His Conquest (22 page)

“Brighde?” she asked softly.

The woman trembled.

Linet’s chest squeezed tight. Only God knew what this poor woman had endured. “I have come with Seathan and Dauid to save you.”

A glimmer of hope flickered in her eyes. “Da-Dauid is here?”

“Yes.”

The joy on her face faded to shame. Fat tears formed on her lids, then rolled down her cheeks. “Go. Let him believe I am dead.”

Linet resisted the urge to reach out and touch her, unsure whether she’d cringe from physical contact, but she needed to make Brighde understand. “Your husband loves you.”

The woman looked away. “I am tainted, soiled, disgraced.”

Fury tore through her. “Rape is the disgrace of the assailant, the act of a coward.”

Brighde’s quiet sobs echoed within the chamber. “What does it matter, the deed is done.”

“Dauid loves you.”

She shook her head. “He loves the woman I was. One who would smile and welcome him into his bed. He knows not what has been done to me, the men whose desires I have endured, the lustful acts they committed.”

Linet shuddered inwardly, aching for her. “Do you love your husband?”

She sniffed. “A-Aye,” she whispered, “but it is too late.”

“No. Listen to me. If not for yourself, then for his safety, you must come with me. He loves you very much and will not leave without you.”

Brighde lifted her eyes. Hope lingered.

“Quickly,” Linet urged. “We have little time.”

“I think not.”

At Fulke’s voice, panic ripped through her. Linet whirled.

Eyes the color of sun-burnt clay glared at her, the soft angle of his cheeks an awkward frame to the fury carved beneath. Muscles bunched as he crossed his arms. “Why, it seems I have an intruder.” His gaze crawled over her with malice. “By the looks of your filthy gown, your skin smeared from cleaning the hearth, a serving wench. My men enjoy a woman, especially one who has not learned her place.”

Fear threatened to erode Linet’s bravado. “You disgust me.”

Dark brows narrowed. “You released the Scottish rebel.”

“I left Breac Castle alone.”

Hatred, pure and simple, flashed on his maliciously handsome face. He stepped forward; his hand shot out.

Pain seared her. She stumbled back.

“Liar!” he spat.

She raised her hand to where her face throbbed. “I am telling the truth.”

He scoffed. “It is no coincidence that Lord Grey disappeared from my dungeon, nor that the dungeon guard was found unconscious after you escaped.” He leaned closer. “When the guard woke, he told us that his tongue was thick and his brain foggy. He mentioned a servant wench had surprised him with wine. It takes not a wise man to deduct who delivered it.”

She took a step back, her body trembling.

Fulke caught her shoulders with his hands. His fingers dug into her tender skin. “I should give you to my men for their use. Pity, ’twould soil goods that I need for other purposes.” His smile ominous, he shoved her away. “Then again, there are ways to cause pain without leaving marks, ways to make a man believe his new bride is pure.”

“I shall never wed the Earl of Fallon.”

Satisfaction oozed on his face. “Terms have already been discussed, the documents signed.”

“You bastard!”

“Now that you have returned, his carriage will be sent for on the morrow.”

She angled her chin. “The earl will refuse to marry me. He expects to bed a virgin—which I am not.”

“I care not who you spread your legs for,” Fulke drawled. “I will send a missive this night that en route from your latest travels, the Scottish rebels robbed your carriage and raped you.” He gave a cold smile. “Nothing has changed. The earl will accept you, whore or not.”

She thought of Seathan, of the love they’d made, his infinite tenderness. “I was not raped. I gave myself to him, to the man I love.”

A terrifying calm entered Fulke’s eyes, a void so dark she wished for his fury. At least that would indicate he had feelings, unlike the creature before her.

“I will find the rebel,” her brother stated. “Then, I will kill him and display his head on a pike, a warning for all who dare touch what is mine.”

“You do not own me.”

He caught Linet’s hair, twisted hard. “That, my dear sister, is where you are right. You were bought and paid for by the Earl of Fallon.” He shoved her into Brighde.

Linet’s head pounded as she fought to focus, as Dauid’s wife steadied her.

Fulke glared at Brighde. “Tie her up.”

Brighde’s hands trembled as she reached out for the rope Fulke held. “I am sorry, my lady.” Unsteady hands quickly wrapped the woven cord around her wrists.

Her brother nodded. “Like your wrists, your shrewish tongue will soon be tamed.” Fulke paused. “I hear the earl prefers a whip.”

“I refuse to go.”

