Another man pawed at her breast. “Goin’ to share, I hope, Daegal.”
Her frog-eyed captor shoved him away. “Aye, but I’ll take her first, Eldwyn. You can have her after me. But not here. We’ve lost too many and the Normans are gaining ground.”
A flicker of hope licked at Rhoni’s heart. Perhaps all was not lost. Daegal slung her over his shoulder like a sack of grain and loped into the trees. Eldwyn and the other man followed, leaving their remaining compatriots to deal with the Normans.
Unable to breath as a bony shoulder pounded into her belly, overwhelmed by the rank odor of the man’s body, Rhoni surrendered to hopelessness and fainted.
“Céard sa diabhal,” Ronan swore as cold water drenched his face. Was he yet in the cursed cells, still in the hands of his tormentors? Had he dreamed it? Was Rhoni someone he’d imagined in his delirium?
His eye flew open. Rhoni was definitely real.
He wiped the water from his face. A man knelt beside him, digging his fingers into his shoulder. “Milord! Milord!”
Ronan sat up, his head pounding, and tried to make sense of what had happened. It was Duquesne beside him, his pallor ashen. The nock and fletchings of the arrow that had felled him had been broken off, but most of the shaft remained, embedded deep in his thigh. Blood oozed from the wound.
“They’ve taken my lady,” Duquesne grunted through gritted teeth. Perspiration sheened his brow. “I cannot walk or ride. You must rescue her.”
Ronan brushed a hand over the back of his head, wincing at the goose egg. The chilling memory of the brutal attack rushed back, and he remembered Rhoni’s terror. They had her. Dread roiled in his gut. Fury flooded him.
He looked around. Several of the Normans had been badly wounded. Many lay dead. The brigands had suffered heavy losses. Where was Conall? Once again Ronan had failed to protect people who mattered. His new sword was still in its scabbard. He hadn’t had the chance to draw it. At least his dagger had been bloodied.
He came groggily to his feet, picking up the knife. The blood was still wet. The brigands didn’t have much of a head start, but which direction had they gone?
To his relief, Fortissima stood at the edge of the trees, wild-eyed, restless. She appeared unharmed. At least he had a horse. Why had they not taken her? Did they have mounts of their own, or had they gone on foot? He didn’t recall seeing any animals, but perhaps they’d left them in the forest.
Securing horseflesh had likely been the intent of the attack. He strode around the clearing, looking for signs, any indication of which way they’d gone. “Did no one see them leave?” he demanded angrily.
A rustling of leaves and movement in the trees prompted him to draw his sword. “Put it away, my lord,” Conall rasped breathlessly. “’Tis me.”
Ronan sheathed his sword. The lad collapsed into his arms. “Did you see where they went, boy?”
Conall struggled for breath. “I followed them. Three. They had only a donkey. One of them rode it, Lady Rhoni across his lap like a sack of grain.”
The anger and dread that had seized Ronan after his capture by the MacFintains paled in comparison to the blazing fury that gripped him now. Some crazed creature hammered to break free of his chest. His lungs were on fire.
Rhoni was still alive, at least when Conall had last seen her. But the brigands had failed in their attack, securing neither coin nor horses and losing many of their number. They would be angry.
He ran over to Fortissima, mounted quickly and held out his hand to Conall. “Show me.”
Rhoni was a mouse being toyed with by a big, ugly cat. She hoped death would come swiftly, but doubted it. Daegal would make sure she remained alive for his cronies to debauch when he was done with her.
They’d taken her boots and made a big farce of trying to wedge them on their own huge feet, their laughter increasing as they swigged some foul smelling liquid from a crock. The reek of it threatened to have her retching again as they staggered near, sneering in her face.
The third man soon passed out, snoring loudly. Eldwyn made a lewd impatient gesture to Daegal, evidently eager to have his turn at her. She sensed he feared Daegal and would defer to him. At least she’d be raped by one at a time. The certainty that her father would hunt down these men and kill them slowly came as grim consolation.
She squeezed her eyes tight shut, blinking away the tears that welled when she thought of Ronan. She had longed to lie with him, to gift him with her virginity. Now he was probably dead, as she soon would be. They’d wandered safely through Wales, a land supposedly full of peril, only to fall a few miles from home.
