Chapter Seven

 

"Colin!" Kristina yelled. "What happened?"

A laugh sounded, but 'twas not Colin's. Chills of terror consumed her as she absorbed Red Holme's hateful, gloating laugh.

"Your lover hit his head on a rock and washed down the river," he crowed with glee.

"Nay!" Crushing despair enveloped her. "Colin!" she screamed.

"'Tis too late now. He cannot hear you. If he's not already dead, he will be soon."

Dear God, please don't let it be so. She clasped another stone in her hand and hid it beneath her leg. In her other hand, she held the small dagger. She would stab this beast for what he'd done to Colin.

"Come, sweet lass," Holme cajoled. "Come quietly and I will not hurt you."

Sharp claws of hatred and anguish scraped along her nerves. "Stay away from me, you bastard!"

He laughed. "And what will you do if I don't? You can't even see me. How will you defend yourself?"

She would kill him! She wanted to shout it, but kept her mouth shut tight instead. She had to use the element of surprise.

"Show me your hands," he said.

She remained still, her hands hidden behind her skirts.

"I'm holding a sword stained with your lover's blood. I could easily kill you with it. You wouldn't see it coming. Would you like to join him in his watery grave?"

Rage burned in her gut. "I hate you! Whoreson!"

Holme cackled again.

Please let Colin be alive, please, please, please.

"Show me your hands!" Holme demanded.

Leaving her weapons hidden beneath her skirts, she brought her empty hands out.

"Stand up," he said.

She moved her hands beneath her legs again, preparing to push herself up, but she grasped her knife and the stone. She then pretended weakness as if she couldn’t gain her feet.

Holme grasped her elbow and painfully yanked her upward. "Hurry. We're leaving."

She swung her arm around, aiming the rock at his head. It made contact, but not hard enough.

"Bitch!" His hand struck her forearm hard, sending intense pain through it, and she lost her grip on the stone.

He yanked her close and smooshed his mouth against hers. She turned her face away and thrust the knife toward his abdomen. It made contact with something. Leather armor? She pulled her hand back and stabbed again, lower. He growled against her ear, grasped her hand, then yanked the knife from it.

"You will pay me recompense for that, over and over. And I will enjoy every minute of it." He yanked her to him, lifting her. She hiked her knee upward, smashing it into his groin.

He growled and hissed through clenched teeth. "Damn you, wench!" He held her tightly under one vise-like arm, nearly squeezing the breath from her. Her heart pounded hard as she tried to free herself, but his strength made him immovable.

Holding both her wrists in one of his hands, he wrapped a cord around them and tied it. He pushed her facedown on the dirt floor, grit and small stones biting into her cheek. While he bound her ankles, she screamed, kicked and fought with all her might, but she could not overcome his brute strength. Next, he tied a gag in her mouth, but this did not stop her from screaming and yelling, although the sounds came out muffled.

He crawled backward through the narrow cave passage, dragging her by her feet, a few inches at a time. By the time they emerged into the second cavern, her skirts were around her waist, but she didn't think he could see her. Colin had said this chamber was especially dark.

Dear Colin, please be all right.

Holme picked her up and carried her across this chamber of the cave, then again dragged her along the slightly taller passage. She heard no one. Were any of Colin's men around? She again attempted to scream and yell, but the only sounds she could utter were loud moans. Not loud enough to carry very far.

Holme picked her up, threw her over his shoulder and slapped her derriere. "Be quiet."

She wanted to call him every vile name she could think of.

He carried her out into the fresh air that smelled of pines. She heard no sounds other than the wind hissing through pine needles, distant bird calls, and a few rocks clattering beneath his feet.

She beat her bound fists against his back, but he kept walking, very briskly, and it seemed he was climbing a hill or mountain. Every time she hit his back, he gave her arse another stinging slap. Tears of frustration dripping from her eyes, she dropped still.

Where was Colin? Had he drowned? Dear God, please keep Colin alive and protect him!

 

***

 

"Rusty! Come quick!" Warton's gruff voice yelled the words as Colin became aware. He felt like a numb block of ice being dragged by the arms, face down. He couldn't draw breath.

