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

by Emily Royal

  The journey back was far quicker. She and Alice had barely covered any notable distance. It was still light when they arrived at the camp amid the murmurs of the men. Angus strode to Tavish’s tent and threw her to the floor at his feet.

  Pushing herself up to a sitting position, she glared at the man she had once thought she could love. She lifted her head in a gesture of defiance, refusing to be cowed, while Angus gave an account of their search and her recapture.

  Alice was free—nothing else mattered.

  “Why do you smile?”

  She met his gaze steadily until he lowered his gaze, his expression uncomfortable.

  Triumph filtered into her mind. He could do what he liked with her, but she had achieved her goal—outwitted him.

  Not one heartbeat later, her triumph crumpled, its destruction brought about by a single cry.

  “Lyssie!”

  Alice.

  Her chest constricted, forcing the breath from her body. She had failed.

  Her captor’s voice resonated above her as she knelt at his feet, head bowed in surrender.

  “Take them both to their tent. Make sure they’re secured properly this time.”

  “My pleasure.” Angus’s voice was laced with hatred. He would punish her for her taunts.

  Alice’s cries grew fainter. Elyssia felt the rope tighten around her wrists as she was pulled to her feet. She closed her eyes, anticipating a blow.

  “Leave her, Angus.”

  A gentle hand cupped her chin. Opening her eyes, she looked into the deep green, blurred by her tears.

  “Why, lass?”

  She let out a bitter laugh. “Surely you don’t expect me to wish to live out the remainder of my days as your whore?”

  He shook his head. “You misunderstand me. I ask not why you tried to escape but why you let my men take you? You called out to them, made them chase you.”

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Aye, I would,” he replied, the gentle tone of his voice only causing her more pain as it reminded her of what they had once shared. “You lured them away from your sister.”

  Her voice broke. “She has none but I to care for her.”

  Lifting her eyes to his once more, she set her mouth in a hard line. “Though I am a woman, I understand the concept of sacrifice in war.”

  “You understand nothing of sacrifice and hardship,” he snarled. “Nothing of what my people have suffered at the hands of yours.”

  “Aye, you’re right!” she cried. “I know nothing of such things, yet you punish me for it.”

  “Duncan!” he roared, pushing her away as if unwilling to acknowledge her words. “Take her away.”

  * * *

  Alice let out a wail as Elyssia was pushed into the tent.

  “Lyssie, forgive me. I tried to run, but he said if I didn’t go with him they’d hurt you.”

  “Oh Alice, you shouldn’t have listened to them.”

  “But I don’t want them to hurt you. What would I do without you? I lost my doll in the forest.”

  “I’ll make you a new one.”

  Leaning forward, Elyssia kissed her sister on the forehead, unable to embrace her now their hands were bound.

  The tent flap drew back, and Finlay entered. Alice’s eyes brightened on seeing him. He turned a watery smile on her before casting a shamefaced glance at Elyssia, a bruise already adorning his left cheek.

  “Forgive me, Finlay,” she said.

  “Nae bother, lass. ‘Twas not a heavy blow.”

  She shook her head. “You don’t understand. I’m sorry for humiliating you.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I’m no fool, Finlay. I know how men view women in this world. The disgrace and punishment for having a woman trick you must be hard to bear. For that, I am deeply sorry. I wish it had been anyone but you. For you have been kind to us, especially my poor sister. I feel naught but shame for repaying that kindness with treachery and deceit.”

  Finlay knelt beside her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulders.

  “I’m sorry too, my lady, for what has been done to you. Ye must understand our quarrel is not with you. ‘Tis with your family—your king, Edward Longshanks. You are merely the spoils of war.”

  Elyssia nodded. “Thank you, Finlay.”

  “What for, lass?”

  “For explaining using reason rather than hatred.”

  * * *

  Tavish leant against the tree, Elyssia’s words stinging his conscience. To have repaid her kindness of two years ago with nothing but brutality and humiliation weighed on his conscience. But this? To hear her show such pitiful gratitude for a small act of kindness in the face of what had been done to her.

