Chapter 14

“Um, Colin?”

He glanced down at her. “What do you need?”

Ellie chewed her lip, unsure how to ask, as a blush stole over her cheeks. Claire and Gwen were still dancing up a storm, having the time of their lives…but she really needed to use a bathroom.

Did they have Porta-Potties in medieval times? Ellie guessed she was about to find out.

“I have to, um, use the facilities. The washroom.”

Understanding dawned on his face, and he gave a swift nod. “There are a couple of public garderobes, but it’ll be more sanitary behind a tree.”

Mortification swamped her. “Oh, um, okay. Never mind, I’ll be fine.”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s the Middle Ages, El. Modesty is not really a thing. When you take your baths, doesn’t your chambermaid undress you and help you into the tub?”

“Well, yes, but—”

He took her elbow and turned her away from the festivities. “Come on. It’s not a big deal.”

Ellie took a few deep breaths to calm herself.

She could handle many, many things in life. She handled the people who entered her bookshop and thought she couldn’t possibly know the difference between Machiavelli and Michelangelo. She could handle her aunt’s constant mother henning. She could even handle the Tube in all its glory at rush hour in high tourist season.

But Colin leading her to some secluded spot to relieve herself? Handling that reality seemed beyond her ability.

She lingered behind the tree for a few minutes longer than strictly necessary. When she felt she’d dawdled long enough—and thought that she could paste on a smile and adopt Colin’s make-it-til-you-fake-it mentality, she stepped out from behind the trees, then stopped suddenly.

She didn’t see Colin. “Colin?” she tried.

“Lady Claire?” A rather rough-looking member of the garrison stood before her, his sword strapped to his back and knives tucked all over the straps of his boots.

Ellie jumped.

The man rushed her and grabbed her upper arm.

“Ow!” she gasped, but he yanked her towards him. As she catapulted into his chest, he slapped his other hand against her mouth. She immediately bit down, but he didn’t seem fazed; in fact, he swiftly knocked something hard against her head, and everything went dark.

• • •

Colin paced Nioclas’s solar, his shoulders tense and his face pinched.

Ellie had been missing for hours.

Nioclas had seen Colin head toward the trees with Ellie, and took the opportunity to send one of his personal guardsmen to replace Colin as she took care of her business. He needed to discuss the news he’d received of a possible battle between neighboring clans with Colin, Reilly, and James.

When they’d found the guard slain, Colin felt a fear unlike any other creep into his soul.

Claire’s eyes were red from crying. “Why would someone take Ellie?”

“We’ve searched the faire grounds, the village, all the houses, the castle, the baileys, and the surrounding forest,” Reilly said briskly, checking things from a list on parchment. “Can anyone think of any other places to search?”

The solar door flew open, and a maid burst in, her skirts flying. She looked around wildly, and when her eyes landed on Claire, she sank against the wall in relief.

“Ryanne, what are you about?” Nioclas demanded.

“Oh, my lady!” she gasped, out of breath, and completely ignoring Nick. Her hand on her heaving chest, she gulped in large breaths of air. “Oh, praise the saints ’tisn’t true!”

Claire frowned. “What troubles you, Ryanne?”

The maid waved a piece of parchment toward her and straightened, though she still breathed hard. “Why, ’tis the note I found in your chamber. I thought for certain the O’Connells had ye!”

Claire’s frown deepened. “You know my sire would never allow such a thing to happen.” She took the note. “Thank you for the speed of your delivery, however false the news is.”

The maid smiled, relieved, and bobbed a quick curtsey before hastening the way she’d come.

“How strange,” Claire murmured, her eyes skimming the parchment. “This is the O’Connell seal, but…”

Nioclas silently held out his hand and Claire placed the parchment in it. His eyes scanned the words before he handed it to Colin.

Your daughter is safe, but you may now refer to her as Lady O’Connell. We require no dowry, but offer you instead our swords. Waging war on us is akin to waging war on your daughter.

The note was signed with a wax seal.

“Clearly, whatever plan they had didn’t work out,” Brianagh mused, reaching for Claire, and pulling her closer. “Praise the saints.”

“O’Malley,” Colin suddenly barked. He strode to him and shoved the parchment into his hand. “O’Connell has her. He took her, thinking she was Claire—and that’s why you were sent here. If Ellie hadn’t been here, they would’ve taken Claire!”

Claire’s face blanched. “The O’Connells are brutal. Their women are…they’re…”

“They’re what?” Colin demanded.