He gasped violently.

Water gushed up from his lungs and poured out his mouth. His body convulsed into a coughing fit.

Warton lowered him to the ground. "What happened, sir?"

Shivering, Colin coughed a few more times and gulped great breaths of air into his stinging lungs. Kristina popped into his mind, and fear for her racked his body.

"Kristina!" he roared then shoved to his feet. "Holme is in the cave with her."

"Damnation!" Warton's eyes widened. "Can you walk?"

"Aye. Go! We must stop him from capturing her!"

Warton ran up the hill, yelling for Rusty and the others. Colin followed but after a few yards started coughing again. Stopping, hands on his knees, he rested for a moment, breathing deep. Thank the saints Warton had pulled him from the river. After gaining enough breath, he climbed the hill, although at a slower pace than Warton.

At the cave, he went inside, finding Warton waiting by the passage. "Ethan is checking the other two chambers."

Colin bent and progressed through the passage to the second chamber. 'Twas still near dark as midnight in here. "Kristina?" he yelled.

He heard Ethan crawling along the narrower passage from the third chamber, weapons clanging against the stone. "No one is in there, sir."

"Hell! He took her."

"I found your plaid and weapons." Ethan handed him the items.

"I'm glad. I'll need them." It sickened him anew that Kristina couldn't use his plaid at the moment. Was she cold? In pain? Had Holme hurt her?

They quickly made their way back to the mouth of the cave. Colin sheathed his weapons and belted his plaid into place. 'Twas filthy with the dirt from the cave, but he didn't care.

"Holme wouldn't have thrown her in the river, would he?" Warton asked. "I didn't see her."

Colin shook his head. "Nay. The bastard's abducted her."

"Up here!" Rusty called from near the top of the rocky hill. "I heard the lady trying to cry out."

"Damnation. That bastard best not hurt her," Colin growled.

They ran up the hill toward Rusty, and Lawrie joined them.

"What did you hear?" Colin asked.

He pointed. "I was a short distance down there when I heard a moaning sound from up here and rocks clattering. I followed the sound, but didn't see her."

"Holme must have gone that way." Colin nodded toward the east. "If he was carrying her, he wouldn't have been able to scale this cliff. Look for tracks. He'll probably go through the pass, and then he'll be harder to find."

 

***

 

Bound, gagged and infuriated, Kristina could do nothing to free herself. Holme's hard shoulder dug into her stomach. He'd climbed uphill for a long while but now he ran down what felt like a slight slope. All she heard was his boots pounding the ground and his harsh breaths.

After a few minutes, he paused to rest, still breathing hard. He cursed, then muttered, "Where the hell is he?"

Holme walked briskly for what seemed a half hour. Sometimes she felt the warmth of the sun on her back. Other times the air smelled like dampness and pines. Now and then she heard streams flowing.

"Scroggie?" Holme growled. "Dobson? Damnation! Where are they?"

Mayhap Holme was lost and separated from his cohorts in this unfamiliar wood. And maybe he would walk in circles until Colin and his men found them.

Thinking of Colin was the only thing that kept her sane. She felt as if Holme had been carrying her for hours. Why couldn't he simply grow tired and put her down somewhere? If only she could get some relief from his shoulder rammed against her stomach.

A horse nickered nearby. Who might have a horse and could they help her? Hope swelled within her, and she tried to yell out again.

"Scroggie?" Holme sped up and crashed through the bushes.

"You got her," a man said.

"Aye." Holme breathed hard.

Disappointment near suffocated her. These ruffians were simply Holme's men, and they had horses. Which meant they would escape with her even faster.

"It took you a long time. We feared you'd been killed."

"I know naught about this wood."

"What about Cameron?" another man asked. She remembered his voice. One of Blackburn's soldiers.

"He fell in the river and hit his head. Drowned, I hope."

Nay! Colin could not be dead. Kristina refused to believe it.

"Scroggie, bring my horse. We'll ride until dark, then make camp."

"Won't be long now."

