Chapter Fourteen
Angus and the men he’d rescued managed to escape being caught through the night, and as daylight fell, they made their way to the other side of Ettrick Forest, to the cave where half of Robbie’s men had gone to hide. But at the midpoint to the location, a neighing alerted him that they were being tracked.
“Ride hard!” Angus bellowed. He urged his mount into a gallop and took off across the treacherous terrain.
He turned his horse, riding in the opposite direction of the other Scots’ hiding place, but not all the men with him were expert riders. When he glanced back, he cursed. The Scot at the end of their line was being overcome by the English. One by one, his comrades were outridden, until only Angus and a man named Caleb remained. Angus urged his horse faster, but an arrow struck him in the back, and the sharp pain shot from the point of entry to the fingers of his right hand like liquid fire. They instantly went numb. He grabbed his falling sword with his left hand and guided his destrier as best he could, but more arrows flew at them, now hitting the beast. His horse reared, and with no free hand to grab the reins, Angus flew backward off the animal. His back slamming against the ground took his breath, but it was the blow to his head from whoever stood over him that sent him into oblivion.
Angus awoke to darkness, jostling, pain, and the world upside down. Thick fog filled his head, and it took him a moment to sift through his thoughts and remember what had happened. Hooves clopped against the ground, and the smell of the animal, as well as the warmth of the beast against his belly, told him he was on a horse. He tried to move his wrists and legs, but both had been bound, prohibiting him from doing so. He turned his head left and right, seeing the flicker of torches against the darkness in both directions. The English were traveling through the night, that much was certain, even if nothing else was. His head pounded, and the upper right section of his back burned where the arrow had pierced his skin. But when he attempted to curl his fingers into a fist, he could still do so.
Relief poured through him. He’d need his fighting arm if he had any hope of escaping, and he had to escape. Questions raced through his mind, and each one twisted his insides a bit tighter. Had Ross found Allisdair and Lillianna, and gotten them to safety? What if he had not? Images of Lillianna being abused and Allisdair tortured filled Angus head. He ground his teeth and shook his head in an attempt to rid himself of the images. Yet more questions hit him. Was Grant alive? Where was Simon? How many Scots had been killed?
Christ’s teeth. He could not allow himself to contemplate the possibility that his brothers or Lillianna were dead.
“We halt!” someone ordered from the front of the line. “We’ll make camp here.”
Hands came to his arms, and he was pulled off his horse and thrown to the ground with a thud. Then he was dragged over roots, thorns, dirt, and rock, and left by a tree. The smell of wet soil and blood tickled his nose. He glanced up, sensing a man standing near him, but it was so black out he could see nothing. Boots clomped toward him, and a flickering torch cut the darkness, and then Simon appeared, his face illuminated by the torch he held. Beside him stood a young guard of perhaps twenty summers.
“My lord Fraser,” the young guard began, “is this where you wish us to keep the prisoners tonight?”
Hope filled Angus. Simon being in charge boded well for him. “Aye,” Simon answered, kneeling down to stare at Angus face-to-face. “But nae this one, nor his brother.”
Damn it all to hell! Either Ross or Allisdair had been captured.
“Bernard!” Simon shouted. “Bring over the other Scot I told ye would be trouble.”
After a moment, the sliding of a man being dragged over the ground, grunting as he went, filled the silence, and then Ross was unceremoniously dropped like a log beside Angus. Their eyes locked, but neither man said anything. Simon waved a hand negligently between them. “Take these two to Alex’s shelter and tell Alex I said to personally guard them.”
“Alex is already guarding a man who caused trouble,” the guard Bernard responded.
“Alex can handle three men,” Simon bit out. “Make haste. I’m weary and need some rest.”
Another guard joined the younger one, and Angus and Ross were dragged past rows of tied-up Scots. Angus swept his gaze over the men, guessing there were possibly two hundred there. “Where are the rest of the men?” he asked, dreading the answer, as he was dragged past the last man in the row.
“Killed,” the Scot said flatly. A mixture of rage and regret twisted Angus’s insides as the Scot continued. “Their heads are on spikes,” the Scot spat. “Satan’s spawn wants to show his victory to his court.”
Angus’s rage pounded in his head, and when the Scot who had called the king “Satan’s spawn” received a brutal kick from one of the guards, Angus jerked helplessly with the need to kill the Englishman. There was no hope. He yanked furiously on his binds, but they were well tied. Impotent rage nearly choked him, and left with no ability to help, he memorized the guard’s face. He would kill the man eventually.
A few harsh bumps and scrapes later, Angus and Ross were deposited in front of what Angus assumed was the man Alex’s shelter. It looked to be animal skins fastened to four sticks that rose from the ground.
