Rebel Kiss: A Historical Romance Novel (Scottish Rebels Book 1) (23 page)

Chapter Nineteen

“Breach of promise
is not a crime to be taken lightly,” the magistrate proclaimed to the small
crowd that had gathered in the central courtyard of Windsor. 

The crowd gave a
collective growl of agreement.  Anna felt their eyes burn over her skin.  She
had been tied to a large oak tree in the center of the town square to face the
consequences of betraying her betrothal to Jonathon Arbor.  Murdock and the
magistrate had decided that a public trial would be part of her atonement.

Anna dared a
glance over at Rowan, whose wrists and ankles were shackled with heavy irons. 
He was restrained on either side by the hands of one of Murdock’s soldiers and
exuded an air of controlled rage that caused Anna’s heart to beat faintly with
hope.  Rowan’s green eyes flashed cautiously towards her, locking with her own
for a split second. Anna’s heart skipped a beat. The courtyard fell silent to
her ears, the magistrate’s reproachful words were quieted, and Anna was
comforted as she looked briefly into the eyes of her lover.  She smiled, ever
so slightly at him.

I love you.
 
She chanted the words over and over in her mind.  If this was to be the end,
Anna still believed that she had made the correct choice.  The time that she
had spent with Rowan was worth all of this strife.

 “I am a forgiving
man,” Murdock said loudly to the crowd as he approached Rowan.  The soldiers
tightened their grips on Rowan’s upper arms, seeing that his muscles were tense
and ready to attack Murdock as he ambled towards them.  “I spared your life
once, and I’m willing to do so again because I believe that you were powerless
to resist Miss Stanton’s evil charms.”  Murdock leaned forward and whispered
into Rowan’s ear, “And you shall watch her take punishment for what she has
done,” he whispered viciously before stalking back over to join the magistrate.

“Ye make a play at
givin’ me mercy when it is ye that shall need tae beg for mercy come judgment
day,” Rowan seethed.  “Now it’s not only Mairi’s blood, her life on your soul,
but ye stand by in silence as they punish Anna.  It is
you
that shall
rot in hell, Murdock,” Rowan threatened as he spat on the ground, challenging
Murdock to carry forth with his punishment of a gentle woman. 

“As punishment for
breaching your promise to Lieutenant Arbor, an officer in the King’s army, and
for stealing the bride price that was paid to your estate, you shall receive
fifty lashes, to be administered publicly,” the magistrate proclaimed regally
as he glowered at Anna.

Anna gasped.  Her
knees began to tremble.  She thought that she might faint.

Fifty lashes. 
To be administered publicly.

 Eyes wild with
fear, Anna glanced at Rowan.  He was shaking his head frantically from
side-to-side, not believing the cruelty of the magistrate.

“No!” Rowan
screamed.  He struggled against the men that were restraining him.

Rowan thought that
Anna might not survive fifty lashes.

“And as further
punishment, you shall be branded with the letter “A,” a reminder that you have
been an adulterer.  For in the eyes of the Lord, your betrothal contract to
Lieutenant Jonathan Arbor was an agreement of marriage.”

Anna felt hot
tears streaming down her face.  This was the price that she would pay for
loving Rowan.  This was to be her atonement.

“I wish to be
punished in her stead!” Rowan screamed as he lurched against his restraints. 
“I will accept her punishment!”

The magistrate
glanced over at Murdock, arching an eyebrow in question.  He did not relish the
idea of lashing a woman.

“Remove his shirt
and tie him to the post!” Murdock barked at the men restraining Rowan. 

Rowan did not
fight the soldiers as they removed his shirt.  He walked bravely to the
whipping post with his chestnut head held high, holding Anna’s terror-ridden
gaze for a split second before allowing the soldiers to bind his shackled wrists
to the post.

“No!” Anna
screamed as she fought her restraints.  “Leave him alone, Murdock!  Please do
not do this!”  Tears streamed down her face.  Her body was racked with the
power of her desperate sobbing.  “No!”

Murdock ignored
Anna’s pleas.  He would not be bested in front of his men, and he intended to
teach this rebellious Scotsman a lesson.  Taking the proffered whip from the
magistrate, Murdock walked towards where Rowan was tethered.  The crowd
thrummed with energy as they waited for Murdock to begin the spectacle.

Murdock clenched
his jaw with the exertion of snapping the whip.  The whip cracked against
Rowan’s back, splaying open his skin.  The force of the blow pushed Rowan’s
body forward against the post.  Blood dripped down his back.  Rowan withstood
Murdock’s lashing in silence, teeth gritted together as the whip slashed open
his skin again and again until trails of blood were running down his back to
stain his pants.