Slow hooves thumped over the grass nearby.

"Did anyone see you bring the horses?" Holme asked.

"Nay, I slipped them away one at a time. No one followed." She assumed that was Scroggie answering. She remembered Blackburn calling his name a couple of times during their long journey from Stirling. But she also knew him to be a friend of Holme, for she had heard their voices joined in conversation before.

"Hold her until I mount, Mungo, then hand her up to me." Holme dragged her off his shoulder and placed her into the arms of another man. The bastard groped her breast. She growled out a protest, muffled beneath the gag, then drove her bound fists toward his face. She made contact with the side of his head and his cheekbone. Her knuckle stung as a result, but it was worth it.

"Ow! Bitch! I'll strangle you!" His grip tightened.

"Don't hurt her!" Holme commanded. "If anyone hurts her, it will be me. But I plan to have my fun first."

Her small victory was short-lived as nausea welled inside her. She had to figure out a way to stop Holme from his horrid plan.

"Aye, sir." Mungo placed her across Holme's knees. Her stomach was aching already. The horse nickered and danced beneath them, jostling her about painfully.

Dear God, help me survive this, she prayed.

They rode at a trot for some distance. Kristina knew not how far they'd traveled. She simply tried to focus on breathing and ignoring the pain in her torso. She thought about the time she'd spent with Colin. The things he'd said to her. The way he'd kissed her. That brief time with him in the cave had been the most joyous time for her in the last several years. But that was over now. She might never see Colin again. Although she didn't want to accept that he was dead, he might be. Her chest felt crushed, for she could do naught to change that.

They rode for a couple of hours at a slow pace over the rough ground, only stopping now and again to give the horses water and let them rest for a few minutes. During those times, Holme sat her on the ground and said naught to her. She was thirsty, and the gag further dried out her mouth. Her stomach ached with hunger. But she doubted they had any food.

As they continued to ride, she was near numb from lying across Holme's knees, and her mind was starting to fog.

"Halt!" Holme drew up. "We'll camp here by this small loch. Carry her over there, Mungo."

The man pulled her from the horse and carried her for a few seconds, then laid her on the damp ground. The air smelled of wet black dirt. She rested for a moment, thankful for the change in position and the relief. Her stomach would probably be bruised and sore for days. She turned over, sat up and listened. After drawing the cowl of her arisaid over her head with her bound hands, she covertly tried to pull the gag from her mouth, but it was tied too tightly. She wanted to yell curses at the loathsome men.

"Put up the tents, Dobson," Holme ordered.

"I'll build a fire," Mungo said.

"Nay, 'twill make it easier for them to find us."

"We have to eat."

"Scroggie should still have some bannocks."

"They disappeared. Someone must have stolen them."

Holme let out a string of curses. "Build a fire, then. I doubt Cameron still draws breath, and his men won't know where we are. You two go out hunting for some game. If Cameron and his men happen to follow the scent of the smoke, we'll be ready for them. And if Colin Cameron survived his swim in the river, I want him killed first. In fact, 'tis a good idea to lure the Camerons here so we can finish them off and be done with them."

Nay! Watch out, Colin, she wanted to yell at him across the miles.

The men went about their duties mostly in silence, with a few clatters and thumps now and then. Within minutes, she smelled smoke.

On the one hand, she hoped Colin and his men would smell the smoke and come to her rescue; on the other, Holme's plan to lure them in frightened her.

Hearing no one nearby, she lifted her bound hands and again worked at the gag, using all her strength to tug it from her mouth. Finally, it came free, and she could breathe freely through her mouth again. Her jaws and the corners of her mouth were sore from the abrasive material and the unnatural position it had held her mouth in.

An owl hooted in the distance and the air was growing colder again, telling her night was approaching. She hoped it was dark enough that Holme wouldn't notice right away that she'd removed the gag. If he saw she wasn't going to scream, maybe he would leave it off. She would keep quiet until she actually needed to use her voice.

She needed to relieve herself, but she didn't want to draw Holme's attention to such a personal matter. 'Twas obvious he wouldn't give her privacy.

