The Sins of the Sire: Dark Highland Passions, #1

by Emily Royal

  A rush of warm liquid dripped from the wound on her chin.

  “Alice!” she cried. “The leaves! Remember! Dear God, please!”

  “Lyssie, your face!” Alice screamed, and her body jerked back and forth like a cart with a broken wheel.

  “What manner of devilry is this?” Angus cried, pushing her away as if she were tainted by witchcraft.

  Alice fell to the ground, but her limbs continued to thrash to and fro while she gurgled and moaned through clenched teeth.

  “I must tend to her!” Elyssia cried. “Let me go!”

  “So you can cast a spell on us?” Angus rounded on her, his face twisted with hatred and lust, but Tavish pushed him aside.

  “What ails her?”

  “She has the falling sickness. When she’s frightened, she… she collapses. When I was not present the last time, she nearly died. Please!”

  “Lying whore!”

  “Angus, be quiet!”

  Tavish released her, and she flew towards her sister, taking her in her arms, whispering soft words, stroking her head, soothing, coaxing her back.

  “Alice—leaves in autumn, can you see them?” The woman in her arms continued to jerk.

  “Can you see them, Alice? Red and gold—there they are! Flying like butterflies in the air, landing in the stream at the bottom of your garden. See the clear water, Alice—you’re dipping your hand in. Feel the cold against your skin.”

  Alice’s movements began to subside, the inhuman groans morphing into words.

  “Lyssie… Lyssie. Richard?”

  “Aye, Allie. Richard is with us in the dream. He wants you to return to us, as do I.”

  “Lyssie?” Alice opened her eyes. Tavish watched in admiration as the woman his men had just violated set aside her injuries and humiliation, focusing on the childlike woman she cradled in her arms. She rocked her to and fro, singing a gentle lullaby which had no place among Tavish and his men. Another image burned into his memory—that of Flora; his gentle Flora as she lay dying in his arms, singing a soft song to the brother she loved, to ease his pain on her death.

  Broken and violated, Elyssia was now the same as Flora. Yet still, she was capable of such love for another. But it mattered not. He had set upon the path of revenge, and there could be no return. She must pay for the sins of her sire. Duty to his clan overshadowed his desire for a woman.

  The woman in Elyssia’s arms quietened, but Elyssia continued to sing. Finlay crouched beside her and murmured something in a low voice. Nodding, she sat back, letting him lift Alice’s motionless form before turning her sorrowful eyes on Tavish.

  Lowering his eyes in shame, he gestured towards his friend.

  “Duncan, take the woman to my tent and secure her, but treat her wound first.”

  He waited until night was full upon them before returning to his tent. Duncan had lit a candle. The flickering light traced her form on the pallet, rising and falling with each breath.

  “Elyssia.”

  Her body stiffened.

  “I know you’re awake, Elyssia.”

  “Do not speak my name, Tavish,” she said, her voice bitter. “I am Lady Agatha de Montford. You have no right to address me with such familiarity.”

  Anger mingled with guilt on hearing her utter his name for the first time with such loathing.

  “You have no right to address me,” he growled. “Ye’re nothing but a whore now.”

  Such ugly words! Her body flinched, but she did not respond; the fire had gone from her. Eventually, she murmured in a low voice, almost inaudible.

  “May I ask you something?”

  “No,” he replied. “You have no right to ask anything of me.”

  “I only ask that Alice not be harmed.”

  “You ask nothing for yourself?”

  “No. I am lost. But I beg you spare my sister. She does not understand the world. Please release her.”

  The stirring in his groin sent a jolt of pain through him—or was that his conscience? A hand shot out from under the blanket and took his wrist. Bright blue eyes stared at him, desperation in their wild expression.

  “Please… Tavish.”

  “She’ll not be harmed. You have my word.”

  She did not thank him, but why would he expect gratitude from her? Spurred on by memories of the tender moments they had shared two years before, he lifted his hand to her sweet face, but she recoiled, hatred burning in her eyes. The wound on her chin had stopped bleeding. Duncan had cleaned it. It would heal, though she would be scarred for life. But she would never recover from the scars hidden deep within her—scars for which he was responsible.