The pain of the
whip was so intense that Rowan’s knees felt weak.  For an instant he thought
that he might fall from the blinding pain.  He focused his mind on Anna and
shut out everything else, using her as a talisman against crying out. 

He would not shame
her by crying out.

Rowan’s silence
enraged Murdock further.  He brought the whip against Rowan’s bloody back with
increased fervor.  “Cry out, Murray!  Was she worth this?” he screamed, face
reddened from exertion as he continued to snap the whip against Rowan’s back.

Breathing heavily,
Murdock paused, his muscles trembling with the surge of adrenaline that coursed
through his body.  He held the whip tightly in his right hand, his knuckles
white with the force of his grip.  Using the back of his left forearm to wipe
away the sweat that beaded on his brow, he let the whip fall slack at his side
while he looked at his prisoner.

The Scotsman
sagged against the post to which he was bound, blood dripping from the open
slashes that covered the flesh of his back.  His breathing was labored and he
swayed slightly from side-to-side.  He was working hard to stay standing. 
Murdock watched him and felt the burn of new fury building within him.  If the
bastard Scot would just cry out just make a sound, he would end the
punishment. 

Rowan remained
silent, his muscles now trembling in response to the intense nature of his
pain.  Sweat poured down his brow as he fought to remain silent.  It mingled
with the smell of copper that now hung heavily in the air; the smell of his own
blood.

Renewing his grip
on the hilt of the whip, Murdock took a step toward his prisoner.  The small
crowd that had gathered was eerily silent.  They hung on Murdock’s slow, methodical
movements as he brought the whip up and prepared to strike the Scotsman again. 
Murdock grunted with the effort that it took to crack the whip against Rowan’s
skin.  The crowd gasped collectively when the force of his blow knocked Rowan
to his knees.

Rowan’s head fell
forward against his chest.  Sweat poured from his brow and dripped to the
ground in front of him.  His arms, still tethered to the post, burned as they
now supported the full weight of his body.  He struggled to remain conscious. 
He thought of Anna and managed to smile slightly despite his overwhelming
pain.  Loving Anna had been worth it.  He would make her proud now in the last
act of his life, going to his death bravely.  Rowan closed his eyes and hoped
that there really was a heaven, for if there was, he knew that he would be
reunited with Anna there.

He would not cry
out.

He would not shame
his wife, nor dishonor the love that they shared.

Murdock watched as
the Scotsman clung to life.  He was on his knees now, arms stretched out fully
above him where they were bound to the post.  The muscles of his arms and back
trembled visibly.  His body glistened with sweat.  Gritting his teeth together,
Murdock stepped forward to finish the unpleasant task at hand.  Only a few
lashes remained, but Murdock was unsure if the Scotsman could withstand much
more.

A few members of
the crowd cried out in protest, taking pity on the nearly dead Scotsman. 
Murdock paused and glanced over his shoulder at them, challenging the
dissenters with his authoritative glare.  He finished the whipping and looked
back at the magistrate, who motioned towards the small fire that had been built
to heat the iron brand.

Murdock
shuddered.  The Scotsman’s punishment was not quite finished.  Murdock grabbed
the branding iron from the fire and stalked towards where his prisoner was
tethered to the whipping post.  Using his free hand, he gripped Rowan’s hair
and jerked backwards, forcing the man’s face up.  The handle of the branding
iron was growing warm in his hand.  Murdock looked into the Scotsman’s eyes.  They
were emerald green and still sparkling with defiant rage.

Rowan Murray
had taken his wife’s punishment bravely.

Murdock brought
the branding iron up to Murray’s cheek.

Rowan refused to
close his eyes.  He stared at Murdock with burning hatred.  Rowan felt the
residual heat from the branding iron against his skin.  He gritted his teeth
together, bracing himself for the impending pain.

At the last
second, Murdock lowered the branding iron and pressed it against the skin of Murray’s pectoral muscle, not on his cheek as he had been directed to do.

The scent of
burning flesh lingered in the air.

Rowan screamed, a
tortured and agonizing sound.

Anna felt her
heart shatter in her chest.  She had no more tears.  She felt empty.  Broken. 
There was nothing that she could do for Rowan.

He had paid the
price for their love.

Rowan relented to
his pain, retreating into the welcome solace of unconsciousness.  His body went
slack against the whipping post, dripping with blood and hanging lifelessly by
his tethered arms.

..ooOoo..

“Rowan!” Anna
screamed as she bolted through the door of the physician’s office and saw her husband
splayed out on bed.  He was still unconscious, his face gray and ashen.  Beads
of sweat dotted his brow.  The physician had positioned Rowan on his side to
avoid laying him on the mess of lashings that covered his back.