A man kneeled in front of another man in the shelter, and just as the younger guard spoke, the man they called Alex stood, his massive body unfolding to rise, and he came out of the tent, to stand in front of Angus. Angus stared at the mud-crusted boots. Who was this man? Was he friend of foe?
“Who do ye have for me now?” Alex asked the English guard. The man was a Scot, that much was certain, so friend perhaps. Could it be Simon and Grant’s cousin Alex? It almost seemed too much to hope.
“More men my Lord Fraser says might cause trouble,” the guard answered.
Alex snorted. “Doubtful. That one in there has nae even awoken from the beating he received. But I simply do as I’m told, so leave them and I’ll keep them quiet, even if I have to cut out their tongues.”
“You realize,” the guard said to Alex, “Fraser gave you the nasty jobs because you are a nasty Scot, do you not?”
The young guard was on his back on the ground in the next second, and Alex’s boot was on top of his chest. “Call me a filthy Scot again,” he snarled, “and I’ll cut out yer tongue. Do ye ken me?”
“Yes,” the guard gasped, clutching at his neck.
Alex lifted his boot and ordered, “Leave me.” The moment the man shuffled away, Alex kneeled down in front of Angus. “Got yerself caught, did ye?”
“It seems so,” Angus said to Alex Fraser as relief that it was who he had hoped filled him. Alex was a good man, and if he was here, he had to be aiding Simon.
“How long before ye can untie us?” Angus asked, desperate to get to Lillianna and Allisdair.
“When the men are asleep,” Alex replied. “I kinnae chance doing so before that, lest I draw suspicion to myself and then Simon. Unless Bruce is ready for us to rise?”
Angus shook his head. “Nay. I dunnae believe Robbie even kens ye are working with Simon. I did nae. And Robbie was very specific that Simon must keep his cover and continue to gather information.”
“Alex, is yer brother Hector aiding Simon, as well?” Ross asked from where he lay beside Angus.
A fierce scowl settled on Alex’s face. “Nay.” Angus sensed anger in Alex at Hector, but if Alex did not want to tell them what the dispute was between himself and his brother, it was not Angus’s place to ask of personal family matters. Alex shifted his weight forward and settled his forearms on his legs. “I only recently convinced Simon to let me aid him, so I’m nae surprised neither ye nor Bruce did nae ken it.”
Angus nodded his understanding, then turned to Ross. “Where are Allisdair and Lillianna?”
Ross, who was lying on his back, turned his face to Angus. Shadows from the torch danced across his face and accentuated the tight set of his jaw. “Belfaine,” Ross spat, his voice rough with emotion. “Belfaine took them.”
“Belfaine?” Angus repeated, astonished. A dark fear settled in his heart. Belfaine had long tried to find a way to strike at Angus since Angus had killed the man’s father. God’s blood! With Allisdair and Lillianna, the man now had a way to hurt Angus. All the images he had tried to suppress earlier of Lillianna being abused and Allisdair being tortured filled his head once more. Every muscle in his body tensed, and a physical ache pulsed in his chest. “Belfaine is wicked,” Angus muttered.
“Aye,” Alex, Ross, and Grant, who’d not spoken since they’d arrived, said together.
“Grant!” Alex popped up from where he had been kneeling and went back into his tent. “Ye look like hell,” Angus heard Alex say to Grant.
“I feel it,” Grant replied. “But I’m alive. Angus, I’ll help ye to get yer brother and Lillianna back. I swear it.”
“Thank ye,” Angus said, praying they would reach them before it was too late, before too much damage had been done. He did not fear Belfaine would kill Allisdair or Lillianna, but he feared greatly what else the man might do to them. Belfaine would keep Allisdair alive to use him to try to force Angus to relinquish his castle. As for Lillianna… Belfaine was well-known for his appetite for beautiful lasses. Belfaine would use her in the worst sort of way, and that fear froze Angus’s blood in his veins.
Lillianna could hardly stand up when she was dragged off the horse by Belfaine a couple of days later, but when Belfaine’s hand slid around her waist, purposely brushing against her breasts, she willed herself to stay upright. Her skin crawled as she recalled his whispered taunts in her ear throughout the hard, fast journey to Belfaine’s stronghold, Castle Blair, of how he planned to use her body. She scanned the long line of warriors who’d traveled with Belfaine, searching for Allisdair. She’d caught glimpses of him on the journey but had not gotten to speak to him, as they had been kept apart. He looked unharmed, but she’d overheard Belfaine speaking and knew he planned to use Allisdair to get Angus to submit his main stronghold, Castle Balmont. She had no notion why Belfaine wanted the castle, but she feared what he would do to Allisdair to obtain it.
