off the rocky cliffs surrounding the glen. “I like a woman with spirit. Breaking you will be an enjoyable task.” His wry smirk quickly changed to a menacing glower. “Sit down and dinna give me any trouble. Killing you before I have the chance to sate my needs would be a shame.”

Standing atop Loudon Hill, Bryce surveyed the open area below. Made of volcanic rock, the high prominence was nestled amidst smaller hills and grassy moors. The strategic position offered an unimpeded view of the area in all directions and a man could see for several miles. At the foot of the hill was an expansive, flat plain surrounded by boggy marshland.

Here, Robert planned to confront Aymer de Valance. The place where eleven years ago, Wallace defeated the English Lord Fenwick, the man William believed responsible for his father’s murder.

When Bryce and his brothers were still lads, his cousin Simon told them about Wallace’s victory at Loudon Hill and of other pivotal battles in their war with England. He couldn’t wait until he was old enough to wield a sword and join the patriots on the battlefield. Now, he stood on the same ground where his cousin had fought shoulder-to-shoulder with William Wallace and won.

A blend of anger and grief filled him. He missed Simon and wished he were alive to see this battle. Bryce slammed a fisted hand against his open palm. With any luck, he’d have his chance to seek revenge on his behalf.

He joined Robert as he doled out orders to James and Alasdair.

“Take some men onto the plain and have them dig three long trenches. They must be deep enough for the men to hide and wide enough that the English horses canna jump them. Start at the edge of the bog surrounding Loch Gait and work inward, across the flatland.”

“Do you want them dug clear across?” James asked.

Robert shook his head. “Nay. You must leave several narrow gaps of solid ground. By doing so, we can slow the English advance and pick them off as they funnel through. Those who try to leap over the trenches will be impaled on our pikes.”

“Similar to the tactic used by Wallace at Stirling Bridge,” Bryce pointed out.

“Aye. The enemy outnumbers us five to one. If only a few can reach us at a time, our odds greatly improve. I learned a lot from William and men like your cousin Simon.” Robert lowered his head and crossed himself.

“We all did.” Bryce mimicked Robert’s show of respect, a lump forming in his throat.

Alasdair stepped forward. “Best we get started. I will take fifty men and begin the trenches. In a couple of hours, send replacements. By working nonstop we will complete the task well before de Valance arrives.”

“He is on his way. One of his men arrived a few minutes ago with a missive from de Valance.” John Kennedy moved to the front of the line and offered Robert a piece of vellum with the seal of England binding it closed.

Robert’s expression darkened. “How did he get into our camp and where is he now?”

“The messenger arrived under a flag of truce, and I was sure you would want to know immediately. Dinna
fash
. We have him confined and well guarded. We willna permit him to return to de Valance. He already knows too much,” John explained.