"MacLennon."
Iain felt as if all his worst nightmares had come true. Both the horn to signal for aid and his sword were in reach. Because of Islaen's struggles MacLennon's sword was not so steady against his throat. He felt he had a chance but, just as he tensed to move, deciding to grab for his sword, MacLennon's sword suddenly left his throat. Iain watched in horror as MacLennon's sword came to rest against Islaen's throat, pricking her smooth skin enough to cause blood to well up and slowly trail down her slim neck.
"Move and she dies now, MacLagan."
Islaen froze when the chill of the blade touched her throat. When Iain also froze she realized they could well be in a trap there was no escape from.
"Now, toss the sword and the horn into the trees."
"Nay, Iain,” Islaen cried, then gasped when MacLennon's sword pressed more firmly against her throat, pricking her skin yet again.
"Let her go, MacLennon,” Iain said as he tossed away his sword and the horn. “'Tis me ye want."
"Aye, ‘tis ye I want but I want you to suffer and I think I hold the rack to stretch you upon, MacLagan. Such a wee, pretty rack she is too.” Abruptly shoving Islaen onto Iain, MacLennon took a coil of rope off of his shoulder and tossed it at them. “Tie him up."
"Nay, I cannae. I willnae,” Islaen protested even as MacLennon's sword drew nearer to her.
"Do it, Islaen,” Iain ordered, praying that, if he could just keep them alive for a while, someone would come.
"Aye, do it, Islaen,” MacLennon mocked. “Be a good wee wife and do as your husband commands. Kneel, Iain, and put your hands behind you. Now, wee Islaen, ye will tie him exactly as I tell ye to."
"Iain, I cannae."
"Do it, Islaen. Do just as he says."
Shaking with the fear that she was only preparing her husband for the slaughter, Islaen began to tie him up, following MacLennon's instructions exactly. The way Iain had looked at her made her think he tried to tell her something, tried to relay some message. She could only assume that he meant for her to go carefully, to garner as much time as she could. As she continued to tie him up she got the horrified feeling that time was something they had little of. The way she was tying Iain would mean that he could not move without strangling to death. She gasped and immediately stopped.
"Nay, I cannae. T'will be a torture."
"Now, m'lady, do ye mean to be disobediant?” MacLennon drawled as he moved to stand facing Iain. “Shall I cut him to make ye obey? Mayhaps a scar upon the other cheek. Ah, then there is this proud fellow."
Paling when he prodded Iain's loins with his sword, Islaen finished tying Iain up. “'Tis done. Ye may cease your tormenting now."
"Ah, but me dear lady, I have but begun.” He stood up and smiled coldly at Iain. “I shall let ye keep the wee fellow a while longer."
He laughed and pushed Iain over causing a strain to be put on the rope. Islaen gasped, then rushed at the man, infuriated by his cruelty. She did not even land one blow. Almost casually he swung at her sending her sprawling. She stared up at him and knew that, although they may have gained some time, that time would be a torture filled with whatever horror MacLennon's twisted mind could conceive. Somehow he knew that the chance of anyone coming to their rescue was slim and he intended to play with them.
"Come now, m'lady, I believe ye were about to remove your clothes. Dinnae let me stop you."
For one brief panicked moment Iain thought of shouting for help but he ruthlessly quelled the urge. The chances that anyone would hear were small. So too would it insure a quick death for himself and Islaen. What rescuers might arrive would only find their dead bodies. He had to try to be strong, to let MacLennon play his mad games, for there was always the chance that someone would see signs that MacLennon was near or simply worry that he and Islaen had been gone too long and come looking for them. Knowing what MacLennon planned for Islaen, however, made Iain fear he would lack that strength. He really did not think he could silently watch her raped even for the chance to save their lives.
As he faced the very real prospect of their deaths, Alexander's words haunted him. God had given him the joy of Islaen and he had wasted every day of their short time together. Beside his fear for her and his helpless anger was a grief for time lost.
"Islaen, I am sorry,” he said, the taut rope around his neck making his voice raspy.
"For what? Because this mad fool thinks our pain can end his? Because he thinks our deaths can resurrect the long-dead Catalina?"
"Be quiet and undress,” MacLennon hissed. “Catalina's death must be paid for."
"Then speak to God, fool. He is the one who took her. She died on childbed."
"Bearing his child,” MacLennon screamed.
"Aye, just as she would have died had ye wed her and got her with bairn. What would ye have done then? Taken revenge upon yourself?” she sneered. “Fallen upon your sword at her graveside, mayhaps?” She cried out when he struck her sending her sprawling.
He hesitated as he stood over her, his sword raised to strike. “Nay, nay, ye willnae make me kill you. Nay, not yet. Get up."
