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

by Emily Royal

  Would Alice survive the harsh life here? With her delicate constitution, she struggled to survive the winters at de Montford Castle. Here, many hundreds of leagues north, the winter was so much colder, icy fingers to freeze the bones. Only that morning the water of the well had been covered in a sheet of ice. Poor, sweet Alice had little chance of survival—the harsh work had already begun to claim her health. If she remained here much longer, she would sicken and die.

  “English whore.” The bitter voice broke through her thoughts.

  Callum stood before her, hands on his hips, nodding at the bread in her hand.

  “Did you steal that?”

  “No. I made it.”

  “What makes you think you’re fit to touch our food?” he sneered. “A diseased whore who cast a spell over my brother.”

  “I did no such thing,” she retorted. “Leave me be.”

  “I shall not!” he cried. “My sister lies dead because of you, my country pillaged because of your countrymen. You have bewitched my brother by spreading your legs for him. He doesn’t care for you. He merely fucks you.”

  “Come, Callum,” a gentle voice spoke from behind. A tall, slim shape stood silhouetted against the evening light. “Leave her be. Naught can be gained from speaking to her so.”

  “Very well, Margaret,” Callum replied before turning on Elyssia once more. “Mark my words, whore. From now on, you shall earn your keep.”

  “I earn it well enough,” Elyssia spat, “by subjecting myself to your taunts and by toiling in your kitchens!”

  “You hold our people cheap if you think you have earned the right to be here,” Callum retorted, “but tonight that shall change. My fool of a brother saw fit to let you idle the hours away during the evening merely because he rutted you in his chamber at night. Tonight you shall know your rightful place here.”

  * * *

  Approaching the dining hall, Alice beside her, Elyssia clutched the bowl of stew, her body stiffening at the drunken laughter of the men. Callum sat at the central position on the high table, Margaret by his side. Her brow furrowed in sympathy as she saw Elyssia and she placed a hand on his arm. He beckoned to Elyssia, his sharp green eyes bright with ale and loathing.

  “Come here, whore.”

  The passionate young man shook with emotion. Focusing her eyes on the ground so as not to antagonise him while Alice was in danger, Elyssia approached the table, placing the platter before him. She turned to retreat, but a sharp cry stopped her.

  “How dare you! Face me, bitch!”

  Lifting her chin, her eyes met his; so like Tavish’s yet so unlike. His lip curled into a cruel smile. Beside him, Margaret’s face was impassive. On his other side sat Angus, leaning his bulky body forwards, nostrils flaring, eyes darkening with lust, dulled by ale, a rim of foam moving in his beard as he spoke in a low snarl.

  “Bow before your master.”

  She eyed him with loathing. “I shall not.”

  “Bow before me, whore,” Callum said, “and you shall be given a place at my table at Angus’s side. He is most anxious to… court you.”

  Laughter reverberated throughout the room as the men made bawdy remarks and crude gestures.

  “I tell you, I shall not!”

  Callum leant back in his chair, his smile broadening.

  “Then take your rightful place, bitch.” He gestured toward the fireplace.

  “Among the dogs,” he said, “Iain! The rope!”

  A man stood holding a thick noose in his hands, his features familiar. He was the man who had refused to let Elyssia treat him. The man beside him, Malcolm, had been kinder. He opened his mouth to protest.

  “Iain, stay where you are. Callum, I beg you. Tavish would not agree to such—”

  “Be silent!” Angus roared. “Let Master Callum rule as he sees fit. Did you not witness Tavish declare Callum laird in his absence? You should listen to your master rather than your cock.”

  As Iain lifted the noose, Elyssia swung a fist at him which connected with his jaw. He roared in anger and backhanded her across the face. Staggering under the blow, she drew her free hand into a fist once more, but a shrill cry stopped her.

  “Lyssie!”

  Alice was in Angus’s arms, struggling while he fondled her breasts.

  “A tasty morsel this one, though she is an idiot,” he laughed. “I’d rather ride you, but your sister will suffice.”