  He sighed at the memory of her embrace, of the pleasure he had awoken in her, and of the thought of the brutality to come before the debt owed to Flora and his clan had been repaid.

  Justice demanded retribution, but why did it have to be her?

  Chapter 7

  Dark shadows stretched across the terrain signalling the onset of dusk, and the men began to chatter excitedly, increasing their pace. Duncan set Elyssia on her feet.

  “Ye walk from here, lass.”

  Angus chuckled behind her, his voice thick with relish. “The men will be eager to see what we’ve brought them. We promised we’d deliver de Montford’s spawn as payment, bound and enslaved. Welcome, whore, to your new home.”

  “Have a care, Angus,” Tavish growled. “Duncan, bring the women to me.”

  Leading the party, Tavish pushed Elyssia and Alice in front of him, hands bound, the ropes still around their necks—cattle being led to slaughter.

  The path rose in a steep incline before the trees of the forest thinned out into a huge clearing. Crude dwellings dotted the landscape, among which people milled about—peasants working the land, some tending to an assortment of farm animals, all thin and undernourished.

  A low wall enclosed a courtyard, beyond which a higher wall stood, seemingly impenetrable save for a thick arched doorway through which she could make out a grey stone building. Well concealed and easy to defend, it looked as if it had been fashioned from the mountain itself. Small dots moved in the distance on the battlements of the building. Lookouts. The party must have been visible for some time.

  “The laird!”

  “They have returned!”

  Eager voices rang out as people emerged from their huts—men wrapped in plaids; women covered in layers of rough homespun material to defend against the cold; grubby children squealing for joy.

  At a word from Tavish his men set down the sacks they carried and opened them to disperse the contents amongst the people—bags of grain, blankets, trinkets, and dresses, items from Elyssia’s dowry, swords and armour from de Beauchamp’s men who no longer needed them. The women pulled at her bridal gowns, tearing the delicate material in their eagerness.

  “You would resort to robbing the dead?”

  Tavish pulled at the noose.

  “My people starve and have the English to thank for it. We’ve had to rebuild our villages and farms too many times and must raid for food until we have replenished our crop stores. Our children suffer empty bellies while your men live off the fat of the land.”

  He gave a snort of derision and jerked the rope again so violently she almost lost her balance. “You’ll find the fare here meagre compared to what you’ve been used to. The fruits of the labours of our people have been paid for with their blood and sweat under the lash of your men.”

  “You have no idea what I’m used to,” she replied, “so eager are you to condemn me for my lineage.”

  “English whore!” A voice rang out, joined by others until a cacophony jeered and snarled, a flock of crows cawing at a bird of prey, circling it, working together to destroy it. Richard had always told her the crows were merely protecting their young, but there had always been something malevolent in the way they preyed on the eagle, hopelessly outnumbering it.


  Crossing the courtyard, they walked past a thick wooden block. A section from a felled tree trunk, it formed a triangular shape—one side vertical, the other at an angle. Two iron rings had been driven deep into the block. Dark red stains adorned the sides where the blood of past sinners had seeped into the wood.

  A whipping post.

  Elyssia bit her lip at the memory of the lashing Tavish had endured. The pain of seeing him endure such torture was still raw. Their eyes met, and for a brief moment, a glimmer of understanding crossed his expression before his eyes hardened and he pushed her towards the building.

  The main door opened to reveal a young man and a woman. The boy bore a striking resemblance to Tavish—thick, dark red hair, green eyes bright with passion. The woman was the most beautiful creature Elyssia had seen. Tall and slender, she stood with poise, a gentle expression on her face. Soft flaxen hair framed delicate features and huge, warm brown eyes which smiled at Tavish.

  Handing the ropes to Duncan, Tavish broke ahead and held out his arms in greeting, drawing her into an embrace before kissing her chastely on the forehead.

  Elyssia could not tear her eyes away from the woman. Thin, dainty, and flawless—a gem among the dirt and dust. The body of a lady. Mamma’s words broke through her memory…

  You have the body of a whore, Agatha—you should thank your fortune for securing any husband at all.

