Highland Vow (12 page)

“Get off me, ye great fool,” she snapped, refusing to let the man know just how afraid she really was.

“Ye are going to give me what ye have been giving Armstrong,” he said, slapping her hard when she managed to get one hand free and punch him in the side of his head. “Ye willnae get away from me this time, so why not sit back and enjoy it?”

“Enjoy rape? Ye are mad. If ye do this, there will be so many trying to kill ye, ye willnae be able to find a hole deep enough in all of Scotland to hide in. Aye, and I will be at the head of that line.”

Even as she cursed him and threatened him, Elspeth fought him with all of her strength. Each trick she tried, however, was only partially successful. She got her leg between his and brought her knee up, but he shifted just in time and took the blow on the leg not in the groin. She got a hand free and tried to gouge at his eyes, but he turned his head and she got his cheek instead. It quickly became clear to her that Sir Colin was no novice in the raping of women. She began to doubt that she had any trick or move that he did not already know, that he could not anticipate and avoid the worst of.

She tried to concentrate only on the fight, to ignore the fact that he was relentlessly tearing her clothes off. “Cormac will cut ye into tiny pieces and feed ye to the corbies.”

“Cormac willnae get within ten yards of this place. Four men wait outside, eager and ready to kill him.” Sir Colin finally got her bodice open, leaving only her thin linen chemise protecting her breasts. “Ah, such beauties they are. Ye will be a fine ride.”

When he started to bend his head to her breast, there was one brief moment when his head was close to hers, and Elspeth took quick advantage of that. She slammed her head into his. He howled and released his grasp enough for her to shove him off her. Dizzy from the blow, which she thought might have hurt her as much as it had him, Elspeth could not get to her feet, so she had to crawl away from him. She cursed when she felt him grab at her skirts, tearing them.

Elspeth flipped on her back and kicked him in the face, knocking him away again. This time she managed to get to her feet, but took only a few steps before he tackled her to the floor yet again. Weakened and groggy, Elspeth was unable to stop him from pinning her firmly beneath him this time. His triumphant smile told her he knew he was winning and she ached to slap it off his face.

There was still a small chance of getting away, she told herself in an attempt to hold back the waves of defeat and despair threatening to completely flood her heart and mind. He would have to move a little in order to position himself properly, perhaps even
loosen his grip on her wrists and legs, and then she would start fighting again. The moment she tried to shift her position, however, he slapped her, hard. He started yanking at her skirts and petticoats, and she tried to move again. He slapped her again. By the time she recovered from that blow, she wore little more than her chemise and stockings. Elspeth realized that Sir Colin intended to keep her dazed until it was too late for her to protect herself.

She started to pray. Elspeth prayed she would be given one more chance to escape—one that had some chance of being successful. She prayed that, if she failed to escape violation at Sir Colin’s hands, it would not hurt too badly, would not leave her so scarred in mind and heart that she became cold at the mere touch of a man. She prayed that Sir Colin had lied about the four men outside waiting to kill Cormac.

Cormac stared at the little cottage as he crouched in the underbrush. He had been so intent on trying to follow Sir Colin’s trail, he had almost ridden right up to the door. The sound of a loud sneeze cutting through the air was all that had stopped him, giving him time to tether his horse and creep up to a sheltered spot within sight of the cottage.

Although he was desperate to race to the cottage and save Elspeth, Cormac forced himself to wait. Sir Colin had not gone very far after stealing Elspeth away, barely a mile from the village. He could have ridden for a few more hours. Cormac had the sinking feeling that Sir Colin had stopped here because he could no longer wait to possess Elspeth. The thought of that man touching her sorely threatened his control. Cormac wanted to do something, something more than crouch in the shadows, watching the four armed men who stood between him and Elspeth. He waited, continually reminding himself that a blind rush now would just get him killed and leave Elspeth completely at Sir Colin’s mercy.

He tensed when one of the men strolled off into the surrounding wood just to his left. Silently, Cormac tracked him. He caught the man in the midst of relieving himself against a tree. Slipping up behind him, he clamped his hand over the man’s mouth even as he rammed his knife up between the man’s ribs. As he lowered the body to the ground, he felt no real satisfaction. He found such killing distasteful, but had learned long ago that it was necessary sometimes. The reminder that this man would not have hesitated to do the same to him eased the pang of guilt he felt. So did the knowledge that the man had been willing to stand guard over Elspeth’s rape. For a few coins he had become a willing partner in the destruction of a woman.

Returning to his hiding place, Cormac waited for another chance. Three guards were still too many for him to confront openly. If one would just be foolish enough to go after his friend, that would be enough. He had taken down two men before with a dagger and a sword.