Fulke laughed, a cold, brittle sound. “When I am through with you, you will beg to leave here.” He walked over to her, grasped her jaw. “I do not make threats.” He shoved her away.

Linet landed hard against the stone floor. Pain sliced through her skull. The room spun, her head pounded as if impaled by a mace.

“Clean her up,” Fulke ordered. “She looks like the whore she is, fit only for rutting with the Scot. A gown will be brought in for her to wear.” His gaze narrowed on Linet. “Then we will talk. It can be within my chamber or in the dungeon with you naked and spread upon the rack.”

“No!”

He ignored her plea. “Now that I know you are no longer a maiden, I will not hesitate to turn you over to the inventive desires of my men. And I have new, creative machines that will bend the stoutest of men—or women—to my will. You will marry, that I swear to you on your life. The condition you are in when you say your vows is of your choosing.” Fulke turned, strode from the chamber. The door slammed in his wake.

Through the haze of pain, Linet focused on his words. The dungeon! Where Seathan and his men waited.

God in heaven, what was she going to do now?

The bells tolled.

Seathan stared up the steps. Too much time had passed.
A sword’s wrath, where was she?
“Linet should have returned by now.”

“Mayhap her caution slows her down,” Dauid said, “more so if she has Brighde alongside. They would not want to take unnecessary risks.”

His friend’s reasoning made sense, but he heard the worry, the fear that echoed his own concerns. Seathan glanced at the two bodies slumped within the passageway. “When these guards do not return from their rounds, others will come searching for them.”

Dauid nodded grimly. “Time is running out.”

Unease rippled through Seathan as he again glanced up the steps. Something was amiss, he felt it, sensed it as surely as his next breath.

“Do you think she has found Brighde?” Dauid asked.

Seathan exhaled. “I pray so.”

Long moments passed. Sunlight illuminated, then slowly began streaming through the narrowed windows.

Bedamned, he’d wait no longer. Seathan clasped his hand on the hilt of his sword. “I am going to find them. Remain with my men in the tunnel.”

Dauid shook his head, his face grim. “I am going with you. ’Tis my actions that have led to the danger we face, and my wife that Lady Linet seeks to find.”

“Your leg will slow us down. Alone, I have a better chance of slipping through the castle unseen.”

“We have a solid number of knights,” Dauid said. “We could confront Tearlach’s men.”

“Aye,” Seathan replied. “But if Linet has found Brighde, an attack might hinder their escape, or worse, expose them. Until Alexander and Duncan arrive with reinforcements, we are grossly outnumbered.”

Dauid muttered a curse. “I do not like the feel of this.” He gave an abrupt nod. “Go then. If you have not returned when the bells again toll, by God we are coming for you.”

Seathan nodded.

His friend drew him into a fierce hug. “God’s speed.”

On a prayer, Seathan hurried up the torch-lit steps. At the top, he turned. The last of his men were filing into the tunnel. With his sword readied, he edged open the door.

The rich aroma of bread filled the air as well as the scents of sage, rosemary, and other herbs the cooks used in their daily preparation of food. In the distance echoed the murmured voices of women and children and an occasional man.

He waited, listened for any sign of Tearlach or any of his knights.

Nothing.

Seathan shoved the door wider. Instead of opening to the great room as was common, the entry led to a corridor that branched off into several hallways. This unique feature underscored the massive size of the castle as well as its original Scottish owner’s meticulous planning and wealth.

A pity such magnificence now belonged to a cruel noble obsessed with his own power.

He hurried along the corridor, the torches burning in their sconces melding with the sunlight trickling through the carved windows.

At the entry to the great room, he peered inside. Dogs lay sprawled in distant corners while servants cleaned trencher tables and children swept the floors with hand-bound straw.

The knights had already broken their fast. Most likely, they were practicing with their swords in the bailey.

He slipped past the entry. A short distance away, he paused before the two sets of steps leading up. Sparse walls adorned one entry, the other boasted paintings of prestigious nobles, each portrait illuminated by a candle within a sconce. He started up the painting-lined turret.

The soft pad of footsteps echoed from above.

Seathan glanced back. Christ’s blade. Not enough time to return to the floor below.

A shadow rippled along the curved wall of stone in the stairwell. The soft pad of slippers scraped above him. A woman approached. He sheathed his sword and withdrew his dagger, hid it behind him.

A servant rounded the curve, her arms filled with an empty jug. With a frown, she halted.

“I am seeking Lord Tearlach,” he said with the authority of someone welcome within the castle.

She hesitated. “My regrets, my lord, I know not where Lord Tearlach is. I was sent to fetch the empty water jugs. If you wish, I will find him.”