When Belfaine’s finger brushed her breasts once more, she shoved away from him to the chuckle of his men.
“I can stand on my own,” she bit out.
“Excellent,” Belfaine said, his voice making her grit her teeth. “Then you will be well enough to come to my bed tonight.”
“I’ll never be well enough for that,” Lillianna countered icily.
“Ye kinnae take a wench to yer bed this night,” a female voice called from behind Lillianna.
Lillianna whirled around to see a stunning woman with fiery red hair and emerald eyes strolling into the courtyard toward them. Those green eyes flicked briefly to Lillianna before focusing on Belfaine once more. “Yer wife has returned with her father, and he would be most displeased if ye bedded another woman when his precious daughter is in residence.”
The relief Lillianna felt at the blessed reprieve from Belfaine’s impending attentions made her legs shake.
“Devil take my wife and Laird Drumlan,” Belfaine growled, then waved a negligent hand at the men standing close to them.
Drumlan!
Anxiety curled within Lillianna and stole her breath. It could not be the same man who had long ago tricked her mother into believing he loved her when he had only wanted to use her power. It could not be the same man as the one who had grasped her mother’s brooch off her neck as she fled him.
Lillianna began to tremble all over. She wrapped her arms around her waist in an effort to calm herself, but it was useless. Panic clawed at her.
“All of ye leave me, except Thorton. Ye stay here with the boy,” Belfaine barked at his men.
At the mention of Allisdair, Lillianna twirled around and saw him across the courtyard, hands bound behind him, with a guard at his side. Their gazes locked, and her heart twisted for the fear she saw in Allisdair’s gaze. But he smiled and notched up his chin. He had the same bravery that Angus possessed.
Belfaine’s guards emptied the courtyard in such haste that Lillianna had little doubt Belfaine ruled his clan with fear and an iron hand. Her father had ruled his knights in the same way, and she could feel the underlying tension in the air that came from men in constant worry for their lives.
The woman with emerald eyes sauntered over to Belfaine and rested a hand upon his chest. “Dunnae forget, Brother,” she said, her tone a warning one, “that ye need Laird Drumlan as an ally if ye are to ever become Lord of the Isles.”
“I will nae forget,” Belfaine growled and shoved the woman’s hand off his chest.
Lord of the Isles! Dear God above!
Lillianna swallowed repeatedly. Belfaine could not be allowed to become Lord of the Isles. The Lord of the Isles was the ruler of all Highland clans. Lillianna’s mind swirled with all the shocking things she was hearing. If this woman was Belfaine’s sister, then was this Isla Belfaine, the woman who had betrayed Angus and had made him harden his heart? Lillianna studied the woman from under her lashes. Intense dislike flared in her as Belfaine motioned toward Lillianna. “Take my guest to wash herself,” he ordered, looking to his sister.
Isla instantly pouted. “Why me? Have one of the servants wash the wench,” she said, eyeing Lillianna critically.
Lillianna had an overwhelming desire to stride over to the woman and slap her. Twice. Once for herself and once for Angus. Instead, for now, she settled with imagining how good it would feel to do so.
“Nay,” Belfaine responded. “The wench,” he said, with a chuckle, “has nae been cooperative in telling me who she is. I ken ye have yer special ways to get unwilling captives to talk.”
Lillianna immediately took a scrambling step back and smacked into a horse who neighed at her.
Belfaine glanced toward her and frowned. “Dunnae cause me trouble, wench, or I’ll take out my displeasure with ye on the boy.”
Belfaine’s words were like a punch to her gut. He would hurt Allisdair if she displeased him, just as her father had hurt her mother. They had to escape as soon as possible. For, if she had to lie with Belfaine to protect Allisdair, she was unsure she could stomach it.
“Did ye hear me?” Belfaine snapped at her.
Lillianna forced herself to nod.
“Excellent,” Belfaine replied, motioning toward Lillianna once more. “Dunnae mark her face if ye need to use torture, Isla. Do ye ken me?”
Lillianna’s heart clenched at Belfaine’s words and the look of utter anticipation that Isla gave Lillianna at the prospect of torturing her. “I ken ye, but that does take some of the fun away.”
“Be that as it may,” Belfaine said, clearly amused.
“Who’s the boy?” Isla asked, pointing behind Lillianna.
Lillianna did not turn to Allisdair for she did not want to portray any care for him that Isla and Belfaine might use against him. Instead, she curled her hands into fists and silently willed him to be brave. Her own heart hammered, and sweat trickled down her back and dampened her underarms.