  Would that it had been any woman but her!

  No woman deserves such a fate—not even an Englishwoman.

  “Get to sleep,” he said, the rough command disguising his self-loathing. “We journey at first light.”

  “Where to?”

  “My home.”

  His home. Glenblane—the rugged land of which he had spoken to her with such passion. The home she’d said she wished with all her heart she could see. A hidden corner of his soul had prayed she might return with him one day, but the circumstances of her return had cursed his prayers. It was a lesson he must learn—that he must put his clan first. He turned his back on her, closing his eyes, waiting until the gentle sound of her breathing signified she had fallen asleep.

  * * *

  The men journeyed hard and on foot. Separated from Alice, Elyssia could only trust Duncan’s reassurances that her sister was well. He took turns carrying her over his shoulder with another man, each handing her to the other when they stopped to rest.

  As night fell, the party made camp, Tavish’s distinctive voice issuing orders. Would she be brought to him again? Her body ached, and the wound on her face stung despite Duncan’s administrations.

  Occasionally Tavish glanced in her direction before averting his gaze, as if the sight of her disgusted him now he knew whose daughter she was.

  She had not known the name of the girl in Papa’s dungeon—the poor, broken creature. Did the girl know her brother would seek retribution and reduce Elyssia to the same state? But he’d told her his sister had been murdered. What had happened to her after she’d left de Montford Castle?

  Duncan pulled her to her feet and led her to a tent. Expecting to be violated once more, she let out an involuntary cry of joy. Alice sat, clutching her doll to her breast. Mindful of the rope around her sister’s neck, she bade her remain seated and joined her, complying in silence while Duncan tethered her alongside her sister before leaving them with Finlay.

  The young man smiled at Alice. Too young to have been embittered by the experiences of life, his youthful face radiated warmth and friendship, only tinged with guilt and discomfort when he turned his soft brown eyes to Elyssia. Now she was a whore, would every soul she met look upon her thus?

  Not understanding the evils of the world, Alice blushed when the young Highlander’s fingers brushed against hers as he handed her a chunk of bread. But Elyssia did not have the heart to admonish her. As long as Alice was at peace, Elyssia could bear the burden for both of them.

  While they ate, Finlay gathered blankets together, setting them on the ground.

  “How can we lie down, tethered like animals?”

  He had the grace to blush.

  “The master’s orders were that you be secured.”

  “For what purpose? My sister is unwell. You think two women are a match for twenty strong men? I was denied the chance to comfort Alice last night. Grant me this concession now, I beg you—for her sake if not for mine. You would earn her gratitude for one small act of kindness.”

  Blushing, he nodded and fumbled at the knots on the ropes. Alice took his hand, thanking him in her quiet voice. Mumbling his response, he handed Elyssia a blanket, watching with his wide, innocent eyes while she bade her sister join her before draping the blanket round them both, gritting her teeth while she drove out the memory of holding another
warm body close to keep the cold at bay two years ago.

  Why did it have to be him? Why did he invade her thoughts still, her body recalling the sweet pleasure he’d given her two years ago?

  Alice’s breathing grew deep and steady. Sweet Alice—always trusting her sister to keep her safe. Elyssia brushed a kiss against her forehead. Could she keep Alice from harm, or would she betray her sister’s trust? Her own worth was gone. If these men succeeded in taking them to their stronghold, Alice would be lost also. She needed to act—soon.

  Finlay’s breathing slowed to a rhythm, accompanied by gentle snores. Shaking Alice awake, Elyssia placed a hand over her mouth, her voice a low hiss.

  “Make no sound. Be ready to move when I say. Do you understand?”

  “Aye.”

  “Good girl.”

  She crawled towards the young man who slept soundly, the rope at his feet.

  His sword was propped up against a sack. Elyssia tested the weight—too heavy for her to wield, but it suited her purposes.

  “Forgive me.” She struck the back of his neck with the hilt of the sword. He fell forward with a sigh, landing face down on the ground.