She tensed when Daegal staggered to his feet and stumbled towards her, a knife in hand.
Ave Maria, gratia plena—
Chanting the prayer in her head, she shifted her derrière on the hard ground, frantically trying to loosen the rope that bound her hands behind her back. It was pointless. She’d already rubbed her wrists raw.
Daegal fell to his knees beside her, grinning from ear to ear. The air had cooled as the afternoon sun sank in the west, and the lengthening shadows hid his face from her view. But she recognized his intent immediately. Though her heart hammered in her chest, she wouldn’t beg and prayed for the courage to die well.
The dagger Daegal waved back and forth jerked each time he hiccupped. Suddenly he flicked his wrist and sliced through one of the three leather bindings of her jerkin. He chortled with glee like a demented child.
Deafened by her heartbeat, Rhoni shuffled away from him, but he followed, still on his knees. “Where are you going, lovely Norman wench?”
She spat in his face. His grin tightened as he slapped her. She recoiled as the shock of the pain took away her breath, but he grasped her arms and forced her to sit up again.
He waved the dagger and sliced through the second and third bindings. The bodice gave way. The only thing that now stood between her breasts and this monster was a thin shift that likely wasn’t enough to conceal her fear-hardened nipples. His rheumy gaze confirmed her dread.
He reached out his calloused hands and squeezed both nipples hard. She gasped in pain. Something broke inside. She wouldn’t go willingly like a lamb to the slaughter. She rolled away onto her back. If she’d still been wearing her boots, the sharp kick she administered with her heel to his groin might have done more damage. As it was he grunted in surprised anger, holding his male parts as he staggered to his feet.
Eldwyn scoffed in disgust.
Daegal scowled at him, then advanced on her as she squirmed away, hampered by the inability to use her hands. He grabbed hold of her feet, twisting her ankle painfully as he yanked her towards him. She kicked out again, but his hold was too strong. He pressed his knee to her belly and sliced open the lacings of her leather breeches.
“Non!” she screamed as he gripped the waist with both hands and tore them down to her knees. He freed her for a moment and yanked down his tattered pantaloons. She thanked God the shadows hid what sprang forth. She closed her eyes and with a strangled sob accepted the inevitable.
Ronan laid a restraining hand on Conall’s arm. The lad was ready to burst forth from their hiding place when the lout slapped Rhoni. “Patience, boy. I’ll deal with him. Circle round and nock an arrow. You must take care of the other one brooding over there.”
Conall slipped away.
Ronan admired Rhoni’s courage as she fought the brigand, but his blood boiled. He’d dreamed often of seeing her breasts for the first time. He would cut off the monster’s hands for his defiling touch. Then he’d turn his attention to other parts of the man’s body. The wretch would wish he’d kept them private.
When Rhoni’s breeches were torn from her body, he had to take action. He leapt forward, sword in hand, the MacLachlainn war cry thundering from his throat. “Fág an bealach!”
The snoring outlaw did indeed clear the way, startling awake in a terrified instant, no doubt thinking the hounds of hell pursued him as he stumbled to escape through the t
rees.
The man who had been waiting his turn at Rhoni stared open mouthed and swallowed Conall’s arrow. He gurgled and fell dead.
Ronan had intended to toy with the brute who grunted atop Rhoni, but his fury was too intense. The startled man came to his feet and lunged at him. With a howl of rage, Ronan swept Cairdis in a two handed arc and lopped off the Saxon’s head with one blow. The headless torso teetered like a felled tree. Ronan feared it might fall on Rhoni. He quickly sheathed his sword and scooped her up.
He cradled her to his chest, pulling the ruined bodice closed and pressing her breasts to his chest. He longed to kiss away the pain the brute had inflicted. He furled his cloak over her nakedness, resisting the urge to let his trembling hand linger on her bottom.
She too trembled in his embrace, but didn’t make a sound. Gradually, she whimpered, then inhaled a long, shuddering breath. A heart-wrenching wail tore forth from her throat. She clung to Ronan and sobbed into his shoulder.