Kneeling down next
to Rowan, Anna ran her hand over his forehead, terrified to discover that his
skin was cold beneath her fingertips.  Her fingers slid down his neck to find
his pulse.  It beat steady and strong, giving Anna a glimmer of hope.  She saw
the telltale “A” that had been seared into Rowan’s flesh and her heart wrenched
in her chest.

“I’m here now,”
Anna whispered into Rowan’s ear, glancing nervously over her shoulder at
Murdock, who stood in the doorway.  “Look what you’ve done to him!” she roared,
glaring at Murdock before turning her eyes back to Rowan’s mutilated back.  “You’ve
nearly killed him,” she said hollowly, her voice trembling as she turned her
attention back to Rowan.

Rowan’s flesh rose
in angry welts next to the lashings of where the whip had split his skin.  His blood
was beginning to clot now, crusting to the skin that had not been brutalized by
Murdock’s whip.  When Anna looked at Rowan’s back, she felt an anger unlike
anything that she had ever experienced rise up within her. 

She stood abruptly
and marched over to Murdock. She slapped him hard, right across the face,
causing him to recoil from the force of her unexpected blow.  “May you burn in
Hell, Meriwether Murdock,” Anna said, full of hatred.  Then she used her other
hand to slap his face again with all of the strength that she could muster.

..ooOoo..

Quinn Murray had
watched silently at the edge of the crowd as Meriwether Murdock had whipped
Rowan within an inch of losing his life.  His hands had been clenched at his
sides as he had watched Rowan valiantly accept Anna’s punishment. 

There was nothing
that Quinn could have done to spare Rowan.  It was the second time in his life
that Murdock had caused him to feel helpless to protect those that he loved.

Enough was enough.

Quinn had watched
to ensure that Rowan was still breathing after the whipping.  He could tell
that his little brother was barely clinging to life, perhaps what kept him
alive was his stubbornness alone.  Watching numbly as the physician had
released Rowan’s unconscious body from the whipping post, Quinn had walked away
to make his final preparations.

Murdock’s day of
reckoning had come.

Chapter Twenty

“Call out and I
will kill ye,” Quinn threatened as he slipped from the shadows in the small
room and placed his dagger against the skin of Meriwether Murdock’s neck.

Murdock trembled
slightly, the only indication of his fear.  He closed the door behind himself. 
His heart thundered in his chest.

Quinn reached
behind Murdock and bolted the door.

“Sit,” Quinn said
harshly as he pushed Murdock towards the only chair in the small room rented
room of the Windsor Inn.

Murdock brought
his hands up shakily in an effort to show Quinn that he meant to comply.  The
edge of his curled mustache twitched anxiously.  Murdock teetered towards the
chair and sat slowly.  The walls of the small inn were thin.  People would hear
him if he called out.  Murdock’s pulse raced.  He would be dead before anyone
reached him.  The blinding rage burning in the Scotsman’s eyes told him the
truth.

Quinn kept the blade
of his dagger pressed against Murdock’s skin.  He fought the urge to slice the
man’s throat and end this once and for all.  Meriwether Murdock certainly did
not deserve more than that.  Quinn moved around in front of Murdock and sat on
the small bed, facing his prisoner.  Ever so slowly, he withdrew the knife.

“If ye make a
sound.  I will kill ye,” Quinn warned.  “And I willna regret it.”

Murdock nodded and
lowered his hands to rest in his lap.

“Do ye even
remember her?” Quinn asked, his voice deepened with rage.

Murdock swallowed
hard.  A large lump had gathered in his throat.  He watched the imposing
Scotsman who held him captive, knowing exactly who he was asking about.

“Yes,” Murdock
said simply.

“Yes, what?” Quinn
seethed.  He extended his dagger so that the point was right above Murdock’s
rapidly beating heart.

“Yes!  Yes, I remember
her,” Murdock stammered, swallowing hard.  “Forgive me….I did not mean to…”

“Ye didna mean tae
rape her?” Quinn asked.  “Or ye didna mean tae murder her?”

Murdock fell silent. 
He closed his eyes.  His hands were trembling uncontrollably.

“Her name was
Mairi,” Quinn whispered.  “And she was the loveliest creature, sae pure and
intelligent and beautiful.  And I loved her,” he said, his voice shaking with
emotion.  “Ye took her from me, Murdock.”

Murdock said
nothing.  He forced his eyes open and drew his line of sight up to meet the
Scotsman’s.

Quinn stared at
him, extending the knife so that it pricked the skin just above Murdock’s
heart.