"Cut the ropes off her ankles and put her in that tent," Holme said, surprising her. Had he noticed the missing gag?

"What about her wrists?" Mungo asked.

"Nay. Leave them tied."

Why did he want her ankles cut loose? A chill crept over her, along with nausea, for she suspected what he planned.

She acted like a demure kitten as the man cut the ropes from her ankles and helped her stand. Holding her arm, he guided her forward. She stepped in a hole and stumbled, knocking her cowl off. He laughed, lifted her into his arms and carried her. She felt one of his dirk hilts by her leg.

"I would like to keep you company, m'lady," Mungo murmured, too low for Holme to hear, no doubt, then he sniffed her hair.

Though she wanted to gag, she forced a smile and stealthily moved her bound hands toward the knife hilt. Judging by the smooth, hard feel, the hilt was made of bone. She clasped her hand around it gently and pulled. Once she had it in hand, she hid it within the folds of her skirt between her knees.

He lowered her to the ground. "Here you are, m'lady. This tent is fancy enough for a queen."

She doubted that, for it stank of man sweat. "I thank you."

"Do you, in truth?"

Before she could answer, he plastered his mouth to hers. She turned her head away and screamed.

"What the hell?" Holme's voice echoed from several yards away, then running footsteps approached. "Get away from her afore I string you up from the nearest tree!"

Mungo scrambled away from her. "I did naught. She was whispering sweet words to me, trying to seduce me. She wanted me to untie her wrists."

"Stay away from her from now on!"

She hid the knife beneath the wool blanket covering the ground. The blade was not overly large, maybe six or eight inches long. She thought the man might not notice its absence, since it was likely not his primary dirk, which would be much longer.

As she listened, footsteps tramped closer, then heavy breathing sounded at the tent opening. "Trying to seduce Mungo in exchange for your freedom, were you?" Holme ground the words out in a furious tone.

Icy chills prickled her nerve endings. "Nay. He lied."

"Humph. Mayhap you're the little liar. And for that, you will pay a price."

Dear God, what would he do to her? Still sitting, she slid over and covertly placed her hand on the knife hilt beneath the blanket. Instead of panicking and lashing out, she had to stab him in just the right spot to do him fatal injury. And she had to somehow get beneath his leather armor.

He crawled forward.

"Stay away from me!" she warned.

"Nay. Why do you think I went to so much trouble to reclaim you?"

Because he was a madman bent on tormenting her all of her days. Or maybe he wanted revenge for perceived snubs in the past.

"Because you're a tasty morsel," he said. "You've been teasing and taunting me far too long. Years."

Ugh! How could she talk him out of his vile plan? "Have you not seen my scar? I'm ugly," she stated.

"Nay, I like the look of you, and now I want to feel the shape of you in the dark."

Nausea roiled in her stomach. "Do not touch me!" What a foul swine he was.

"I will touch you and a lot more. I can wait no longer."

She'd castrate the bastard if she had the opportunity.

He rolled her onto her stomach and tugged the back of her skirts upward.

"Nay!" she screamed.

"Shut your mouth," he growled. "Or I'll put another gag on you. You don't want to anger me, lass. I'll only make it more painful for you."

Pain? She would give him pain. She fisted one hand around the knife's hilt, then wrapped the other hand around that one for added strength. But how could she stab him from this position? She must turn over.

His hand burrowed beneath her skirts to the bare skin of her upper thighs. She thrust one elbow backward, hitting his chest.

He laughed. "Don't try to fight me. You are only a small, weak lass."

He would see about that if only she could turn over.

Some hard, bare part of his anatomy pressed against her derriere. Raw fear and revulsion made her want to retch, but she forced herself to remain calm and think logically.

"I wish to turn over," she said. "Do you not want to kiss me first?"

"Aye." He grabbed her arm and roughly rolled her over. When he came down on her, pressing his mouth to hers, she shoved the knife upward, hoping to get it beneath his armor. It made contact and she pushed the knife with all the strength in both arms.

"Ow! Bitch!" He leapt off her. "Where did you get a knife?"