  Angus chuckled, “Look upon your mistress.”

  Tavish had a wife. Elyssia’s humiliation was complete.

  Tavish whispered something in the woman’s ear, and she nodded and took the boy’s hand and withdrew inside the building. He turned to face the crowd which gathered in a semicircle. The women’s faces showed scorn, the children fear. But the men—they cast lustful glances, causing Elyssia’s skin to crawl, and she tightened her grip on Alice’s hand.

  Tavish had spoken of retribution for his dead sister. Was Elyssia to suffer the same fate? Had she been carried for miles across land to be torn apart by lustful hands?

  “People, I have returned!” His deep voice carried across the air, and the crowd fell quiet.

  “I have taken the daughter of de Montford, as I promised my father on his deathbed. But I would say to you all that she is not to be harmed.”

  He silenced the murmurs of dissent with a raised hand. Though she hated him, she uttered a silent prayer of thanks for his mercy.

  Her prayer was not answered. Lowering his hand, he continued. “This woman is my property by right of conquest. From this day, none but I shall touch her. I once swore, on this very spot, to take retribution on behalf of the clan, and today I promise you I shall honour that pledge.”

  He nodded to his friend.

  “Duncan, take these women to their chamber. Break out the ale, for tonight we celebrate our safe return!”

  Amid the cheers, Elyssia followed Duncan inside, holding Alice’s hand. She drew comfort from the gentle squeeze of her sister’s fingers against her own.

  He led them up a crumbling staircase and along a passageway until he reached a wooden door at the end. Opening it, he pushed them inside.

  “I’ll send someone to tend to you. Wait here.” The heavy metallic sound of a key turning in the lock behind him ensured the sisters had no choice but to comply.

  Bare stone walls radiated cold and damp. In the flickering candlelight, dark shapes danced to a slow rhythm—a low pallet covered in a coarse blanket; rushes scattered across the floor; an empty stone fireplace, beside which two stools flanked a small wooden table as if standing guard. Elyssia reached out to touch the stone wall and lifted her fingers to her face. They were covered in a sticky greenish substance.

  Mould. The air was laden with it, the sour smell cloying in her nostrils. The room could not have been lived in for years. Dark patches stretched across the furniture. She touched the blanket on the pallet and recoiled. Sodden and heavy, the mould had penetrated the coarsely woven fibres.

  Drawing Alice close, Elyssia tossed the blanket on the floor and sat on the pallet and wrapped her cloak around them both. Alice gave a low cough, her breath visible in the air. The conditions in the room would erode her already delicate health, her frail body unable to withstand the winter months, Alice would not survive long here.

  The key rattled, and the door opened to reveal a plump woman in a brown tunic, greying hair almost concealed beneath a cap, thick arms laden with blankets and furs. Standing behind her was a similarly dressed man. She bustled into the room, tutting to herself.

  “Why did he put them in here? ‘Tis not fit for farm animals, this chamber.”

  The woman glanced at the sisters before turning her attention to the sodden blanket on the floor, her sharp eyes taking in more than a quick glance might imply.

  “Get up,” she said briskly, her tone hostile. She set the pile of blankets on the pallet, taking a fur and laying it on the floor in front of the fireplace. Arranging some of the blankets on the pallet, she held one out to Elyssia, her expression expectant.

  “Well, lass. Take it. Ye dinnae want to catch your death, do ye now?”

  “Thank you,” Elyssia replied. “I didn’t expect…”

  “Expect what, lass? For us to be kind? Do ye expect all Highlanders to be cruel and unforgiving?”

  Elyssia shook her head. “Kindness can be found in the most unlikely places. But so can cruelty. I have seen with my own eyes how my people treat their… captives.”

  Alice tugged at Elyssia’s sleeve. “Lyssie… my doll.”

  “Hush now!” Elyssia hissed.

  “What does she say?” the woman asked.

  “‘Tis nothing but a fancy.”