“Ye took her from
me,” Quinn repeated as he pressed the dagger further into Murdock’s skin.

Murdock winced. 
He felt blood trickle down his chest and over his belly.  His eyes looked down,
watching the crimson stain spread over his white shirt.  “Forgive me for what I
have done,” he whispered, his voice trembling.

“Never,” Quinn
answered, twisting the dagger slightly.

Murdock gasped. 
“Please,” he begged.  “Please spare my life.”

Quinn considered
Murdock’s words carefully.  Murdock deserved to die for what he had done to
Mairi.  Every fiber in Quinn’s body ached for redemption.  He could almost
taste the joy that he would feel at driving his dagger deep into Murdock’s
heart.  Quinn shook his head.

 His redemption
would have to wait.

“What was Anna’s
bride price?” he asked calmly.

“Four hundred
pounds,” Murdock said.  “Two hundred and fifty pounds were paid to Miss
Stanton’s mother at her departure on the
Mary Catherine
and the balance
was to be paid after the marriage took place.”

“Hmm,” Quinn said,
considering Murdock’s words.  He took the dagger away from Murdock’s heart and
trailed the blade over the flesh that was exposed at Murdock’s neck.  “It would
seem that four hundred pounds is the exact price for yer life then.”

“But I do not have
four hundred pounds!” Murdock protested.  “Not here!  If you will allow me to
go to a bank I could withdraw the funds, but I certainly do not carry that
amount of money with me,” Murdock said worriedly.

“Here are my
conditions, Murdock,” Quinn began as he against positioned the tip of his knife
over Murdock’s heart.  “And I would advise ye tae listen carefully,” he said,
arching an eyebrow.  “The price of your life is four hundred English pounds.  I
shall accompany ye tae the bank tomorrow.  Ye will write a letter tae the
magistrate proclaiming my freedom from indentured servitude as well as that of
my brothers’.  We will not live our lives looking over our shoulders,” Quinn
warned.  “Ye will explain tae the magistrate that it was all a misunderstanding
and that we have, and have always had our freedom.  Do ye understand my
conditions?” Quinn asked as he jabbed Murdock with the tip of his blade.

“Aye,” Murdock
nodded.

“And after ye have
done these things, I shall grant ye mercy,” Quinn added, his voice regretful. 
“I shall allow ye tae leave this place on the condition that I never see yer
face again.  For if ye trouble my family any further that ye have already done,
I will hunt ye like a dog.  And then I shall have my revenge.  I will kill ye
just as I would love tae do right now,” Quinn said as he twisted the tip of his
knife, causing another trickle of blood to stain Murdock’s white shirt.

Murdock nodded in
understanding.

“Do we have an
agreement, Murdock?” Quinn asked.

“Aye.  We have an
agreement,” Murdock said readily.

“Good,” Quinn said
as he slowly removed his dagger from Murdock’s chest.  He wiped the bloody tip
of the dagger on Murdock’s linen pants, watching the crimson blood mar the
pristine fabric.  “Write the letter,” Quinn said as he stood and motioned for
Murdock to move to the small desk by the window.

Murdock stood and
walked shakily to the small desk.  His hand shook as he penned a letter to the
magistrate.  Quinn watched over Murdock’s shoulder, his steely gaze causing
beads of sweat to break out on Murdock’s brow.

“Quinn Ramsay
Murray,” Quinn said as he peered over Murdock’s shoulder.  “Rowan Alexander
Murray,” he said as he watched Murdock carefully write the names on the
letter.  Quinn stood up and raked his hand through his hair.  He sheathed his
dagger in his belt and walked over to the bed to sit down.  “And Malcolm James
Murray,” he finished.

Murdock finished
the letter and leaned back against the chair.

“Seal it.” Malcolm
ordered.

Murdock nodded. 
He heated the red sealing wax in the flame of the candle, folded the paper and
pressed a glob of wax on the edge of the paper.  Having no formal seal to press
into the wax, he used his thumb, then handed the sealed document to Quinn.

Quinn took the
proffered document, shoving it into his breast pocket.

“Have ye any
weapons on ye, Murdock?” Quinn asked from where he sat on the bed.

“Not on me,”
Murdock replied honestly.  “I’ve a pistol and a dagger with my uniform, over
there,” he motioned to where his clothes were neatly folded on the small table
in the corner of the room.

Quinn rose from
the bed and found the weapons, adding them to the arsenal in his belt.  “Ye
best get tae bed, Murdock,” he said.  “For we’ve a long day ahead of us
tomorrow.”  Quinn stalked back to the bed and sat, reclining back against the
headboard.  “Ye can sleep on the floor, like the dog that ye are,” he added,
half-smiling at Murdock.