He touched his chin to the top of her head and crooned a lullaby his mother had sung to him, rocking her in his arms.
Seoithín, seo hó, mo stór é, mo leanbh
Mo sheoid gan cealg, mo chuid gan tsaoil mhór.
As she calmed, he sang in a language more familiar to her.
Hush a bye baby, my darling, my child, my flawless jewel, my piece of the world.
He prayed with all his heart he had arrived in time. He’d failed to save Mary. Rhoni was indeed a flawless jewel, an important piece of his world. He’d come close to losing her, and the depth of his anger at the men who had done this to her shook him to his core.
He ached with a need to take her to his bed, to show her the joy and pleasure to be had when a man joined his body to a woman’s. He feared she might be forever haunted by the brutality of this assault.
Conall came up beside him. “Is Lady Rhoni…is she—?”
“Aye,” he whispered, “she’s safe, but it will be a long while before the terror leaves her. I thank you again for your service, Conall. I owe you Lady Rhoni’s life as well as my own. You’ve turned into an expert bowman.”
Conall smiled, his face reddening. “Aye, it’s a weapon I favored back home, and Rhun’s guidance has helped a lot. But we must be on our way. Captain Duquesne and his men need us and we should make for Ellesmere before dark.”
Ronan thought his advice sound. He bent to whisper to Rhoni. “I’ll carry you to Fortissima. We must get you home before nightfall.”
She tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t want my parents to see me like this, Ronan. They will be too upset. I want to wash off the stench of those men.”
He was relieved the tremors had ceased. She was indeed dirty, bruised and disheveled. “We’ll return to the others. I’ll send Conall in search of a brook or stream while I tend to Duquesne.”
She licked her lips. “I’m thirsty. My head aches.”
That boded well. If she’d been raped before he found her, surely she would be complaining of other woes beside a headache? “Perhaps your trunk wasn’t stolen, and there’s other raiment in it?”
She looked down then at her shredded bodice. It had come apart again and her nipples strained at the fabric of the shift, soiled by Daegal’s filthy hands. She looked up at him and blushed. “I loved this outfit, but it was too scandalous.”
He chuckled. “Nay, I loved it.”
Her eyes widened.
He helped her stand, carefully holding the cloak around her. She teetered, aware then that her breeches were around her knees. She put a hand to her forehead, her breath catching in a sob.
“I’ll hold the cloak while you see to your breeches.”
Tears streamed down her face as she turned pleading eyes to him, gripping his shoulders. “He didn’t…he didn’t have time. I am still—”
He cupped her face with one hand. “I know, Rhoni. I know.”
She sagged against him. “I owe you my life.”
He swallowed hard. “It was thanks to Conall’s quick thinking that I found you. We’re both in his debt now.”
He held the cloak around her while she covered her bare bottom, then fastened it tightly around her ruined apparel. As he carried her to Fortissima, he caught sight of her boots in a ditch. “Do you want them?”
She shook her head vehemently.
She remained cradled in his embrace as he mounted Fortissima.
Bitter memories of what had befallen her would remain for a long time, but one image recurred again and again behind Rhoni’s eyes as they made their way back to Duquesne. A one-eyed giant whirled a huge sword above his head, uttering a fierce war cry in a language she didn’t understand. Her avenging angel, her Ronan.
Duquesne lay in the grip of a fever. “Milady,” he rasped, “je vous demande pardonne.”
She knelt beside him, gripping the cloak with one hand and taking hold of his with the other. He was cold and clammy. “There’s nothing to forgive, Gabriel. How were you to know those men had come so far north?”
His glazed eyes went to Ronan, asking the silent question he could never ask of her.
Ronan put his arm around Rhoni’s shoulder. “She’s well, Duquesne. We rescued her in time.”
Visible relief swept over the soldier’s ashen face. “I thank you, Lord Ronan. Now I might hope for some clemency from the earl.”
Ronan grunted. “That won’t be an issue if we don’t get that arrow out of your leg. Conall has gone in search of a stream. I’ll try to get the arrowhead out while Lady Rhoni is bathing. I’ll have to push it through, there’s no help for it.”