“The men take what they want from their clanswomen,” Brianagh answered, her voice catching. “They’re some of the worst. They certainly live up to the barbaric reputation England believes we have.”

“To attempt a kidnapping, right under Nick’s nose, is foolish at best and deadly at worst,” James spat.

Nick pulled open the door and spoke to Kane, the captain of his own guard, before storming back in, Kane on his heels.

“The battle between the O’Rourkes and the O’Connells seems to be more than just rumor,” Kane informed them tersely.

Reilly and Colin shared a look, then, as one, headed for the door.

“You’ll need a garrison to take her back,” Nioclas declared, stopping the men in their tracks.

“Will yours be behind us?” Colin demanded.

Nioclas’s eyes turned thoughtful. “If I tell them to be, aye. But what reason do I have to give them, to put their lives at risk? The lady is of no relation to any of us. She holds no importance to this clan, does she?”

Gwen gasped. “So you’d leave her with—with—”

A foul word escaped Colin’s mouth, and he looked at Nioclas, his eyes full of anguish. His voice broke as he uttered, “She’s mine, Nick. Only mine.”

Nioclas gave Brianagh a swift, brutal kiss, then charged out with Colin, James, and Reilly.

• • •

Ellie sat in front of a weak fire, her body shaking from the cold that seeped into her bones.

She had no idea where she was. Or when.

Ellie glanced at the man who sat before her and repressed a shiver of fear. The man himself had a hardness in his eyes. He hadn’t yet spoken to her, and it was beyond unnerving.

He was dressed the same as Colin had been—tunic, léine, leggings, and weaponry. Lots of weaponry.

He said something to her, and she jumped as if struck. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

The man barked out an order, and the other men in the room filed out quickly until it was just the two of them, and the imposing men standing at the entrance.

To keep the others out? Or to keep her in?

She had a sick feeling that she knew the answer to that one.

“I speak some peasant’s English,” the man said haltingly, but confidently. “I am Dylan O’Connell. Ye are Claire MacWilliam, and ye will save us.”

Ellie blinked. “No, I’m not Claire—”

He shook his head and held up his hand. “Ye wear the laird’s colors, and possess the manners of a laird’s daughter. Ye were guarded thusly.”

Ellie let out a frustrated sigh. “I am a guest there. Claire’s with her mother and father right now.”

He slammed the table with his fist. “Your untruths will not serve ye here!” He regained his composure and continued, as though he hadn’t just behaved like a Neanderthal, “I believe ye will make a good wife. I will be a good husband, and ye will be treated with care, unless you choose to be…troublesome.”

Ellie froze, her mouth hanging open. Wife?

“Once we are married, ye will be brought to my chamber, and we will consummate our marriage. Then, with that proof, the battles will cease, and our clans will be united. Do not fear, my lady. I shall ensure your comforts if ye lay willingly.”

“What if I don’t lay willingly?” she whispered.

He shrugged. “Eventually, ye will. And if not, there are many wenches around the castle to attend me once you are swollen with my heir. But for the heir to be…” He struggled to find the right word. “If it is to be legitimate, we must be married immediately. Kevan, one of your new clansmen, has gone to fetch the priest. Ye may continue to pretend not to understand your native tongue—”

“You are the one who isn’t understanding!” Ellie exclaimed, fear intensifying her desperation. “I’m not Claire MacWilliam!”

Dylan stood as well, his height dwarfing her. His tone became harsh. “’Tis done. Ye can go to the altar willingly or not; my priest does not care much what the bride wants. He only wants what’s best for my people.” He drew a breath. “Our people.”

“This is ridiculous,” Ellie sputtered. She stepped away from him. “I’m not marrying you—”

She froze at the sound of blades being drawn from their scabbards. Slowly, she glanced to the doorway. Two guardsmen stood tall, their long, sharp swords crossed in an X.

They didn’t look amused.

Dylan said something to them, and they both nodded once, but didn’t remove their barrier. To her, he said, “We will make amends to your sire later. But this protects your mother’s clan as well as it does ours. The priest should arrive soon, and though your wedding day may not be as grand as ye might have hoped, I will not hurt ye if ye remain obedient.”

Ellie swallowed her reply as Dylan left. The guardsmen allowed him to pass, but immediately took up their stance once more as the door slammed closed.

She sank down in the chair again and wrapped her hands around her queasy stomach.

• • •

Ellie stood at the altar in the small chapel, a dagger against her ribcage and two fierce-looking warriors holding each of her arms, and fought to keep the contents of her stomach in place.