She drew the weapon back and struck at him again, making contact. Cursing, he knocked the blade from her hand. He then yanked her up by the front of her bodice and struck her face with his fist. The pain exploded through her skull. When his fist hit her the second time, all went black.

 

***

 

"Damn that bitch!" Carrying the knife he'd taken from Kristina, Holme crawled from the tent. The hellish stab wound in his belly smarted. He strode toward the campfire to check his injuries.

"What happened?" Mungo stood by the fire, the light flickering off his face.

Holme examined the knife in his hand. It looked familiar. "Is this yours?"

Frowning, Mungo glanced down at his empty scabbard, then back at the knife, his eyes wide. "Aye."

"Did you give it to her?" Holme demanded.

"Of course not! Do you think me mad?"

"Well then, how the hell did Kristina get it off you?"

"I have no inkling."

"You weren't paying attention. That's how! A shapely lass can easily make you go daft."

"She's as canny as a mercenary," Mungo said with amazement, then glanced down at Holme's belly. "You're bleeding."

"I ken it. She stabbed me with your damned knife."

Mungo laughed. At Holme's glare, his face dropped straight. "I'm sorry."

"You should be. I should take it out of your hide." Holme removed his armor and shirt enough to see the shallow stab wound in his belly. It bled, burned and smarted like the very devil, but 'twas only a flesh wound. "Lucky for you, I'll live. Get out of my sight before I take the rest of your weapons."

Mungo hastened away.

Kristina had also sliced his wrist. Nothing killed lust faster than a couple of bloody knife wounds, even if they weren't serious. He wrapped a piece of material around his wrist to absorb the blood. Luckily he had a thick layer of fat on his belly. Good protection. He put his clothing back on and tightened his belt to staunch the bleeding. He strode back to Kristina's tent.

"Kristina!" He kicked at her foot.

No response. Was she pretending, knocked out, or dead?

He dragged her from the tent, causing her skirts to ride up her slender shapely legs. Her eyes were closed and she was as limp as a rag. What a weakling she was! He'd knocked her out with only two strikes. Of course, his fists were large and hard as stones. And in his anger, he'd struck her extra hard. Damnation! He'd wanted to have some fun, not kill her.

He noticed a pouch tied at her waist, over her smock but beneath her outer clothing. What was she hiding in there? He cut the cord and opened the pouch. Silver coins and dangling golden earrings glinted in the firelight. The earrings were coin shaped, with a deep red stone in the center. These were the ones he'd seen her wear over two years before, and they were no doubt valuable. He could sell these, he decided, cramming them into his sporran along with her coins.

He picked her up and carried her toward the fire, then laid her down about five feet from it.

"What happened to her?" Scroggie asked, returning from the hunt with Dobson.

"She stabbed me and I hit her. She's knocked out."

Dobson stopped near her. "Are you certain she still breathes?"

Holme hadn't checked for breath. What if she was dead? A sick feeling punched him in the stomach. He knelt beside her and held a finger beneath her nose. Her weak breath whispered against his calloused skin, giving him a surge of relief. Although he wanted to strangle her at times… if he did, who would he lust over then? He'd been obsessed with her for far too long.

"Want me to throw some water on her face?" Mungo asked.

"Nay. I want her to lie here in the firelight and if any of the Camerons approach, they'll see her, lose their senses and come charging into camp to rescue her. Then, we can kill all of them from the cover of the bush, over there." Holme pointed.

"Good plan. All while our supper roasts." Dobson put three rabbits on a spit over the fire.

"Aye, we sit back in the shadows and watch for them. I want all of you fully armed and prepared for the skirmish. Scroggie, ready your bow. I want you to take out every last Cameron."

"Aye. With pleasure."

 

***

 

Grief-stricken that he'd allowed Holme to recapture Kristina, Colin strode rapidly through the pine forest beside Rusty, following the path Holme had left.

"Damnation! I was supposed to be protecting her," Colin muttered through clenched teeth, enraged at himself.

"You did, as best you could," Rusty said.