Murdock nodded but
did not move immediately.

Quinn studied the
man in front of him, his blood still boiling with hatred.  His thoughts
centered on Mairi.  Quinn hoped that he would not regret letting Meriwether
Murdock live.  Somehow, he knew that he most likely
would
regret not killing
the vile man.

But letting him
live was the only way.

..ooOoo..

Quinn rode through
the night, pushing his lathered horse at a breakneck pace.  Murdock’s velvet purse
was heavy in the breast pocket of his jacket.  He arrived in Williamsburg under
the light of the full moon.

Jerking his horse
to a stop in front of Jonathan Arbor’s residence, Quinn dismounted hastily,
leaving the horse’s reins swinging in the breeze.  He stalked towards the door,
pounding fiercely against it with his fist.  “Arbor!” he called out in the
darkness.  “Open up!” he bellowed, still striking the door with his fist.

There was a
clatter behind the door and Quinn stepped back just before the heavy door swung
open.  He was greeted with the barrel of a pistol, leveled right between his
eyes.

“I’ll see
Lieutenant Arbor.  Now,” Quinn said sharply.  He reached out and brushed the
pistol aside, taking the man servant by surprise.

“Lieutenant Arbor
is asleep,” the bleary eyed servant said, dropping the pistol to his side.  Quinn
pushed past him and walked into the foyer of Arbor’s plantation style home.

 “He canna still
be asleep.  Not after the ruckus that I made.”

“I’ll go fetch
him, Milord,” the man servant said, knowing that excuses would be futile
against the raging Scotsman that now stood in the foyer.

“Good idea,” Quinn
said curtly.

Quinn reclined
against the heavy wooden door, his eyes studying the richness of Arbor’s home
in the dark.  The candles had been extinguished for the night, but still Quinn
could see the opulence with witch Lieutenant Arbor surrounded himself.  Quinn
tried to picture Anna living in this home, surrounded by such finery.  He shook
the silly thought from his head and fished Murdock’s purse from his pocket.

The sound of
footsteps on the stairs forced Quinn’s eyes upward.

He recognized Arbor
at once, remembering him from when he had taken Anna.

“Arbor,” Quinn
said as means of a greeting.

“Forgive me, but I
do not remember your name,” Lieutenant Arbor said as he made his way down the
stairs.  He made no effort to hide the loaded pistol that he gripped in his
right hand.

“Quinn Murray.”

“Mr. Murray,”
Arbor nodded.  He came to stand right in front of Quinn, stroking his thumb
over the ivory handle of his pistol.  “What business have we, Mr. Murray, that
brings you to my home in the middle of the night?” Arbor asked, not wasting
further time with niceties.

“This,” Quinn
said.  He lifted the purse and shoved it against Arbor’s chest.  “I’ll not deny
ye the fact that my brother wronged ye by stealing Anna away,” Quinn said, his
voice calm.

Arbor took the
purse from Quinn, holding it with his free hand.

“This is about
Anna?” Arbor asked.

“Aye,” Quinn
answered.  “This is her bride price.  All of it.  Even the part that ye didna
yet pay.”

“I see,” Arbor
said.  He dropped the heavy purse on the entryway table but did not ease up his
grip on the pistol.

“I’ve come tae
make this right between us,” Quinn began.  “I apologize for any wrong that has
been done tae ye.  Both for my brother, Rowan, and for Anna.  They didna intend
tae wrong ye,” Quinn said quietly.

“Is that true?”
Arbor asked, his voice steady.

“Aye, it is true. 
Anna was most regretful for wronging ye, and Rowan, well Rowan was sorry for
taking Anna away from all of this,” Quinn said truthfully, his eyes flitting up
towards the richness of Arbor’s home.  “But ye canna help who it is that ye
fall in love with,” Quinn said quietly.

Arbor relaxed his
grip on the pistol and sat the weapon on the entry way table next to the red
velvet purse.

Quinn reached out
his hand to Arbor, waiting in silence to see if his apology was enough.  Relief
flooded over him when Jonathan gripped his hand and shook it firmly.

“Is there peace
between us now?” Quinn asked, his voice reverent.

“Peace,” Arbor
nodded as he released Quinn’s hand.  “She would have never found it in her
heart to love me,” Arbor admitted quietly.  He picked up the purse and the
pistol, staring down at them in the darkness of the foyer.  “Will you tell Anna
that I am glad she is happy?” Arbor whispered.

“Aye,” Quinn
nodded.  “That will ease the burden on her heart greatly,” Quinn said as he
reached for the door and stepped out into the moonlight.