The wait became excruciating and Cormac was trying to think of ways he could quickly cut down three men and still make it into the cottage alive when, after a brief conference with his companions, another man slipped into the woods. Cormac caught him as he bent over the body of the other man. He let this body fall next to the other one.

As he silently made his way back to the cottage, making full use of the deepening shadows of late evening, he readied his knife and his sword. Although he had never thought he would be grateful for all those years of running and hiding from the Douglases, he had to admit he had learned a lot. Those hard lessons in stealth were
proving their worth now. He hated the killing, but he was glad he had learned how to do it quickly and quietly.

When he got near enough to see the two remaining guards, he would have smiled if he had not been forced into the position of killing them. They stood together, obviously discussing what might have happened to the other two and trying to decide how best to protect themselves. They were going to make it easy for him.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Cormac started toward the cottage at a steady lope. The moment the men saw him, Cormac threw his knife, catching one man in the throat. The other was ready for him, sword in hand and braced for a fight by the time he drew near. Cormac cursed as their swords clashed. This one would not be a quiet kill. All he could do was pray that it was a quick one—quick enough so that, even if Sir Colin was warned by the sound, he would not have enough time to flee or prepare an adequate defense.

“Ah, so ye are awake again. Good.”

Elspeth blinked and stared at Sir Colin. He had obviously slapped her one time too often and too hard. She was so dazed with pain she was not sure when or why she had lost consciousness.

Her head cleared quickly when she realized that she was no longer on a floor and that she could not move her hands or her feet. Ice flowed through her veins as she looked down at herself. She was lashed by the wrists and ankles to the four rough-hewn posts of a large bed. What horrified her the most, however, was that she was naked. There would be no more chances to escape. She inwardly cringed when Sir Colin reached out to touch the curve of one breast with his fingers.

This was going to destroy her, she decided. Fighting to the last yet still losing, still being taken against her will, somehow did not seem as appalling as this. She would have at least had the comfort of knowing she had fought her fate, had perhaps inflicted some damage upon her defiler. This left her totally helpless. She was laid out like some ancient human sacrifice. He would not have to hit her at all, which meant she would be completely aware throughout her own degradation. Suddenly, she felt utterly terrified, but she fought to hide it, not wanting to give Sir Colin the satisfaction.

“Sadly, aye, it appears I am indeed awake, although I would be forgiven if I believed myself caught in the verra worst of nightmares,” she said, pleased with the chill calm in her voice.

“Helpless and naked and yet ye still try to spit at me,” Sir Colin said, a glimmer of amusement in his expression. “We will breed some fine sons, men worthy of ruling Scotland.”

“I believe there is already a king on the throne and a dynasty set.”

“At the birth of our first son, I shall begin to destroy it. Do ye ken whose house this is?”

It took Elspeth a moment to understand him, his change of subject was so abrupt. “Nay. Should I?”

“Ye took in the witch’s bairn, didnae ye?” Sir Colin sat down on the edge of the bed and took off his boots.

“Ye cannae be the lordling who seduced her and left her with child.” Elspeth grasped at the topic of discussion a little desperately, needing a distraction, for she knew
exactly why Sir Colin was starting to remove his clothes. “Ye arenae dark enough.”

“Nay, I left no bairn in her.” He chuckled. “Claimed she was seduced, did she? The villagers probably killed her simply for the telling of such a huge lie and, worse, thinking all of them were fool enough to believe it. Nay, that lass was born a whore. Most of the men in the area and many of those who made regular journeys to court kenned all about her.” He glanced around the tidy little cottage with approval as he unlaced his heavily padded jupon. “She was beautiful enough to do verra weel for herself.”

“But nay enough for any of those who enjoyed her favors to put a halt to that murder.”

“Of course not. She was a whore and an ill-tempered one at that. And mayhap she wasnae really a witch, but she had certainly done enough to warrant a good hanging. Did ye think that wee, black-eyed devil was the only bairn she ever carried? Nay, she didnae want bairns, but was cursed fertile. Cleaned most of them from her body once she kenned that they were there. When she was too late to do that safely, she birthed them, then got rid of them. Killed two, mayhap more. They are buried out back of this bonny, little cottage along with a mon or two who had angered her. Nay, not the father,” he replied to the unspoken question Elspeth could not hide. “My wee cousin was a hard woman.”

“Of course, I should have kenned it, being that ye are so much alike. What a lovely chat we are having. Just like old friends, we are. Mayhap ye should untie me and I will fetch us both an ale.”