As she slowly got to her feet, Islaen wondered if that was what she was doing, trying to make him kill her. With an inner shake of her head she rejected that idea. She had no wish at all to die, not even knowing what he planned to do to her. Anger born of fear and frustration prompted her words. She was simply enraged that this madman could play his vengeful games, threaten Iain's life and her own, and she seemed helpless to stop him. Inside she raged at the injustice of it all and that spilled out in bitter, stinging words. She did wonder, however, if she could make him angry enough to make that one error in judgment that would give her and Iain a chance.
"Get undressed,” he hissed. “Ye cannae stop me in this. I mean to make him watch me take his woman as he took mine."
Although her heart seemed to be in her throat, Islaen shrugged and began to unlace her gown. “Are ye sure ye can? Are ye sure ye didnae bury your manhood with Catalina as weel as your mind?” She inwardly tensed for the blow when he raised his fist but, with a visible effort, he controlled himself.
"Ye have a sharp tongue, m'lady. Ye best be wary that someone doesnae cut it off."
"Ye do seem to have a taste for chopping off bits of people."
Out of the corner of her eye she saw a stout piece of wood and, as she held out her tunic and let it drop, she began to make a plan. She ceased taunting him and began to concentrate on removing her clothing as slowly as possible, deliberately holding each piece out to let it drop. When she bent to roll down her hose she saw the look upon his face that she had been waiting for. MacLennon might be mad but he still suffered a man's lusts. She could use that against him if she was both careful and clever.
Gasping for air, his compulsive move to aid Islaen tightening the rope about his neck, Iain lay still. For a moment he feared MacLennon was right, that Islaen tried to drive the man to kill her quickly. He discarded that idea although he was not sure why, only sensed that Islaen would not do that.
Then he grew confused for her anger seemed to fade. As he watched her undress it seemed as if she were trying to seduce MacLnon and, by the look upon the man's face, it was working. He could not understand why she should do such a thing. When her plan revealed itself he was both proud of her because of her courage and terrified that her risk would bring her further pain, enraging the madman so that he increased whatever torment he dealt her.
Slipping off her petticoat, Islaen held it out as if to drop it as she had all her other clothes. When MacLennon's gaze briefly flickered to her bared legs, she flung her petticoat at him. It covered his head and, as he struggled to pull it free, she grabbed up the wood she had spotted. He was just tossing aside the petticoat when she swung her rough club with all her might and hit him in the stomach. When he doubled over she swung again hitting him on the head. He sprawled on the ground and she stared at him in amazement for a moment, surprised that she had done what she had and that it had worked.
Hurriedly shaking free of that shock she briefly thought of taking his sword to cut Iain free but discarded the idea as she rushed to Iain's side. She could never wield a sword well enough to cut Iain's bonds without cutting him. Trying to stay calm so that she did not fumble too long over the knots, she began to loosen Iain's bonds.
Once the rope loosened around his neck, Iain rasped, “Ye could have gotten killed, lass."
"Seeing as he was planning on murdering me anyhow I cannae see what your complaint is. Dead is dead."
"Get the horn and call for the others."
"I will get ye free first so that ye can at least move out of the way of his sword.” She undid the last knot and heard Iain groan. “Are you hurt?"
"My muscles have knotted ‘tis all."
"I will get his sword. I should have done that but only thought of getting ye free and I coudnae use it for that."
"Look out, Islaen,” Iain tried to shout but his voice was little more than a hoarse cry and he could not move to save her.
Islaen had taken one step towards MacLennon when suddenly the man was on his feet and racing towards her. She turned to flee but he caught her by the hair, using it to pull her around to face him. He backhanded her across the face sending her sprawling on the ground, then leapt upon her. For one brief moment Islaen feared he was still intending to rape her and Iain would not recover from being so painfully trussed up in time to save her. Then she experienced real terror as his hands closed around her throat and no amount of tearing at his hands could loosen his grip for he was too enraged, too crazed to even feel the pain she was inflicting.
She tried to buck him off but he only laughed. Her body did not have the strength to throw his weight over even when strengthened by the fear of death. Then, suddenly, an arm snaked around MacLennon's neck and he was the one fighting for air. For just a moment he kept his grip upon her throat and Islaen felt near to blacking out. Then he let go to turn all his efforts to breaking Iain's hold upon his neck. Islaen turned on her side, her hand to her abused throat, and gasped for air. For a short while getting air back into her body was all important.
Iain felt relief fill him when he saw Islaen move. He had feared that it had taken him too long to make his cramped muscles move. All he had been able to think of as he had struggled to save her was how small Islaen's neck was, its slenderness encircled by the strong hands of a madman who tried to kill her.
"Islaen, get to the horses,” he yelled hoarsely, then cried out as MacLennon broke free and sent him sprawling.