“That, my dear Isla, is Angus MacLorh’s brother.”
Isla tensed. Her eyes widened with what appeared to be fright, but she quickly recovered and smiled brightly. Lillianna frowned in confusion. Why would the woman be afraid? Or was she merely dismayed to hear her brother had captured Allisdair? If Isla hated the MacLorhs as Belfaine did, Lillianna would think she would be glad to have Allisdair in their clutches.
“Excellent,” Isla purred, interrupting Lillianna’s thoughts. “We can finally repay him for killing Father.” That was more of the reaction Lillianna would have expected, but was it a real one? She had no notion what to think.
Belfaine nodded. “Aye. And I intend to use the boy to get Angus’s castle. And once I have it—”
“Ye will be keeper of the seas,” Isla interrupted, “and lord of trade, and then—”
Lillianna’s breath caught in her throat at the plans Belfaine had to rule the Highlands.
“I will take the title of Lord of the Isles, which should have been Father’s,” Belfaine stated with a vehemence that made gooseflesh sweep Lillianna’s entire body. He smacked a fist into his open palm. “There will nae be a soul strong enough to deny me, as I’ll hold the castle that is in the position to allow their ships to bypass the dangerous Narrows of Yarrow, and without my permitting their passage—”
“They will continue to lose ships against the steep cliffs that line each side of the Narrows. And when they lose ships, they will lose men,” Isla said almost gleefully. Bile rose in Lillianna’s throat, and Isla grinned. “The Highlanders will nae get the goods to and from the foreign lands they wish to trade with. And then I will be the sister of the most powerful man in the Highlands.” She paused and speared Belfaine with a serious look. “Ye vowed to me I could chose the man I wish to wed. Whatever man I wish,” she clarified, and it seemed most important to her that he agreed, which he did with a nod.
Something about the way Isla said it filled Lillianna with an impending sense of doom. She could not say why, but the feeling was there, like a hunger in the pit of her belly.
“Take the boy with ye and let him observe what befalls someone who dunnae tell me what I wish to ken,” Belfaine said, turning his gaze upon Lillianna.
Dread roiled in her stomach at what was to come, but no matter what, she would not give her name, for they may well contact her uncle, and being forced back to him or her father would be a fate worse than death, with or without the brooch in their possession.
“What do ye wish me to discover?” Isla asked, her excitement of the nasty task to come evident in her breathless tone. Instinctually, Lillianna tried to step back once more. The horse neighed again, and Belfaine shook his head at her.
“Dunnae make me harm the boy more than I need to, wench.”
Lillianna swallowed, her throat feeling parched. “I won’t,” she said.
He smirked at her before saying to Isla, “Discover the wench’s name. And what she means to MacLorh. The boy claims she dunnae mean anything, but I dunnae believe him.”
Isla whipped her gaze to Lillianna and scowled. “I kinnae see how Angus would be interested in a woman like her. She’s plain and nae Scottish. He loves fiery women—women like me.”
Lillianna swallowed her shock. Isla Belfaine was jealous of the mere idea of Lillianna meaning something to Angus, which could only mean the woman cared for Angus in her own twisted way. Isla’s comment about picking her own husband whispered in Lillianna’s head, and the sense of doom for Angus grew so that she had to bite her lip not to cry out.
“Pull in yer claws, Isla,” Belfaine said, his tone mocking and warning at once. “Did ye expect MacLorh to wait for ye to return to him forever?”
“Nae forever,” Isla replied.
Something about the way she said the words, as if there was a but on the end of the sentence, made it seem as if Isla had planned to get Angus in her coil once more. Lillianna sucked in a sharp breath. Could Isla somehow get Angus back?
“Thorton!” Isla screeched. “Take the boy to the high rooms.”
The guard obeyed immediately, and Allisdair was dragged past Lillianna. Their gazes met for a brief second before Isla screeched another command, and two guards appeared from the castle to seize Lillianna on either side.
“Take her to the high rooms, too,” Isla said, gazing at Lillianna with an eager look. “Strip her to her underclothing and tie her to the pole with her arms behind her back.”
Lillianna tried to keep her heart still, but it galloped, trying to outrace the fear that was consuming her. Digging deep within herself, she lifted up her chin.
A slow, wicked smile spread across Isla’s face. “I’m going to enjoy this.”
“I’m glad I can provide you with some entertainment,” Lillianna spat. And as she was dragged away, she had to fight against herself not to battle the guards for fear of how much worse her resistance could make it for Allisdair. Torture was coming—that much was certain. Whether she survived it or not remained to be seen.