  “Leave her alone!”

  “Then do as your master bids.”

  Defeated, she bowed her head, only flinching slightly as the rope tightened around her throat. Blinking back tears, she followed Iain to the fireplace and sat among the deerhounds where he indicated, keeping her head bowed while he secured the rope to a bolt in the wall. A piece of bread landed on the floor beside her.

  “Eat.”

  She shook her head.

  “Eat, whore or your sister will starve.”

  Picking up the bread, she took a bite, chewing the leathery crust, ignoring the taunts. She must be strong for Alice; she could endure anything if it spared her sister. She forced herself to swallow the bread and bile in her throat as Alice was secured with a similar noose and tethered beside her.

  * * *

  The two sisters spent the night on the hearthrug. As dawn broke the following morning, a triumphant Callum informed them they were to be turned out of their chamber and would live in their rightful place among the other bitches. Later that day, Iain replaced the ropes with chains.

  Tavish had spoken the truth—her life had changed.

  After the initial shock of humiliation, Elyssia drew on her inner strength to protect Alice. In focusing her efforts on comforting Alice, who understood little of what was happening, Elyssia found comfort and distraction from her own suffering. At night she lay beside her sister, the silence penetrated by the soft snoring of the dogs and the occasional sharp cry of a hunting owl outside.

  In the morning, Iain unlocked the chains and led them to the kitchens to work. Under threat of punishment, Isla supervised them while they scrubbed and cleaned every dirty floor and wall. Elyssia’s hands, already calloused from her time at Glenblane Castle, did not suffer too greatly, but Alice’s delicate skin broke and blistered.

  As each day drew to a close, Iain secured them once more in the hall before the men filed in to take their supper. After the first few days, most grew weary of taunting the women, though some, such as Angus, continued to take pleasure from it. Callum threw the occasional insult, tempered only by Margaret who placed a hand on his arm to silence him.

  Occasionally Isla visited them in the middle of the night, having snatched an extra piece of bread. Silencing her apologies with a shake of the head, Elyssia gave the food to Alice.

  During their third night in the hall, Margaret visited them.

  “I’m sorry for your plight,” she whispered, eyes glistening with moisture. “Callum is a passionate young man. I’ve tried to speak to him, but he won’t listen.”

  “Aye,” Elyssia whispered, “I am grateful for your kindness.”

  “I wish to help you,” Margaret said, “but I must bide my time. I’ll think of something. I know I can persuade them to send you home.”

  “Home?”

  “You cannot remain here. Your place is with your family.”

  After Margaret’s soft footsteps faded, Alice took Elyssia’s hand.

  “She means us harm.”

  “No,” Elyssia sighed. “She merely wants us to leave.”

  “What about him? He doesn’t want you to leave.”

  How come Alice, always viewed by the world as deficient in wits, was so perceptive? Did Tavish want to discard her? He wanted her, aye, to satisfy his body. But other than whispered words in her dreams, he gave no indication he cared for her. Not enough to go against the wishes of his clan.

  She had thought they’d accepted her, but not now. Their view of her had become all too clear. No better than livestock, a vessel for their hatred. How would the
y treat her when they knew she carried a bastard child within her? No matter what Tavish thought of her, she could not remain here while his people thought of her as no better than a dog.

  * * *

  Almost two months had passed since Tavish left. Winter had drawn to a close. The first sprigs of bright, fresh green poked through the layers of snow. Elyssia’s gown now hung loosely on her frame. Her sickness had lessened and, save for a slight rounding of her belly, her condition was not yet noticeable. Isla had kept her word—and her secret.

  Returning to the building with a bucket of fresh water, Elyssia kept her eyes downcast, bidding Alice to do likewise. The men were training in the yard. Better to ignore them. The last time she’d reacted to their jeering had earned her a blow to the face.

  “Here comes the whore and the halfwit.”

  “Come, Alice,” Elyssia whispered, “do not react.”

