Chapter Thirty
When Fiona had journeyed to Clan MacKenzie to spend time with Adam and his family, she had always looked for the high tower from the road. It was the tallest point of the MacKenzie stronghold. Whenever she glimpsed the banner waving from the high turret, Fiona knew their journey was nearly at an end. But Fiona never could have imagined that the tower, which had once been a beacon of hope, would one day become her prison.
She paced the narrow circumference. There was no casement. One day had passed or could it have been two? She knew not the hour or even whether it was day or night. She had the light of one fat candle by which to see. She felt purposeful and helpless all at the same time.
On several occasions, she had questioned her sanity—she had surrendered herself to another clan. Now, she was leagues from Jamie and all she held dear.
Her heart started to race, but she shook her head against the doubt that once more invaded her thoughts.
Clan MacKenzie was not her enemy.
Ranulf and his gang of brutal mercenaries—they alone deserved her scorn, and thankfully, they did not know she was so close at hand.
She imagined Ranulf moving beneath her, somewhere in the keep, planning his dominance over the region; all the while, those he would suppress had their own scheme—one that would unite the clans against him.
“I hope,” she said out loud.
Several hours had passed since Tormod had checked on her. She’d already finished the dried meat and bannock he had brought earlier. Her stomach growled, confirming the passing of time.
Just then a quiet knock sounded at the door. A breath later, it swung wide. She scurried away, pressing her back against the wall as a figure, wearing a black cloak with the hood pulled low, walked into the small room.
“Do not be afraid, my lady,” the intruder said, the instant before he pulled his hood back. “’Tis I, Thomas!”
Relief claimed Fiona as she looked upon the familiar face of Abby’s suitor. “Thomas, ye gave me such a fright. I’ve never been so relieved! Is it over then? Have we won? Where’s Jamie?”
“We have, indeed, won,” Thomas smiled and took her hand. “Jamie is awaiting ye downstairs. I will take ye to him.”
Fiona followed Thomas. She had to keep herself from running. She wanted so much to feel Jamie’s strong arms around her and to know that all was well, although another part of her was nervous. No doubt, he would be livid with her for taking such a risk. But, she also knew no matter how angry she made him, he would never hurt her. Still, she hated the idea of disappointing him or causing him worry, but since they had won, she knew he would be quick to forgive her.
Thomas wound through the corridor and led her to the MacKenzie solar—a circular room with doors set at each of the four directions. She rushed inside but stopped short when the tall man in front of her turned. Cold, black eyes locked with hers.
“Boo!”
A scream tore from her lips. She turned around and ran straight into Thomas’s hard chest. “’Tis Ranulf MacKenzie, Thomas. Run!”
“Quickly, Thomas, run!” Ranulf mimicked her. Then he reached for her, grabbing her arm. “Ye’ve no place to run, Lady MacLeod. And Thomas is no longer here.”
She struggled to escape the villain’s biting fingers but couldn’t break free. Her gaze darted around the room, which was crowded with MacKenzie warriors. All but two wore the telltale black leather jerkins, bearing Ranulf’s fierce crest. Another figure lay on the floor, wrapped in a MacKenzie plaid, but she could not see his face.
“Thomas, please help me,” she cried. She locked eyes with the lad.
He looked away, his face impassive, as he walked further into the room, turning his back to her.
“Thomas!” she cried.
Ranulf grabbed her other arm and jerked her around to face him. “There is no Thomas, just my bastard son, Fergus,” he snarled, his gaze roaming over her body. He reached out and palmed her breast.
“Get yer hands off me,” she gritted, pushing against his hard chest. But he did not budge, his body as solid as the walls holding her captive. She glanced at Thomas, but he did not look at her, nor did his expression reveal his thoughts.
“Is it true?” she cried, although she knew the answer. The lad’s resemblance to Ranulf was undeniable.
She wanted to rail at him. How could he betray her? But she needed to stay calm. Panicking would only steer her toward error, and right now, she had to focus on staying alive.
“Such a beauty,” Ranulf said, stroking his finger down her cheek. “Jamie MacLeod is a lucky man, or at least, he might have been, if I wasn’t going to kill him myself.”
He sneered at her. “Ye seem surprised, my dear. Did ye think an army could sneak up on me and take me by surprise. I have eyes and ears everywhere. My men are spread throughout the region. Fergus, here, has been living with yer clan since the very day I killed my brother, gleaning all manner of delicious secrets from yer sweet, wee maid.”
Fiona’s eyes widened. “That is how ye knew the secret route we took from my home.”