Nay, Colin felt like a grand failure for botching this mission. He shook his head, realizing how deeply he cared for Kristina. To imagine her at Holme's mercy gutted him. If Holme hurt or killed her, Colin would never forgive himself.

A distant yell drew Colin out of his self-castigation. He paused to listen, his gaze scanning the pine forest. Someone was calling his name. 'Twas a man's voice.

He turned around. "Listen. Someone is yelling my name from back there, behind us."

"Might be Chief MacDonald or another man from the keep," Warton said.

Aye, naturally, Neacal would either come searching for him or send someone. Amid the dusky gloaming light, they slipped back along the path to the edge of the wood. In the distance, several kilted men on foot, swords in hand, walked briskly. Some trotted. Finally, he recognized two of his own men and a few of the MacDonalds.

"Over here!" Feeling relieved, Colin waved, wondering who the rest of the men were. They had to be allies.

The newcomers increased their pace, drawing nearer through the boulders and gorse bushes. Now, he recognized the imposing, dark-haired man at the forefront, though he had not seen him in at least a decade.

"Colin Cameron?" the man asked.

"Aye."

"Saints! We've been searching for you since last evening. I'm Cyrus, chief of Clan MacKenzie."

"I remember. We met about ten years ago. Good to see you again." He gave the man a warrior handshake, recalling that Neacal had said his sister had married Cyrus's brother.

"Neacal was concerned about you and the lady. We volunteered to find you and escort you back to the castle. What happened to you?" Cyrus frowned.

Colin touched the sore gash on the side of his forehead. "Blackburn's man, Red Holme, knocked me into the river and abducted Lady Kristina. We're following his trail. He has four or five men with him and they've been riding horses for the last two hours. We found the place where they met up, back there. Thankfully, over this rough terrain, they must go slow." He turned to the man beside him. "This is Rusty Cameron, a skilled tracker."

Cyrus shook his hand. "This is my younger brother, Fraser." Cyrus motioned to a dark-haired, blue-eyed man in his mid-twenties. Colin shook his hand.

"We have eighteen more men with us," Fraser said.

"I'm thankful all of you came." Colin greeted the Camerons who had stayed back at the castle and the MacDonalds, then met more of the MacKenzies.

One of his men, William Cameron, glanced around, then asked, "Where are Tom and Patrick?"

Colin, once again, felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach. "We think they were ambushed by Holme and his men, and we've not seen them since."

"Damnation! We have to get these bastards," William growled.

Colin nodded. "Let's go."

After some of the newcomers shared their dried venison with Colin and his four men, they quickly followed Rusty into the wood as he began tracking the outlaws again.

"Earlier, we saw one of the enemies, dead near the cave's entrance," Cyrus said, keeping pace beside Colin.

"Aye. We were hiding in the cave when they attacked at dawn. When one of their men went down, Holme and two others fled. We discovered that he must've had one of his men slip the horses around the back side of the mountain. That's where they met up."

"What of the lady? Is she unharmed?" Cyrus shoved a pine branch aside.

A sense of dread settled over Colin. "When last I saw her she was. But it guts me to imagine what Holme might have done to her by now."

"We'll find her."

After they'd traveled for several more miles, mostly walking at a brisk pace, sometimes sprinting, gloaming was turning to darkness.

Colin's stomach knotted with fear for Kristina. He had to find her before dark.

"I smell smoke," Fraser said in a low tone.

"And roasting rabbit," another man said.

Colin drew in a deep breath. "I smell it, too." Confidence arose within him. "That has to be them. They're close by."

"Are they truly daft enough to think we can't follow their scent?" Cyrus asked.

"Might be a trap." Colin's instincts rose to high alert.

As their eyes adjusted to the low light, they carefully picked their way along the trail, avoiding fallen tree branches and loose stones.

Soon they saw the firelight glowing in the distance. They approached cautiously, weapons drawn, glancing all about them.

When Colin had a clear view of the campfire, he saw the silhouette of a small form lying on the ground in front of it, unmoving. He took a step forward. "Kristina!"