Ruthless (40 page)

"There are no lower branches. Steady yourself
and pass her to me," he advised. To narrow the distance, Sweyn
stood in his stirrups.

Keeping one hand on the tree, Magnus bent his
knees until Sweyn's waiting arms lifted Muriel from him. Once he
had her, Magnus slid down into the saddle.

"We've got to go back to the camp. She may be
seriously hurt."

His calm voice surprised him. Inside, his
mind raced as fast as his pulse. He took Sweyn's reins so he
wouldn't have to move Muriele. It was slow going, for he had to
pick his way carefully to lead all three horses.

"We're nearly there. I hear the rapids."

They carefully picked their way through the
next stand of trees and came out onto the clearing where they had
slept. After Magnus spread a blanket and they'd placed Muriele on
it, he hurriedly started cutting her clothes away. Sweyn looked for
bits and pieces of dry kindling on the ground where they'd slept
and soon had a fire going and water heating. He searched through
his saddlebags and took out a jar of ointment he carried in case
Magnus was injured.

Magnus' hands gentled as he felt over her
head and found a swelling bump in back. Mayhap she'd be out long
enough he could tend her injuries.

Touching her naked body brought back memories
of every time he had run his hands over her supple form. His body
responded though he tried to discipline his mind to ignore what he
felt with his fingertips. Even unconscious, she groaned and her
nipples responded when he accidentally brushed too near them.

His blood pounded, painfully filling his cock
and making his stones so firm he had to spread his legs to ease
them. How could a mere woman make him forget all his body
discipline? Before Muriele came into his life, he could be abed
with Flori and Ingirid and still have control over when he allowed
his cock to stand high or forced it to be patient and let them coax
his passion.

Carefully using his blade to help him, he
pulled splinters from her chest and arms. Thankfully, the cuts on
her face were clear of wood. He used his cloak to shield her from
Sweyn's eyes, though for the life of him, he didn't know why he
cared. He washed her wounds with hot water then slathered them with
the foul-smelling ointment.

He finally asked his friend's help to turn
her over, for he needed him to hold her head steady.

"Holy God in Heaven!" Sweyn's eyes filled
with pity on seeing Muriele's back.

Magnus gasped and pain squeezed his heart.
'Twas not the bloody cuts, nor did he think her back unsightly in
any way. Nay, it was not either of them.

These scars were from a different beating.
Alike. New.

Someone had flogged her with a wide belt
embedded with sharp studs. Not someone. Feradoch. For ceremonies,
he wore a magnificent belt with colored jewels fastened on it.
Muriele's flesh bore the jewels' imprints in three, long
stripes.

"The bastard beat her after their handfast."
Sweyn's voice was heavy with horrified disgust.

Magnus covered her firm buttocks, for she
twitched and started to come to her senses. He wished she would
not. He needed time to understand what could have happened.

"Why wouldn't she tell me? Every time I
questioned her, she refused to answer even 'aye' or 'nay.'"

"I canna believe she killed Esa and Feradoch
out of jealousy. No woman treated so cruelly would want the man,"
Sweyn's eyes were soft with pity.

"Aye. Knowing him, he'd never have released
her from the handfast. He must have isolated her where she couldn't
escape. For all the Chief's faults, he wouldn't take kindly to
Feradoch's mistreating a lady of breeding."

"Unfortunately, he didn't consider Esa a lady
and looked the other way," Sweyn said.

Bitterness in his voice drew Magnus'
attention. How could he have missed anything so obvious? Sweyn's
eyes had lit with pleasure whenever Esa danced at Olaf's bidding.
When the music faded and Feradoch triumphantly carried the sultry
woman from the room, his entire face was expressionless.

Muriele groaned, bringing their attention
back to her plight. Though bruised, her back had few cuts.

He cupped her head in his hand and held it
tenderly as he rolled her onto her back.

"Fetch me the green tunic and the black
cloak," he asked Sweyn.

When his friend handed the tunic to him, he
folded it to pad the ground beneath her head. Taking the elegant
cloak, he spread it over her and tucked it in at the sides. The day
was turning cool again. He gave a wry smile. She wasn't in any
shape to escape again, but if she did, they would easily see her
creamy skin in the darkest forest.