“Indeed. My plan was to take ye for myself. Had my men not failed me, ye would now be my wife.” He thrust her against him. “I would have been the man to break your maidenhead.” A leery smile curved his lips. “No matter. After yer husband is dead, and ye become my leman, I will have a lifetime to punish ye for letting another man touch ye.” Again, he squeezed her breast, causing her to wince. “Ye will forget his gentle touch, and ye will come to know the way a woman was meant to be taken, hard and rough. I will make yer virgin blood flow again, that is my vow.”
She cried out as he grabbed her by the hair. “On yer knees,” he spat, shoving her to the ground. “Ye can watch me train,” he said. “Bastard, bring me my sword.”
Fergus crossed the room and took up a broad sword from a long trencher table and handed it to his father.
“This is the sword with which I shall slay yer husband, from stem to stern. He is a fool to march against me. My keep is strong and my supplies limitless. He and his men will grow weary of their fruitless siege, and I will cut them down.” Ranulf passed his sword back to his son.
Fiona trembled as she watched him push the top part of his plaid off his shoulder before whisking his shirt over his head. Scars decorated his chiseled muscles. “I was not born to title like my poor, dead brother. I knew that if I wanted anything of value in life, I would have to fight for it. And I have—every treasure I possess, all my gold, the loyalty of my men—I have bled to possess them all. I do not fight for honor. I do not fight for love. I fight to win, and I give no quarter.”
She steeled her shoulders. “I would never ask for mercy.”
He grazed the back of his fingers down her cheek. Then his hand dropped to her throat. He squeezed. “Nay, ye will beg for it.”
“Never,” she strained to say.
Grabbing back his sword, he pressed the edge to her neck. “Beg me for yer life.”
She swallowed hard, but her eyes narrowed on him. “Never,” she rasped.
A wicked glint shone in his eye. “Kenric, bring me the good captain,” he called. One of Ranulf’s warriors crossed the room and grabbed the arm of the man lying near the hearth, dragging him toward them. Fiona gasped. Blood covered one side of the man’s face, dripping from an angry gash on his temple. His eyes were nigh swollen shut, and his lips were cracked and bloody.
Her heart sank when she recognized Captain Tormod.
“Get the captain up on his knees, Fergus.”
Fiona watched in horror as the young man known to her as Thomas took hold of the tortured captain and moved him closer to his father.
Ranulf circled around the hurt man. “When Fergus arrived today and told me how ye were taken prisoner by one of my warriors, it took me some time to flush out which one. It was not until I threatened the lives of the village children that Captain Tormod came forward and told me he’d taken ye. When I asked why he did not bring ye to me right away, he refused to answer. Ye can see how hard I’ve pressed him. I’ve beaten him to within an inch of his life. Still, he tells me nothing.” Then he turned to look at her. “Why is that, do ye think, my lady?”
Fiona’s gaze darted to the captain who struggled even to draw breath. Her mind raced. She realized then that Ranulf still did not know their ultimate plan to unite the clans. Her gaze darted to Thomas. His eyes dropped to the ground.
Did Thomas know?
Ranulf’s fist shot out, striking the captain’s temple. “Tell me,” he snarled at her.
“He wanted me for himself,” she blurted. “He said his desire for me began when I would come here and visit Adam. He intended to hand me over to ye, but first, he wanted to have his way with me.”
“And did he take ye?” Ranulf asked greedily.
She shook her head. “Nay, I told him that he invited yer wrath, and he ceased his advances.”
A sickening smile curved Ranulf’s lips. “I can’t blame him. Ye’re too fine for any man not to want.” He turned and kicked the captain in the gut. Tormod groaned and fell onto his back. Ranulf stood above him with the tip of his blade hovering over his heart. “Do ye think he deserves to die for his treatment of ye?”
Fiona shook her head. “As I said, he never actually touched me.”
Ranulf looked up and locked eyes with her. “Then beg me for his life.”
She looked down at the captain, then back at Ranulf. “Spare him.”
“Beg me,” Ranulf shouted, raising his blade, ready to drive it back down into the captain’s heart.
“Spare him, please,” she pleaded. “I beg ye. Spare his life!”
A slow smile stretched his lips wide. He stepped over the captain, back to her side and cupped her cheek. “I look forward to breaking ye.” His grip on her jaw tightened. She winced as he squeezed. Then he dropped his hand. Backing away, he called to Kenric, “Tie the lady up, and throw the captain in the dungeon.”
Now, she knew who the real Devil in plaid was.