  “Lyssie!”

  “Hush!” she hissed. “I’ve not hurt him. See? He still breathes. Help me with the rope.”

  She secured the rope around his wrists and tore a strip from her undergown to use as a gag. Satisfied with her handiwork, she took Alice’s hand and pulled her outside.

  “My doll!” Alice cried.

  “Hush! Go back for it—quickly, now!”

  Outside, two men sat by a fire, their backs to them. Too busy exchanging crude remarks, they paid no attention to the soft shush of leaves as Elyssia crawled into the darkness, Alice in her wake. When the voices had faded and the fire only a dim flicker through the trees, she pulled Alice up, and they broke into a run.

  Soon after, Alice’s breathing grew laboured, and they stopped to rest. A faint babbling in the distance heralded their first stroke of good fortune. Water. Taking Alice’s hand, she set off at a gentler pace until they reached a stream.

  “Come, Allie. Drink, and you will feel better.”

  “What about Finlay?” Alice pleaded. “Will he die?”

  “No, sweet one, he will not.”

  “But he fell after you hit him. You always say I could die when I fall.”

  “Oh, my love, it’s not the same thing. I’m sorry for what I did, but it was our only chance of escape.”

  “He was kind.” Alice’s voice held a hint of accusation.

  “Aye, my love,” Elyssia whispered, “but other men are not so kind. We must be far from the camp when they discover we’ve gone.”

  Their toil along the stream was reminiscent of her journey of two years before. This time, Elyssia played the role of guide, albeit a poor one. Their pace was slow, and Elyssia could find nothing to eat. Eventually, it became clear Alice could go no further. Elyssia led Alice into the forest where bracken grew thickly enough to provide shelter. With luck, any pursuers would stay close to the stream and miss them. Ignoring the thorns which tore at her gown, she crawled into the undergrowth, pulling Alice with her. She cradled her sister’s head against her chest while Alice clutched her doll and placed her thumb in her mouth.

  Elyssia began to form a plan. In the morning she would climb a tree to see if she could spot the road where they had been ambushed. If fortune favoured her, they should reach the safety of de Beauchamp’s residence in a matter of days if they kept up a good walking pace. As his widow, she would claim sanctuary. She closed her eyes, lulled to sleep by Alice’s steady breathing. They were free.

  The morning dawned damp and grey, a thick mist clinging to the forest, penetrating Elyssia’s bones with icy fingers.

  Shaking Alice awake, she crawled out of their hiding place. There was no sound apart from the rush of water from the stream in the distance.

  “Come on, dearest,” she coaxed, helping Alice up.

  “I’m hungry.” Alice set her mouth into a childish pout. “Won’t move until I have eaten.”

  “I’m sorry, sweet one, I have nothing to give you.” She took Alice’s hand. Her sister’s slim fingers were freezing. She would not survive long out in the open.

  “Let’s play a game!” Elyssia said brightly. “Pretend we’re hunters looking for faeries in the forest. We can’t see them if we sit still, but if we run for long enough, they will reward us.”

  Alice’s face creased into a smile, her watery blue eyes shining with excitement.

  “Can Richard play as well?”

  “Not today, but we can tell him about it when we see him again. Come on. Don’t forget your doll.”

  Alice would not be able to run for long, but Elyssia coaxed and cajoled her into moving with tales of the faeries that lived in the woods and water nymphs who sang songs to the tune of the rushing water of the stream. They stopped for breath beside the stream. It had narrowed to a point where the water tumbled and bubbled over rocks.

  “Listen to the stream, Alice, can you hear them singing?”

  “Aye, I can!”

  The rushing sound grew louder until it formed words—harsh, deep words, voices calling. Had they reached safety already? Were they near an English outpost?

  Nay, not the English. Thick accents shouted in urgency, accompanied by loud thrashing.

  Highlanders.

  Grasping Alice’s hand, she darted back into the forest, heading for a clump of bracken. It grew less thickly in this part of the forest—barely enough to conceal one.