"What have ye done to the lass?"

The demanding voice came from the thickest
trees behind them.

Magnus reached for his bow and arrows, while
Sweyn's sword rasped from its sheath.

Graemme used his Claymore to thrust aside
branches impeding his progress.

"How in Hades did ye approach without us
hearing?" Magnus asked.

For answer, Graemme whistled. Loud. His
obedient steed sounded like an army pushing through the trees. He
came over to nuzzle Graemme's shoulder, begging him to stroke his
neck.

As Graemme affectionately patted and praised
the big beast, he frowned down at the girl on the ground.

"She's more comely than any lass ye've ever
bedded. From the looks of ye when ye tended her, she must be
Muriele of Blackbriar."

"Aye, she is."

"I thought ye described her with long hair
the color of ripe wheat flowing down her back? Did ye cut it as
part of her punishment?" His scowled with disapproval.

"Nay. It was as we found her in the
convent."

"And her injuries. Have ye caused them in any
way?" He fingered his Claymore as he advanced on his older brother,
his lids narrowing. Magnus sprang to his feet.

"The reckless lass escaped during the night
and climbed atop the tallest pine in the forest. While forcing her
down, she fell halfway. I plucked her to me as she plunged by."

When he realized he was making excuses to his
younger brother, Magnus scowled.

"How did ye find us and why are ye here and
not at Clibrick or Kinbrace?"

"To keep yer sorry arse from making the worst
mistake in yer life."

Magnus frowned and his body stiffened at the
disrespectful way his brother was talking to him.

"And that is?"

"Believing anything out of the lying mouths
of the Gunns." He reached in his pocket and pulled out a packet of
cut up leaves to toss to Sweyn. "Do ye think ye can brew these? I
dinna know about ye two, but I'm cold and wet from chasing two
steps behind ye for days now."

Magnus motioned them to move to the other
side of the fire so Muriele would not awaken. She seemed to be
breathing smoother and he hoped she was in a natural sleep. Once
they sat cross-legged on the ground with hot cups of herbal tea in
their hands, Magnus became impatient.

"Ah, I feel warmer already," Graemme
said.

"Ye'll feel warmer still if I snatch ye off
the ground and pound my fists into yer pretty face! Start
talking."

"Well, at Kinbrace I learned Feradoch wasn't
dead. They wouldn't let me near him to see how badly injured he
was. Olaf said he was at death's door, but I didn't believe him. I
watched at night and saw a woman going into his room. Once all was
quiet, I put my ear to the door and listened." He snorted and
cursed. "No man near death can fuck with such abandon."

"What did ye hear?"

"Fortunately for me, he was drunk and talked
more than he should. He told his whore he intends to force Muriele
to marry him and take her straight to Blackbriar and establish
himself there. He said the king wouldn't do anything about it once
he did the deed. Then he plans to make her sorry every day of her
'short' life for running from him."

Magnus' hands clenched in his lap. "Did Chief
Olaf believe Feradoch was dying?"

"Aye." He stopped and frowned. "I kept an eye
out, and when the Chief went to see his son, I peeked in the room.
It was darkened and Feradoch gasped and cried out in pain and acted
like he was at death's door."

He grinned at Sweyn. "I think I make a very
good spy."

"Did ye find anything about Grunda and Esa?"
Magnus leaned forward watching his brother's face.

"After the men and I left Kinbrace, we asked
everywhere and couldn't find the old woman."

Magnus' shoulders slumped and he wiped his
hand over his face.

"It didna stop me. I remembered ye told me
Muriele had lived deep in the woods. We hunted the woods until we
found them. When old Grunda saw me, she held tight to an old, rusty
sword until she realized who I was."

"How in Lucifer's maggot infested brain did
she know who ye are?"

"I dinna ken. She walked circles around me,
staring, then grunted. Said I was the younger son of Clibrick. The
one with compassion and brains to think." Seeing Magnus' insulted
expression, he laughed so hard he snorted.

His laughter was so infectious, Sweyn joined
in. Scowling, Magnus waited patiently.

"What did ye learn there?"