Duquesne nodded grimly in understanding. “How many of my men yet live?”
Rhoni glanced around the makeshift encampment where the survivors of the attack had assembled. Bodies lay strewn seemingly everywhere. A vision of Daegal’s severed head flying off his shoulders haunted her. She felt sorry for the MacFintain brothers. When Lord Ronan MacLachlainn’s anger was unleashed, it was an awesome force. “Three are on their feet and appear fit to travel.”
Duquesne groaned. “The earl may spare me but he’ll never give me another command.”
Rhoni didn’t blame Gabriel for what had happened and her heart went out to him. He was a conscientious soldier, a proud man intensely loyal to the Montbryce family. He was probably right that his ambition lay in the dust. His pallor alarmed her. She looked at Ronan. “Is it wise to attempt Ellesmere today? You have yet to draw the arrow from Gabriel’s leg.”
Ronan rubbed his chin. “You’re right. We’ll make camp here. It will give your captain a chance to recover. But I’ll send the fittest man on to Ellesmere with a message for reinforcements. We’re vulnerable here.”
Conall emerged from the trees. “There’s a rill, my lady. I can take you.”
Ronan helped her rise and she came to her feet, leaning heavily on him, clutching the cloak around her. “Do you need my help with Gabriel?”
He led her to Fortissima. Her small iron trunk lay at the horse’s feet. “He would prefer you not see his agony.”
She opened the trunk and found a simple gown, a chemise, and shoes suitable for the next day’s ride. She handed the chemise to Ronan. “You may need this for bandages.”
He nodded grimly and accepted the garment. “How far is this rill?”
“Not far. My lady can call if she needs us. I’ll come back to help with the captain.”
The Rill
Rhoni knelt in the wet grass at the edge of the rill and sipped water from her cupped hand. Once she’d slaked her thirst, she splashed water on her throbbing face, glad of a chance of solitude. She heard men’s voices from the camp, the moans of the wounded, but she needed to be alone to ponder what had happened.
She fingered the edges of her ruined clothing. It was sobering how close she’d come to defilement and death. She’d never considered her own mortality, nor recognised the ever-present dangers people around her faced. People like Gabriel, her father, her brothers. What a selfish inno
cent she had been.
She’d never carried a weapon, but in future she would. She was confident her father would insist upon it. Daegal and his cronies had robbed her of naiveté. But not all men were the same. She wouldn’t allow what had happened to color her judgement.
Daegal’s rough manhandling had sickened her. Yet when Ronan carefully pulled her bodice together, she longed for his consoling touch on her breasts. He had too much honor for that, though she suspected he had fought the urge to fondle her.
Could a man desire a woman handled by another man? If she and Ronan lay together, would he think only of what had almost happened with Daegal? Would she? Would the attack haunt them forever?
She let out a long breath, acknowledging that the likelihood of anything coming of her love for Ronan was remote.
A strident shout of pain broke the near silence. Gabriel! Had Ronan managed to remove the arrow? She prayed the young man would survive.
She shivered as darkness fell. She’d dallied overlong and had yet to get out of her clothes. She unwrapped Ronan’s cloak and peeled the leather bodice from her shoulders, scanning the rill. Further on it entered a ditch. The water looked deeper there, perhaps a good place to immerse her body and wash off the Saxon’s stink.
She removed her clothing, tossing it into a heap, resolved to never touch any of it again. She threw Ronan’s cloak round her shoulders, gripping it tightly to cover her body, savoring the scent of him that clung to it. She dipped a toe in the stream. Shivering at the chill of the water, she waded to the ditch where she took off the cloak and placed it on the bank. Gathering her tangled hair atop her head, she crouched down and sank into the deeper water, gasping for breath, grateful for the cleansing power of this clear, cold stream. The smooth pebbles felt good on her feet.
Holding her hair out of the water with one hand, she scrubbed her body with the other, saying a fervent prayer of thanks as she cleansed her most intimate parts. Her face throbbed where Daegal had struck her. What a sight she would make with a bruised face and mangled wrists.
Vengeance (The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition Book 4) Page 12