“Nay, it is a task I can easily do.”

“You are a Scot.” A blush crept up her face. “My apologies, my lord. My words are not said unkindly. It is just that as of late, more Scottish nobles than English enter Breac Castle.”

Aye, those who were weak-kneed and have sold their honor for their safety instead of standing their ground against King Edward.
“Go,” Seathan said. “I will find Lord Tearlach myself.”

“Yes, my lord.” The woman half curtsied. With the jug held tight in her hands, she hurried by.

’Twas a sad day when during a time of war, a Scot within an English-held fortress was a common sight. Neither was he surprised by the woman’s lack of concern at his presence. With the English king all but dismissing Scotland’s rebels as a threat, to the residents within Breac Castle, war between their countries no longer existed.

A belief they would come to regret.

Once the servant disappeared, Seathan sheathed his dagger, drew his sword, and headed up the turret.

As he reached the second floor, he took in the limestone floors inlaid with granite, the hand-woven tapestries lining the walls, as well as the simple yet elegant sconces crafted with fey-inspired images.

Linet’s scream echoed from the end of the corridor.

Seathan bolted toward the entry.

“Go to Hades!” she yelled.

He flattened himself against the wall.

The door to the chamber was open. Tearlach stood halfway across the room, feet spread in an aggressive stance. Below him Linet lay on the floor, her hands and feet bound, slashes of red streaking across her face.

The bastard had beaten her! Fury ignited. From his limited angle, Seathan saw no one else within the chamber. Where was Dauid’s wife? He’d find her after he’d killed Tearlach. The viscount would never touch anyone again.

Sword raised, Seathan strode inside. “Tearlach!”

The viscount whirled. Satisfaction crawled across his face. He flicked a glance toward Linet. “I see your lover has arrived to save you. Touching.”

The door behind Seathan slammed shut.

He whirled.

Five guards stood against the wall, their swords drawn.

God’s teeth!

“A guard spotted you and your men near the entry to the tunnel at first light,” Tearlach said. “I was curious as to your actions, so I allowed you entry.”

“My men,” Seathan hissed. At Tearlach’s scowl, he understood. With the complexity of the maze, they hadn’t yet been discovered.

“I will find them. The tunnels are being searched as we speak.” Satisfaction smeared his face. “Once I found Linet, I knew how you had learned about the secret entry. Now, you will regret that you dared return—the cost will be your life.”

“No!” Linet yelled.

Disdain darkened Tearlach’s gaze. “Just think, dear sister, you will watch your lover die, something to ponder as the Earl of Fallon takes you in your marriage bed.”

With a roar, Seathan charged the viscount. Satisfaction swept him as his sword severed flesh.

Tearlach screamed, stumbled back. “Seize him!”

Steps echoed behind him.

Seathan whirled, met the first knight’s blade.

Steel scraped.

With the skill honed by countless battles, he angled his sword, drove deep, shoved the attacker away, then spun to deflect the next assailant’s charge.

The man swung.

Blades met; shuddered against the force.

Seathan withdrew his dagger, shoved its razor-edged tip into the man’s chest.

Eyes wide with pain, he collapsed.

Pain streaked across Seathan’s left shoulder. He cursed, rounded to meet the third attacker. Before he could swing, a knight slammed hard against his side.

The warrior before him dove for his feet and tugged.

Air rushed past him.

“Seathan!” Linet screamed.

Seathan slammed against the floor. Pain ripped through his skull. He kicked free, started to roll away. A knight caught his hand. Another warrior secured his other shoulder. A third man held his blade to Seathan’s throat.

“Do not kill him!” Linet begged.

Tearlach glared at his sister, his hand pressed against the deep cut in his shoulder; blood dripped through his fingers. “Silence!”

Frantic, she met Seathan’s gaze. She couldn’t allow Fulke to kill him. “Please, I will do anything if you spare his life.”

Seathan struggled against his captors. “Agree to nothing!”

Tears burned her eyes. Seathan didn’t understand. He’d trusted her and now he would die. No, there was still a chance. She refused to look at him. If she did, she’d fall apart.

Decision made, she met her brother’s gaze. If it saved Seathan’s life, it’d be worth the cost. “If you spare him, I will marry the Earl of Fallon.”

“No!” Seathan roared.

Fulke laughed, a cold, ugly sound as he held a piece of cloth to his wound to staunch the flow. “My dear, the time for choices is long past. Whatever was once yours now belongs to me.” He arched a brow. “As for Lord Grey, his life is forfeit.”