Nodding, Islaen stumbled to her feet. She felt weak and light-headed but fought it. Thinking a little hysterically that Iain was going to be exceedingly cross, she headed not for the horses but towards where he had thrown the horn. She had no intention of running for her life at the cost of his, knew she would never be able to live with herself if she did.
With his attention torn between his wife and MacLennon, Iain was able to do little more than keep out of MacLennon's reach. “Islaen, I told ye to go to the horses! Get out of here!"
"In a moment,” she replied but doubted he could hear her for her voice was little more than a raspy whisper.
When he realized where she was headed he managed to turn his full attention upon MacLennon. He knew she looked for the horn and did not think it would be too hard to find. Once she blew upon that help would arrive in minutes.
Desperately, on her hands and knees, Islaen searched for the horn. She almost wept when she found it for it meant rescue from the nightmare they were caught in. Her relief turned to despair when her first attempt to blow it brought forth a sickly tone that would fail to travel a yard. Praying for strength, she took several deep breaths though they hurt her and tried again. The sound was louder, clearer, but it stole what strength she had. Collapsing upon the ground, she prayed it had been enough to bring the help they so desperately needed.
Alexander looked up from the dice game he played with Robert when Phelan rode into Muircraig. “Where have ye been?"
"About."
"Verra informative. Ye just missed Lady Mary. She rode out of here but moments ago in no good a temper, I might add."
"No need. I saw the slattern. Where is Iain?” Phelan asked as he dismounted. “I think ye are losing, Robert. ‘Tis best not to play with Alexander."
"Ye should have told me that ere I lost near all I own. Iain isnae here."
"Where did he go?"
"Off with Islaen if ye must ask,” Alexander replied. “She planned to seduce him. Must have worked or they would have returned by now."
"Oh, then t'would most like be awkward to seek him out,” Phelan murmured, frowning slightly.
"Why should ye wish to?"
"Well, Alex, I saw signs whilst I was out riding."
"MacLennon?"
"I fear it might be. There was an effort made to hide the signs and I can think of no other man who wouldst be trying so hard to creep about here without being seen."
"There is none.” Alexander stood up, tensed yet hesitant. “Howbeit, Iain is alert to the danger. They went prepared."
"How alert can a man be,” Robert asked as he too stood up, “when he is enjoying what he hasnae tasted for o'er six months."
"Not verra alert at all."
"Still, he may not appreciate any interruption,” Phelan said, “especially when I have no proof."
"And I cannae say I wish to be privy to my sister tussling with her mon,” Robert drawled.
"An all ye fear is to catch them at it, then we can announce our approach loudly and clearly,” Alex said.
"Ye think ‘tis worth warning him,” Phelan murmured.
"Aye, I do. As we have agreed, who else could it be but MacLennon?"
"None,” Robert muttered. “Best we go then. Hold!” Although Robert grasped only Alexander's arm everyone in Muircraig stilled as the single clear note cut through the air.
"Aye,” Alexander hissed, “I heard it.” He raced for his horse. “The bastard has found them."
"M'lord,” Murdo cried as he hurried forward buckling on his sword.
"Follow as ye can, man. We cannot hesitate,” Phelan yelled as he vaulted onto his horse. “Do ye know the way, Alex?"
"Aye,” he answered as Robert mounted behind him. “We can be there in but minutes."
"Pray God He allows us those minutes,” Robert said as they galloped out of Muircraig.
Islaen fought the blackness that threatened to engulf her and struggled to her feet. She had no time for the luxury of pandering to her hurts. Looking toward Iain and MacLennon she wondered frantically what she could do to help.
She cried out in dismay when MacLennon picked up the wood she had used as a club. Even while she tried to keep a close watch on the fight she searched the area for Iain's sword but could see no sign of it. Then MacLennon struck Iain and she forgot all about the sword. Iain was staggered by the blow, truly helpless, and MacLennon was going for his sword. Trying not to make a sound, Islaen moved towards the rough club MacLennon had tossed aside. She grasped it even as MacLennon, sword in hand, turned towards Iain and smiled gloatingly.
Iain fought to stay conscious. The blow to his head had staggered him. It had also cut him, sending blood streaming into his eyes and blinding him. He was helpless, unable to avoid the blow MacLennon was sure to give him. He prayed Islaen had fled once she had given the signal to bring help. MacLennon did not seem to realize what she had done and Iain hoped that this time the man would die.
As if through a fog he saw MacLennon lunge at him. He stumbled out of the way but felt the tip of MacLennon's sword score his side. The way the man laughed told Iain that the man played with him and he cursed viciously, wishing he had his sword. Naked and rendered helpless, then taunted by a madman seemed a poor way to meet one's end. There was little glory in it.