  “Did you not hear me, whore?”

  Callum blocked their path.

  “I’m thirsty, half-wit.”

  “I don’t understand,” Alice mumbled.

  “I want a drink!”

  Elyssia handed the bucket to Alice and nodded towards Callum. Alice shook her head.

  “How can he drink from a bucket?”

  Callum jerked out his hand, and Alice flinched, dropping the bucket, soaking the young man’s breeches.

  “Stupid halfwit!” he roared. “It’s no better than a pack animal!”

  “Do not speak of her so. She understands you!” Elyssia cried. “How can you treat us like this? Do you think this is what Tavish wants?”

  “How dare you speak my brother’s name!” Callum replied. “He’s not here to prevent us sharing out your sister. A witless pack animal, it’s all she’s fit for.”

  Lifting his arm to strike Alice, he sprang forward, but Elyssia blocked the blow with her body.

  “Out of my way, whore!” He caught a glancing blow to Alice’s head and her legs crumpled beneath her. The telltale jerking in her limbs froze Elyssia’s blood.

  Alice cried out, and her body spasmed.

  “The mark of the devil!” Callum cried. “The halfwit is tainted by Satan.”

  “Let me tend to her!”

  “No,” Callum snarled. “Let the devil take his own.”

  “You unfeeling swine!” Elyssia threw herself at him. Teeth and claws, fighting for herself and her sister, pent-up anger and frustration fuelled her strength, and they crashed to the ground. He grasped her wrist and she sunk her teeth into his hand. A blow to her head sent her flying. Strong arms pinned her to the ground, and she thrashed her limbs, trying to break free.

  “Alice!”

  Her sister did not hear. She lay on the ground, her body’s movements growing less acute.

  Callum rubbed his cheek. Three parallel scratches ran across the flesh.

  “You’ll pay for that.”

  “Can’t I defend my sister?”

  “You laid a hand on the laird.” Pain etched his eyes, but a smile crept across his mouth. “You must be punished. Angus, do your duty.”

  “With pleasure,” Angus growled. “‘Tis time the whore entertained us to earn her keep.”

  He carried her across the courtyard. A small crowd began to form—servants and soldiers alike. Some looked terrified, others animated, whispering to each other. Icy fingers of fear crept across her heart. What were they speaking of with such fervour?

  Angus reached his destination, and her stomach lurched.

  The whipping block.

  “No!” Isla’s voice rang across the courtyard. “Master Callum, don’t do this!”

  “Be quiet, old woman,” Callum cried, his voice cracking, “unless you want the same treatment. If you do not cease prattling, I’ll have the bastard whipped also.”

  Rough hands pushed Elyssia forward until her body was forced against the wood. Splinters pricked through the material of her gown.

  “Bind her.”

  “With pleasure.” Angus’s voice, filled with hatred, reverberated through her body as he moved against her. She closed her eyes and grimaced at his hard arousal rubbing against her buttocks.

  “I’ll have ye yet, whore when Arran has finished with ye. Or should I say have ye again? I’ll wager my second taste will be as sweet as the first.”

  Nausea rippled through her at his words. She had buried the memory of her violation, the night they had taken her innocence, but the feel of his body against hers ripped it from the recesses of her mind. He leaned closer, his weight crushing her body.

  “Then I’ll fuck the half-wit.”

  With a lust-fuelled growl, he grasped the neck of her gown and tore it apart, sending a rush of cold air across her exposed back.

  A low cry made her turn her head. That familiar voice.

  “Lyssie…”

  Alice had struggled to her feet.

  “Alice, you must go!” At all costs, Alice must not bear witness to this. She stood a better chance if she ran.

  “Lyssie!”

  “Go!” Elyssia screamed. “Please, for my sake! If you remain here, they’ll kill you. If you do one thing for me, turn your back and run!”

  She jerked her body back, screaming at Alice, but Angus dealt a blow to her head, and she fell forward.