  Pushing her sister into the undergrowth, Elyssia pulled the bracken over her until she was completely concealed.

  “Lyssie, don’t leave me!”

  “Hush!” she hissed. “Stay still and don’t make a sound until I come for you. This is no game, Allie. Our lives depend on it.”

  Alice nodded and held her doll close—a talisman to protect her.

  The shouting increased. There was no time to lose. Running deeper into the forest, Elyssia came upon another clump of bracken and darted underneath it. The heavy crashing of men’s footsteps grew closer.

  “Any sign?”

  Angus.

  Elyssia uttered a silent prayer he would not find her for he would show no mercy.

  “Footprints by the water! They were here.”

  “Search the surroundings. These prints are fresh. They cannot have gone far.”

  The thrashing continued, but the cursing and swearing told her their search was not fruitful.

  “Might they have crossed the water?”

  “Then the bitch is a fool. The water is running so fast she’ll have drowned. But we should cross it just in case. Come on.”

  This was her chance. If the men crossed the stream, it would give her time to get Alice away.

  A sneeze interrupted her thoughts. Was that one of the men?

  “What was that?” a sharp voice called out. “Search again!”

  Alice! A knot of dread tightened in her throat. Through the bracken she could make out Alice’s hiding place, the fronds moving against the breeze.

  Be still. Dear God, be still!

  “Over there!”

  No, not Alice! Elyssia jumped up. Three men advanced on Alice’s hiding position.

  “Here!” she cried.

  “Get her!” Angus roared. All three men burst into a run towards her. Lifting her skirts, she broke into a sprint, but a night and day of hard travelling with no food and little water had taken their toll on her body and her disobedient limbs failed to respond.

  Her only advantage was her smaller frame. Picking a tree, she lifted herself onto the lowest branch, swinging her legs up to get a purchase before pulling up with her arms. The branch groaned in protest but held firm. Remembering happier childhood times when she had climbed trees with Richard, she continued to clamber skywards.

  The tree vibrated, and a snapping sound was followed by a thud, and she looked down. Angus sprawled on the ground at the foot of
the tree, cursing. His companions looked up at her, their eyes cold with hatred.

  Pulling herself higher, she almost lost her footing when the tree shook. Through the branches, she saw Angus running towards the tree to ram it again with his shoulders.

  “Bitch!” he roared. “Come down!”

  “You come up!” she taunted. If she engaged him in a long enough conversation, perhaps Alice might gain the initiative to run on her own.

  “Where’s the idiot?” Angus sneered.

  “Don’t speak of her so!” Elyssia cried, loud enough for her sister to hear. “Alice has gone. We separated last night—she’s not here, and I’m glad of it!”

  “We still have you.”

  “I’ll never surrender to you. Go back to your master.”

  “If you won’t climb down, you’ll be forced down.”

  “How will you do that?” she cried. “The thickest branches cannot sustain your bulk, great ox that you are.”

  “If the bird won’t fly the nest, we must fell the tree.” He drew out something large and shiny, the metal glinting in the dull morning light. With a laugh, he swung his arms, and a deep shudder reverberated through the tree as he struck it with the axe.

  Accompanied by shouts of encouragement Angus swung the axe again, marking the same spot where the first blow fell, and the tree began to list to one side. In another blow or two, she would be felled.

  With no choice but to surrender, she climbed down, ignoring the men’s jeers. Rough hands grasped her ankles, pulling her to the ground.

  “The rope,” Angus hissed. He bound her hands and ankles, squeezing her buttocks in a crude gesture, and delivered a stinging slap on her thigh when she struggled.

  “Stay still, whore, or I’ll ignore my lord’s orders and take you here and now on the forest floor.”

  “No!”

  “James, do something about her squeals. I’m not of a mind to hear a wench’s moans unless I’m between her thighs.”

  A rough gag was forced between her teeth before she found herself upended as Angus slung her over his shoulder, squeezing her thighs again and chuckling when she groaned in protest. Praying for Alice’s safety, she let her body hang limply over the huge man’s shoulder.