  “But, Lyssie!” Alice’s voice wavered, eyes glistening with moisture. Snivelling, she sank onto the pallet.

  “I lost my doll!” she wailed.

  “I know, sweet baby, and I’m sorry for it.”

  Elyssia stroked her sister’s golden head, running her fingers through her hair and massaging her scalp in the manner which had always lulled her to sleep when Alice suffered from troubled dreams. Rocking to and fro, she hummed the tune she had always sung with Richard. Memories of their dear brother always calmed Alice.

  The old woman drew closer, her stance less hostile.

  “Is the lass weak-minded?”

  Elyssia held Alice close, swallowing her anger.

  “Don’t speak of her so! My sister is a gentle creature—one of God’s angels. She’s kind and loving but doomed to be at the mercy of a cruel world where the men who rule it will not accept that which is different, where they fear it and wish to harm it. My sister would not hurt even the smallest creature—it’s not in her nature. She only wishes for a little comfort.”

  “What does she ask for?”

  “Her doll. She lost it on… on the journey here. I made it for her when we were children, to keep her safe when I’m not there to protect her.”

  “You don’t have another?”

  “No,” Elyssia replied quietly, “we lost all our possessions when…”

  She bit her lip and looked away, shame restricting her voice at the memory of what had taken place and the fear of what lay ahead.

  The woman nodded. “Aye, lass. I know how ye came to be here.”

  “I wonder,” Elyssia hesitated, “would you be so kind as to bring me something I can use to fashion into a doll for her? Any discarded rag would do. It would give her much comfort for when we are apart. You would have my gratitude—for what little value you may place on it.”

  “I’ll see what I can find.”

  “Thank you. I… I did not expect such kindness.”

  “You ask nothing for yourself?”

  Elyssia shook her head. “Just my sister. I know the world is not kind, but Alice—she sees it with different eyes. She thinks it a good world. I have borne in her stead the punishment your… your lord has seen fit to hand out and will do so again to keep her safe. She’s the only soul I know who is truly innocent.”

  A rough f
leshy hand cupped her cheek where she was still tender from the blows she had sustained the night they took her, and she looked up to see kind brown eyes looking back. They were the eyes of a woman who had endured many hardships, who had known pain, suffering, and humiliation, and who saw it mirrored in her own gaze.

  “In my turn, I’ll say I did not expect an Englishwoman to be kind.”

  “Are we to be defined by the actions of our men?” Elyssia asked, bitterness rending her voice tight.

  “‘Tis the lot of any woman, lass. Now come, you are to be taken to the master’s chamber.”

  “For what purpose?”

  The man at the door gave a lewd laugh before the woman silenced him with a sharp word.

  “Have a care, Ross. Take her to Lord Tavish’s chamber then return to your duties.”

  She turned her sad eyes to Elyssia. “I’m sorry, lass.”

  “Why?” Elyssia pleaded. “Why do you carry out orders you know to be wrong? Can you not take counsel from your conscience?”

  “Loyalty to my clan will always come first.”

  Elyssia rose.

  Alice took her hand. “Don’t go!”

  “I shall return soon, my love,” Elyssia said. “Close your eyes and count to fifty. I’ll return before you have finished, and this woman will ensure you come to no harm.” She turned to the woman, a silent plea in her eyes which was answered with a nod.

  “To whom am I indebted?”

  “My name is Isla.”

  “Isla. Take care of my sister while I’m… gone.”

  Her head jerked back as the manservant tugged at the rope before he led her, like an animal, out of the chamber and towards her fate.

  Chapter 8

  “Brother, you’re most welcome.”

  Callum leant across Tavish, reaching for the joint of rabbit in the platter. He tore at the flesh with his teeth.

  “We’ve not eaten so well since you left. You should pick up whores more often.”

  “Have a care, Callum.” Tavish lifted a tankard to his lips but barely tasted the brew. By now they will have taken her to his chamber to wait for him. Had they tethered her like an animal again? Had she fought them? Would he find her bloodied and battered on the floor? What made him any different to the barbarian he had saved her from two years ago?