She twisted on the floor. “You bastard! Have you no conscience? No respect for our parents or their wishes?”

“None whatsoever. You were a fool to believe I ever did.” Her brother gestured toward the guards. “Take the Scot to the dungeon.”

The guards lifted Seathan to his feet, the blade flush against his neck. As the two knights hauled him toward the door, he pretended to comply, limping to give the illusion he was too weak to fight.

A step.

Two.

The guards’ grips slightly relaxed.

He dropped, used his entire weight to jerk free of the knights’ hold.

“Get him!” Tearlach yelled.

Seathan rolled, grabbed his blade, and with quick thrusts, dispatched one of the three remaining men. Sword readied, he faced the other two knights.

A boom echoed from outside.

“We are under attack,” a guard yelled from outside. “To arms!”

Tearlach glared out the window.

Another boom echoed within the castle. Rocks exploded, then landed with a hard clatter.

“’Tis the rebels,” another man shouted. “They have a catapult!”

Relief stormed Seathan. Alexander, Duncan, and their men had arrived!

Fury burned Tearlach’s face. He cast the cloth aside. Blood stained his right arm. “Help the men below. I will take care of Lord Grey.”

Swords raised, his knights rushed toward the stairs.

Shouts echoed from below. The distant clash of blades rang out.

He strode toward the viscount while the sounds of battle raged outside. “No one will save you now,” Seathan spat, his fury for the torture Tearlach had delivered, for his brutality to Dauid’s wife, and his abuse of Linet melding to this one moment.

“You think not?” Fulke reached toward Linet.

Seathan dove for Tearlach. Primal satisfaction surged through Seathan as he slammed his fist into the viscount’s face, felt the crunch of bone. “Never will you touch her again!”

On a screech of pain, Tearlach caught him, rolled, slammed his fist into Seathan’s face.

His vision blurred.

Linet screamed.

Tearlach delivered another blow, his fist ramming Seathan mercilessly. “This time,” he seethed, “I will watch you die, will savor the last drip of blood draining from your worthless body. Then, before her intended mounts her, I”—he dragged in another breath—“I will give Linet to my men for their pleasure.” He raised his fist, swung again.

Through the wash of pain, Seathan caught the viscount’s hand inches from his face.

Tearlach’s hand trembled.

Seathan held. “Neither you, nor any other man, will ever touch her again.” He shoved.

The viscount fell back, scrambled to his feet.

Seathan lifted his blade, the shouts of battle below rising to a fierce din. Aiming his sword at Tearlach, he charged.

The viscount angled his blade, deflected his blow.

Steel screamed within the chamber as if a curse.

Pain seared Seathan’s shoulder. His blood stained the woven silk carpet, an irony of red against the muted blues and creams. He wove, fighting off the dizziness and a weakening arm. Time seemed to still as he fought, each swing stealing much-needed strength.

Victory glittered in Tearlach’s eyes as he held his ground against Seathan’s next attack. Pushing free of Seathan’s blade, the viscount swung hard.

Seathan caught the blow, barely. He shoved.

The viscount stumbled back, but both men had lost their swords.

“He has a dagger!” Linet yelled.

Sunlight glinted off the blade in Tearlach’s hand.

In a deft move, Seathan withdrew his own dagger. With war-honed precision, he threw.

The viscount gasped. He glanced to where blood, rich and thick, surged from the blade deep within his chest. His dagger clattered to the floor. Eyes wide with disbelief, he collapsed into a heap.

Dragging in deep breaths, Seathan walked to stand before him. “Rot in Hades where you belong.”

The viscount stared at him, hatred melding with fury. He opened his mouth as if to speak. His body trembled, then stilled, and his eyes stared into nothing.

Another boom echoed from below. A Scottish battle cry echoed. Men screamed.

“Seathan!”

He hurried to Linet, knelt, untied her, and helped her stand. He drew her into his arms and held her tight. “Thank God you are safe.” Would he ever forget the sight of her tied and beaten?

A sob escaped her. “I thought…”

Seathan stroked his thumb across a bruise upon her face, his hand trembling. “We are both safe.”

She glanced over to where Tearlach lay dead, and then lowered her head.

“He gave me no choice,” he quietly said.

Linet rested her cheek against the curve of his neck. “I know.”

Emotions welled inside him, the feeling immense. There was so much he wanted to say, to tell her.

The echo of battle below rose.

He sucked in a steadying breath. “I must join my men.”

She lifted her head, understanding in her eyes. “I know.”