  Through a blur of tears and pain, she saw Alice nod before she turned and ran.

  “Stop her!” Angus roared.

  “Let her be,” Callum said. “She’ll not get far. We can bring her back when the wolves have finished with her.”

  “No!” Elyssia jerked against the ropes on her wrists.

  “The whore moves too much,” Angus spoke smoothly. “What say you, Master Callum? Shall we secure her further?”

  “Aye,” Callum replied, “do as you will.”

  The low chuckle from behind sent a chill through her veins. Unlike Callum’s voice—a voice ruled by emotions and pain—the voice of the man holding her was steady and calculating.

  “Hold her arm.”

  A sharp prick in her palm was followed by a burning agony which pulsed to the rhythm of a hammering sound, punctuated only by a woman’s screams. Hot flames of pain radiated through her right hand, spreading into her arms. Her fingers twitched, and a shock of red-hot needles pierced her hand, making her bite down, and she tasted blood on her lips. The pain was excruciating.

  “Dear God! Stop this!” Isla cried.

  “Remove that old woman from my sight,” Callum snarled before he addressed the crowd.

  “Today I take back what’s rightfully ours—the honour of Clan MacLean. Too long have we skulked in the shadows, too long has my brother fallen prey to the witchcraft woven by this whore of the English. But no more! The whore shall remain here as a lesson to all who challenge us. ‘Tis time Clan MacLean was respected not only throughout our country but among the English. ‘Tis time my brother learned we’ll not accept a union with those who would oppress us!”

  A softer timbre whispered in her ear.

  “Can you hear me, lass?”

  Her throat constricted, the pain having rendered her speechless, and she coughed and jerked her head.

  A fingertip brushed her cheek. “Relax against the block. Dinnae fight it, and it will hurt less. Forgive me, lass, I have no choice, but I’ll be as gentle as I can. I could refuse, but it wouldn’t prevent the inevitable. Better I do this than another.”

  “Arran, what are you about?” Callum cried before the voice spoke again.

  “I’m making sure she’s secure, young master Callum.”

  “Get on with it. I think ten should suffice.”

  Footsteps receded, and silence descended on the courtyard, punctuated by the occasional cry from a bird of prey in the distance.

  A low hiss through the air signalled the onset of her punishment, and a hot flame of agony sliced across her back. Her body jerked involuntarily against her bonds, sending a fresh bolt of agony through her hand.

  “One!” Angus cried, his voice thick with triumph.r />
  Relax against the block…

  She drew an image in her mind—autumn leaves tumbling through the air; Alice’s laughter mingled with Richard’s as they reached out to catch a leaf. If they caught one, they could make a wish, but each wish came with a price which Fate could demand at any time. In the early years, her wish had been her sister’s health and long life, for which she would gladly pay any price. Later, after the girl in the dungeon, her wish had changed. With each leaf caught, she had prayed for the chance to make amends and pay for what she had done.

  Today her wish was finally being granted. Fate had come to collect.

  The next lash struck her with a sharp crack, and she bit her tongue. A scream threatened to tear itself from her throat, but she would not give them the satisfaction.

  Through the rush of her heartbeat in her ears and the sobs of the watching women, Callum’s voice cried out, thick with emotion.

  “Stop, Arran! Why is she silent? I want her to scream as my sister did!”

  He broke into sobs.

  “Callum, please.” Margaret’s musical voice drifted across the air. “Don’t distress yourself.”

  “Stop this now, young master Callum,” a voice pleaded, “she’s been punished enough. Consider your sister avenged and be done with it.”

  “No, Arran!” Callum cried. “If none here will avenge Flora, I’ll do it myself.”

  A hiss in the air signalled the onset of another lash, but the whip struck the wooden block to one side.

  A cry of fury rose up, and the whip struck again, meeting her flesh, and a slice of pain tore through her back, followed by another and another.

  “Stop!”

  “No, I won’t!” Callum cried. “Not until I hear that whore scream!”