Sir Colin laughed as he tossed aside his jupon and began to unlace his shirt. Then he suddenly tensed. “What was that?”

Elspeth heard it, too. The distinct sound of sword-on-sword fighting now shattered the peace just outside the cottage door. Anything could be happening out there, even an argument amongst the guards Sir Colin had out there. She preferred to think that it was Cormac. She laughed softly as Sir Colin scrambled to get his sword even as the door to the cottage was kicked open so fiercely it cracked.

“Ah, Sir Colin, I fear your death has just come to the door.”

The sight that greeted Cormac’s eyes when he kicked the door open to the cottage nearly made him roar with fury. All that kept him from acting too swiftly and too blindly, endangering himself and Elspeth with the recklessness of rage, was Elspeth herself. Her almost cheerful words nearly made him laugh. And she was smiling at him. She was tied naked to a bed and covered in livid bruises, yet she smiled.

“I dinnae ken who is madder, lass, ye or I,” Cormac said, keeping most of his attention on a coldly furious Sir Colin, who, Cormac noted with relief, was still mostly dressed.

“Ye, of course. I dinnae go about kicking in people’s doors,” she replied, almost giddy with the relief of seeing him alive and ready to put an end to Sir Colin’s insanity. “I dinnae suppose ye will have time to cut my bonds ere ye have to fight with this fool.”

“If I dance close by ye whilst blinding this madmon with my skill and grace, I will be sure to see to it.”

“Thank ye. Weel, go on then. Kill him.”

“Bloodthirsty wench.”

“Now that the two of ye have greeted each other,” Sir Colin snapped, “mayhap we can get on with the business of my killing you, Armstrong.”

“Oh, aye? Do ye think ye can do any better than your hired churls?”

“Killed them all, did ye?” Sir Colin shook his head and tsked. “Your lover is quite bloodthirsty, isnae he, Elspeth?”

“I didnae give ye leave to speak to me with such familiarity,” she said.

“Verra sharp of tongue for a lass tied naked to a bed,” murmured Sir Colin and then he smiled, almost sweetly, at Cormac. “Ye did happen to notice that she was naked, didnae ye? Verra fine skin the lass has. Soft. Verra soft. Bruises a wee bit too easily though. Ah, but so sweet to the taste. Like honey on the tongue.”

It was not hard to guess Sir Colin’s game. Cormac struggled against the fury the man’s words stirred to life inside of him. Fighting had to be done coldly, logically. Some emotion was acceptable, giving one the incentive to continue despite any pain and to kill if necessary. A little caution and care for one’s own life was also a good thing. Rage was not. Rage caused one to be careless, to blind one to everything but the need to wound or kill. Rage could steal away a man’s skill.

Cormac knew all that, repeated the lessons he had learned over and over. It did not help much. Every poisonous word that dripped from Sir Colin’s tongue fed his anger. The mere thought of Sir Colin looking upon Elspeth’s beauty made him ache to kill the man. The thought that the man might have touched her, tasted her soft skin, made him shake with the urge to cut him into small pieces slowly.

Elspeth could see the struggle Cormac was caught in. His anger was winning, and that was just what Sir Colin wanted. A part of her was thrilled that Cormac could be so enraged at the idea that some other man had touched her, but she had watched enough lessons in the art of fighting to understand the risk of such uncontroled emotion. A clear head and a cold heart, Payton had always said, and he well understood the value of those words, for he had struggled long and hard to learn the lesson. Somehow, she had to dim the power of Sir Colin’s venom. She had to break the spell the man was so cleverly weaving.

“Oh, do be quiet, Sir Colin,” she scolded, her tone one of pure irritation. “Ye boast
of false conquests like some untried lad who spewed on the sheets when faced with his first woman.”

The look of astonishment on Sir Colin’s face almost made Cormac laugh. His anger was still there, but Elspeth’s tart and somewhat crude words had brought him back to his senses. She would not be helped if he got himself killed while lashing out in a jealous rage. This was his chance to end the threat to her and he would not fail her.

Sir Colin lunged and Cormac easily deflected the blow. And then Cormac was so caught up in the fight, he had no time to think of the insults inflicted upon Elspeth. At one point in the battle he found a moment to cut the ropes binding one of her wrists to the bed. Then, hoping she could now free herself, he pressed Sir Colin as hard as he could until the man was far away from the bed.