She couldn’t hear anything above the roar in her ears, but as the wedding ceremony was taking place in Latin, she had a suspicion she didn’t need to hear anything.

Actually, she had that suspicion when the priest asked her to repeat her vows, to which she emphatically said, “No, I do not take him to be my husband!” and the priest merely shrugged and continued on.

The dagger had dug a little bit deeper after that, so she kept silent and tried not to give in to the panic coursing through her veins.

O’Connell, for his part, looked resolute. He made eye contact with her a few times, but while her gaze was pleading, his was hard and unyielding. And, as he had whispered warnings to her twice thus far, she knew he was going to take her directly to his chamber, where her two special guardsmen friends would watch as he forced her to—

Oh, God. Just the thought had her shaking so hard she could barely stand.

While she was not religious by nature, she’d been praying in earnest since she walked out of the great room hours earlier. She’d prayed throughout the long walk from the great hall to the chamber where she’d been locked, then through the dark hours of the night when she was left alone without anything but a chair to sit upon. When O’Connell (and his oh-so-friendly team of prison guards) came to fetch her, it was eerily still outside in the inky black of night. There was no sign of twilight or dawn…just her, a knife at her back, the laird, and the men whose grips on her arms were sure to leave bruises.

If that was the worst she would sustain during this ordeal, she promised to whatever higher power that was listening that she would be grateful. Alas…when he’d locked her into that small room, O’Connell had promised her through the door that by dawn, she would be “so well-used no man would ever want ye.”

She had vomited at that point, and plotted escape after escape, but her kidnapper had made that impossible with the iron lock on her door and giant men with sharp swords.

“Ye are worth more to me as a wife than dead,” he growled her. Then he followed that with, “But if we don’t marry, you’re better off dead by my hand than alive by my clan’s.”

She wasn’t quite sure what he meant, and she really didn’t want to find out.

Their torches barely dented the unending blackness in the chapel. The windows remained dark as well, as the moon was hidden deep behind clouds in the sky. A few people were seated in the pews, apparently enjoying the spectacle and serving as witnesses to their laird’s marriage.

One pious soul sat with his head lowered, his unruly dark blond hair catching the torchlight. Ellie focused her gaze on him, rather than the unmoving man in front of her, wishing that he would stand up for her. Or anyone, really. Some lone, brave soul would stand up, shaking his fist in outrage. “Stop!” he’d yell. “She said no!”

Then the scary brute in front of her would look at his clansman and give a sage nod. “You’re right,” he’d agree, then have her escorted back to the MacWilliams, where Reilly or Colin would take her home immediately and she could then curl up in her flat, pull the covers over her head, and pretend it had all been a dream.

She would give anything to have her life back.

The priest gave some sort of sign over her head, and apparently that was enough for O’Connell. He grabbed her arm and dragged her towards the door of the chapel, but, in a final, last-ditch effort to preserve herself, she dug in her heels.

Literally.

She pressed her heels into the hard dirt of the chapel floor, but it didn’t have the intended effect. He yanked her forward, toppling her face-first into the ground. She landed on both forearms and her belly, so no true harm was done, but it took her a moment to catch her breath.

In all her years of life, she never thought she’d be facedown in the middle of a medieval chapel, guards with sharp daggers behind her and a soon-to-be rapist standing over her. Terror seized her anew.

“Looks like your intended isn’t exactly a willing bride.” The slow drawl took Ellie’s breath away a second time, and she risked a glance up.

Even though she knew it wasn’t directed at her, the fury on Colin’s face was so terrifying that she almost peed her pants.

Materializing from the shadows of the chapel walls and filling the door in front of her, men stepped forward, the sounds of metal swords being dragged from their scabbards echoing in the dead of the night. More torches flamed to life, and Ellie, from her limited viewpoint on the floor between the pews, was speechless at the number of men in her line of vision.

She was also a little embarrassed, because if she turned her head just slightly, she’d be kissing the dirt. As they seemed to be there to save her, she tried not to dwell on that. She also tried to stop shaking, but that appeared to be a lost battle.

Colin stepped forward, his voice even and sword drawn. “Release her.”

“O’Rourke, ye are too late,” Dylan crowed, though his voice wasn’t nearly as strong as it had been hours earlier. Ellie tried to get to her knees, but O’Connell pressed his boot on her back, forcing her down again. He added triumphantly, “I’ve witnesses from three different clans—including your own, it seems. She’s my wife now, and she belongs to me.”