"She told me Feradoch had beaten Muriele
because she was not perfectly formed and he couldn't consummate the
handfast. He sent the guard to bring Esa to tempt his cock to rise.
When she resisted, he strangled her. Muriele tried to save her but
kenned she was too late."

"Kenned?" Sweyn straightened.

"Aye. She yet lives. Grunda gave her an
elixir to make her appear dead then rescued her from the woods. She
lives with her. I left my men to protect them."

Magnus heard Muriele stir and jumped to his
feet. The little fool was trying to escape again! She had gathered
the robe about her and was trying to stand.

"Did the blow to yer head make ye an
eejit?"

"Esa is alive? Ye have seen her and Grunda?"
Her hoarse voice asked Graemme. She ignored Magnus as she stumbled
closer to the men sitting by the fire.

Graemme rose and came to bow in front of her.
"'Tis an honor to meet ye, Lady Muriele. I have heard of yer good
deeds from everyone at Raptor Castle."

Muriele's blush put color back into her pale
cheeks. She swayed and Magnus reached out his hand to help her, but
she shrunk from him.

Graemme studied her face and he shook his
head. "If ye rest until dawn, we will be off to Clibrick. Ye will
be safe there with my father and Magnus to guard ye."

"If yer brother has any say, he will return
me to Chief Olaf."

Magnus knew he would never take her to
Kinbrace, but there had to be a way to honor his vow. How, he
didn't know yet. He stayed silent. Unmoving.

When Muriele shunned Magnus' help, Graemme
scowled at him and helped her back to her makeshift pallet. Sweyn
took her a hot potion, and as soon as she finished it, her eyes
closed and she was fast asleep.

Muriele slept soundly for the first time
since leaving the safety of the convent. When an early rising bird
sang to his mate, she blinked her eyes open. Sweyn was already
cooking porridge.

Magnus and Graemme must have slept beside
her. She remembered waking and feeling glorious heat. Whether she
turned to her right or her left, she'd snuggled against a warm,
hard back. Both had already risen and taken the opportunity to wash
the travel from their bodies. They'd just come from the water and
stood at the bank with water streaming from their hair and down
their backs. They didn't know she had awakened and took time to
stretch and enjoy being naked before they donned their
clothing.

She blinked. Aye. Their bodies were much
alike.

In all things.

An irksome bug landed on her nose, walking up
and down as if it owned the flesh on which it trod. Hoping they
would not notice, she raised her hand to send it on its way. Before
she could stop herself, she groaned in pain. Her shoulders felt
every bit of the strain she'd used to hold her weight on the
branches as she fell down the tree yester morn.

Graemme's burnt almond colored eyes twinkled
with humor when they met hers. Why, he knew she'd been awake all
the time! He was near as tall as Magnus with black hair lightened
with hints of brown. His nose was not as strong as his brother's
was and he didn't wear a beard. He must scrape it from his face
daily, for dark shadows showed beneath his skin. The biggest
difference between the two was their lips.

Graemme's were wide. Sensual. They softened
just looking at her. Overall, he was wickedly handsome as he came
over to greet her.

Magnus' lips were full. Hard. Aye, Magnus was
just as handsome, but in a dark way. He reminded her of his
standard. A snarling black wolf's face on a background of gray. As
he glared at his younger brother, his lips curled back from his
teeth much like a snarl.

"Ye may go into the woods to dress," Magnus
all but growled at her as he handed her a tunic. "We must make good
time leaving here afore anyone learns the lady in the convent is
not ye."

She waited until they turned their back then
bit her lips as she rose from the hard ground clutching the cloak
around her. She made quick work of tending to her needs and
dressing, before she went to the loch to splash her face.

Graemme must have brought much needed
provisions with him, for the aroma of baking flat cakes made her
drool. She had not eaten for days thinking 'twas better to starve
than to accept food from a man who thought she would murder for
senseless reasons.

Hmpf. Not that she
wouldn't
kill.
She could and did so swiftly when it warranted. Had Feradoch died,
she wouldn't have regretted it. But now Graemme had proven she'd
had just reasons for trying to kill Feradoch, they were not taking
her to Kinbrace. Still, she would need her strength to defend
herself at Clibrick.