Ignoring the aches and pains in her body, Elspeth struggled to loosen the ropes on her other wrist. She fought against the need to watch Sir Colin and Cormac fight each other, the need to see that Cormac remained unharmed. The clang of the swords, the grunts and curses of the men, made for a distressing background as she slowly undid her bonds. Her arms and legs ached, her bruises throbbed, and her wrists and ankles stung from the rub of the tight rope, but Elspeth ignored it all. When she was finally free, she found her chemise on the floor, where Sir Colin had dropped it, and tugged it on. Sitting on the bed, she looked at the two men who appeared evenly matched, and she wondered if there was something, anything, she could do to help Cormac.

She clapped her hands over her mouth to keep from crying out when Sir Colin’s sword slashed across Cormac’s right arm. It was a shallow wound running from his shoulder nearly to his elbow, but it bled freely. Elspeth knew all too well how that loss of blood could weaken a man. Even if it did not completely weaken Cormac, it would soon steal the strength from his sword arm, giving Sir Colin a deadly advantage.

Even as that concern passed through her mind, Cormac shifted his sword to his left hand and kept fighting with no evident loss of skill. She nearly laughed at the look of astonishment on Sir Colin’s sweat-drenched face. Elspeth knew it was too soon to stop worrying, however. Cormac was still bleeding freely from his wound.

Her eyes began to hurt from watching Cormac so steadily, blinking as little as possible for fear of missing something. Then she saw what she had dreaded—a slight falter in Cormac’s step, a faint loss of the deadly grace he had shown until now. Sir Colin saw it, too, for he smiled. Before she could do anything to help Cormac, Sir Colin slashed his leg. A scream was caught chokingly in her throat as Cormac stumbled and fell. Sir Colin hurried closer, eager to deliver the death stroke, but Cormac rolled out of the way. Sir Colin cursed and lunged again, seeing Cormac as already defeated, for he lay on his side, obviously struggling to move out of harm’s way. That proved to be a mistake. He raised his sword for the deathblow and then Cormac moved so swiftly even Elspeth gasped. He flipped over and sat up in one swift, clean move, plunging his sword deep into Sir Colin’s exposed chest.

Elspeth felt as if everything stopped along with her ability to breath. For one horrifying moment, Sir Colin stood there, his sword still raised to strike, staring in amazement at the sword piercing his body. Then his sword tumbled from his lax hands, and he fell. Cormac barely got his sword free of the man’s flesh before he was pulled along in Sir Colin’s descent.

“Cormac,” she cried, racing to his side as he slumped back down onto the floor.

When she knelt next to him, Cormac grasped her hand. Groggy, weak from loss of blood, and becoming all too aware of the burning pain of his wounds, he was still interested in only one thing. Everything else could wait until he had the reassurances he needed from Elspeth’s own lips.

“Was I too late?” he asked.

“Nay,” she replied. “For all I was splayed out like a gutted salmon, Sir Colin did nay more than fondle me a wee bit. It was quite disgusting, but I shall recover. He was too busy gloating and then he gave me one slap too many. Unconsciousness didnae appeal to him.”

“Thank God.” He closed his eyes. “I believe I will rest now.”

“Do ye think ye could get to the bed ere ye faint?”

“Help me.” He barely stifled a groan as she put her arms around him and helped him to his feet. “And I said rest.”

“Of course.” Staggering a little beneath his weight, she got him over to the bed and barely escaped falling on top of him when he collapsed on top of it. “There, now ye may
rest
and I will tend to these wounds.”

It was not until he opened his eyes to find Elspeth wrapping a linen cloth around the cleaned and stitched wound on his leg that Cormac realized he had passed out. He took note of the fact that he was naked and clean and also that he had a bandage on his arm. It was clear that he had been insensible for a lot longer than he had thought he was. A quick look around the room revealed the blanket-shrouded body of Sir Colin.

“Ah, good,” he murmured. “I won.”

Tucking a clean blanket around him, Elspeth shook her head. “I grow verra weary of trying to keep the blood in your body, Cormac. I begin to think ye are trying to see how much ye have by spilling it all out upon the ground.”

He smiled faintly and lifted his left hand to gently stroke her bruised cheek. “Ye fought hard, didnae ye, angel mine?”

“Of course.” She sighed as she sat down on the edge of the bed. “I kenned I couldnae win, but, aye, I fought him. ’Tis why he kept hitting me. Once he hit me too hard, and when I regained my senses, I realized he had taken quick, ruthless advantage of my unconsciousness. When I found myself trussed up and naked,” she shivered, “I felt so helpless. I realized that, although I thought I had resigned myself to being raped, most of my calm came from the fact that I was fighting him. I dinnae understand why, but I kenned that, if he raped me whilst I was so helpless, it could easily destroy me. He robbed me of all chance to comfort myself with the fact that dishonoring me had not been easy for him.”