For the first time in her life Islaen tasted pure hate as she watched MacLennon taunt Iain. It was cruel beyond words to play so with a man. Iain was helpless, could barely see where his foe stood and could not fight back, not even if he had held a sword. Her love had to know that the death stroke would come, had probably braced for it, yet MacLennon tormented him by holding back. It was good that MacLennon sought such a twisted pleasure, for it allowed her time to creep near enough to strike at him, but she loathed the man for it.
When MacLennon stepped back after scoring Iain's thigh, Islaen struck. The man was a lot taller than she but her club was long enough that she could reach his head well enough for a sound blow and that was what she aimed for. Putting all her strength and fury behind her swing, she struck him. Despite the hatred she felt for him, her stomach churned at the sound made when her club struck his skull.
Her dismay faded abruptly when he ceased to stagger and turned towards her. Shock caused her to drop her club when she saw the damage she had done. With such a wound in his head the man should not be standing, she thought, yet he advanced on her. He gave a cry that made her shudder, then hit her. Islaen felt her head explode with pain. She seemed to fly backwards, then landed hard upon the ground. There was another burst of pain in her head and the last thing she was aware of was a scream that sounded as if it was torn from the throat of something less than human.
Despite wiping frantically at his eyes, Iain was unable to fully clear his vision or help after Islaen struck MacLennon and the man turned on her. Hearing the sound of a blow, he echoed Islaen's cry of pain. He took one step towards her, barely able to make out her crumpled form, when he froze. MacLennon seemed to clutch his head, then screamed in a way that chilled Iain's blood. For an instant MacLennon wavered, then collapsed. The ensuing silence was something Iain found as chilling as MacLennon's inhuman cry.
Moving towards the two sprawled forms, Iain stumbled and fell to his knees. After trying several times to get up, he started to crawl towards Islaen. Despite his growing fear for her he paused by MacLennon. He knew he should make sure that the man could not rise up to threaten them again.
Looking closely at MacLennon Iain knew the man was dead even before he checked for a heartbeat. He did not need perfect vision to know that such a head wound had to be fatal. Iain was amazed that the man had not immediately died or at least collapsed.
"Islaen,” he rasped as he reached her side and her stillness began to terrify him. “Islaen, can ye hear me?"
Never had he felt so helpless. He could barely see and he knew he was very close to blacking out. Islaen needed his help but he could not even keep himself upright. All he could do was pray that she was alive, that someone had heard her call for aid and would be there to keep her alive.
When his shaking hand could locate no pulse he nearly wept. In trying to put an ear to her chest to find a heartbeat he collapsed on top of her. Beneath his ear, however, he heard the steady beat of her heart. With a deep sigh of relief he gave into unconsciousness knowing that, even if Muircraig had not heard the call, someone would come when they were absent for too long.
"Sweet Jesu,” Alexander breathed as he came upon the scene. “They are all dead."
"Nay,” Robert cried as he dismounted and raced over to his sister.
He gently moved Iain off of Islaen. She was bruised on her face and her shift was splattered with blood. Once he was sure that she was alive it took him several moments before he was sure that her only wound was a bad bump on the back of her head.
"Iain lives as weel,” Alexander reported, “but he has a bad head wound."
"So does Islaen,” Robert said as he moved to get the blanket so that he could wrap her in it.
"How fares MacLennon?” Alexander asked Phelan.
"Quite dead.” Phelan rose from where he knelt by the man. “Someone caved in his head."
"Good. The bastard has been a plague for too long. Help me get Iain's braes on. I am certain he wouldnae wish to be taken back home naked."
Alexander and Phelan had just finished covering Iain's nakedness when the men from Muircraig arrived. While Phelan and Murdo bathed Iain's wounds, Alexander saw to the making of a litter for Iain. Islaen could easily be carried safely by a man on a horse but Iain would be far too great a burden. Once satisfied that matters were seen to, he knelt by Robert who sat holding Islaen, gently pressing a cool damp cloth to her forehead and vainly trying to rouse her.
"What do we do with MacLennon's body? Do we leave it to the carrion?"
"T'would please me to do so,” Robert growled.
"Me as weel,” Alexander said coldly, “but we best take him with us."
"Why? The mon deserves no Christian rights. He was mad and tormented twa people that had done him no wrong."
"Aye, Robert, but he has haunted Iain for o'er twa years.” Alexander sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I cannae say for such has ne'er happened to me but in his place I think I should like to ken that my tormenter is indeed dead."
"He killed the mon. He must ken that he is dead."
"Aye, he killed the mon but he may have fallen himself ere he was certain that the mon was dead. Best we take the body so there can be no doubt in Iain's mind that he has finally won."
Looking from his unconscious sister to the equally unconscious Iain, Robert met Alexander's worried gaze and asked softly, “But has he?"