“Mayhap by fighting to the bitter end, ye wouldnae feel as if ye had lost all your honor. He could ne’er have taken that from ye, Elspeth, no matter how much he violated you.” He returned her somewhat tremulous smile. “Did he e’er say why?”

“’Twas all because I refused him. He felt he was doing me the greatest of honors by asking me to be his wife, and I spit on it. He told me what a poor choice I was and he obviously felt the sacrifice he had made by even thinking of wedding me deserved my most humble gratitude. My refusal was an insult he couldnae bear. He also thought I had some special gift.”

“A gift?”

“Aye.” She grimaced. “I do seem to be able to, weel, sense what people feel. ’Tis
why I could almost always tell when someone lied to me. Still can. With Sir Colin I could sense when I was enraging him despite how pleasantly he spoke and how sweetly he smiled. ’Tis difficult to explain.”

“I ken what ye try to say. Ye feel more keenly than others. Or see. Or smell. What matter? Ye can see behind the masks. ’Tis a fine gift.”

“Oh, aye. ’Tis a gift from my mother, although she says mine is much keener than hers. It has helped my family elude a trap or two. It sometimes helps me in my healing work, for although pain isnae an emotion, I can sometimes sense where it is. Sadly, I can also sense when a person or an animal is dying. There is a look in the eyes, a smell, a feel to the skin, something that tells me that, even if the person is fighting with everything they have, they cannae win. They are soon to die. I try not to let too many people ken about that part of it. But Sir Colin kenned most of what I can do and he wanted it for his own, wanted to use it to gain power and riches.”

Cormac nodded. “I can see how it might help a mon do that.” He struggled to sit up only to have Elspeth hold him down, and the ease with which she could do so was dismaying. “We must hie back to the village. I left all of our belongings, the bairn, and the cat there. Aye, and your horse.”

“How far are we from the village?” Elspeth asked as she rose to mix him a very mild sleeping potion.

“A mile, mayhap less. I was verra surprised that he stayed so close.”

“Then I will go and get everything.”

“Nay, we cannae stay here. Unless…Did Sir Colin murder the poor soul who lived here?”

“Nay, the villagers did that. This is the witch’s home.”

“Her name was Anne Seaton. So ’tis probably the bairn’s now.”

“Aye, and we shall use it until ye are strong enough to travel.” She slipped an arm around his shoulders, helping him sit up enough to drink the potion she had made for him. “Sir MacRae camped here so that he could be more comfortable as he committed his crimes. It seems Mistress Anne was a cousin of his.”

“Blood will tell. She wasnae a good woman, lass, though she didnae deserve the death she was served with.”

“Weel, I am nay so sure she didnae. Sir Colin said there are bodies buried here. That wee bairn was surely meant to be. His mother cleaned her womb of a few bairns, and if ’twas too late for that, she killed them ere they lived long enough to be seen. Sir Colin implied that there is a mon or two buried here as weel. For some reason she wanted this bairn to live. Drink this.”

“What is this foul brew?”

“Something to ease your pain.”

He drank it, grimacing at its bitter taste. “She kept this bairn to torment his father. She didnae christen the lad because, as she told the priest, bairns often die and she wanted the father to ken that his son had died unnamed and unshriven.”

As she made him more comfortable in the bed, she shivered at his words. “Nay, not a good woman at all.”

“Are ye going to tell the villagers?”

“I do hate to give them cause to think that what they did was just, but, aye, I will. If there is a mon or two buried behind this cottage, he or they may have a family who worry
o’er what happened to him, who hunger to ken their fate, be it good or bad.”

Cormac began to feel very groggy. “That brew wasnae just for the pain, was it?”

“Nay, ’twill make ye sleep for a wee while,” she replied, smiling a little when he almost immediately went to sleep, and then she hurried to get dressed.

Elspeth decided to get rid of the bodies first. Using the blanket she had covered Sir Colin with, she dragged him and then the two guards into the woods. Despite what they had tried to do to her, she was sorry she did not have the strength to bury them. If her tale of bodies buried at Anne Seaton’s cottage brought any of the men in the village out to investigate, she would have them see to it.

In her search for Cormac’s horse, she found the other two guards and sighed. Her troubles had put a lot of blood on Cormac’s hands. She tried to console herself with the knowledge that it had been self-defense, a battle for life and honor. The men had been mercenaries, and the worst of their breed, the sort who cared only about the coin. No man with any honor left would have joined with Sir Colin. She was glad that he had used such men and not dragged his own clansmen into it.