Isabel watched the impish yet confident expression traverse the fey features of her new sister. What only weeks ago would have terrified Margaret now seemed an exciting adventure. At least she’d done one good thing in coming here.
With a last brave hoorah, she turned to wave to Margaret, who was still sitting at the table, smiling. “It’s settled, then, I’m off to find Alex. Wish me luck!”
They both knew she would not need any.
Chapter 12
“Isabel, slow your pace this instant or we’ll return immediately.”
The wind ripped through her hair as she leaned even farther forward on the beautiful Arabian palfrey’s long elegant neck, urging her faster while pretending not to hear Alex’s angry shout. It had taken her only one week of cajoling to persuade Alex to a hunt.
It was too tempting: a beautiful day, a fast horse, and finally freedom from the oppressive gray walls of that grim dungeon. She felt alive, reborn, and it was wonderful. Laughing, she turned her head to look at Alex, Margaret, and the dour Viking Colin trailing in the dust behind her.
The black scowl on Alex’s face gave her pause. She was struck by how alike the two brothers were in temperament—much more than they realized. Both were strong, confident leaders with a healthy dose of fierce Highland pride and, Isabel realized as she gazed at Alex’s expression, a tendency toward pigheadedness. But there were differences. Alex was always there to offer kindness and on the surface seemed more lighthearted than his formidable brother, but Isabel caught glimpses of the dark, restless turmoil that Rory lacked lurking under the roguish façade.
Isabel had learned the source of that turmoil a few weeks ago. She’d been teasing Alex about how capably he’d slid into his role as temporary chief, when a strange look came over his face. He’d mentioned that it had not been the first time he’d acted as chief. Not long before she’d arrived at Dunvegan, Rory had been taken prisoner by Argyll at the king’s directive for Rory’s failure to comply with the terms of the General Band. During his brother’s confinement, Alex had led the MacLeods in a battle against the MacDonalds at Binquihillin. The MacLeods were defeated, and two of his cousins were killed. Alex blamed himself and had taken the losses hard. She knew how important it was that nothing go wrong this time. She pushed aside the twinge of guilt. Nothing would happen.
She pulled lightly on the reins to slow her mare, allowing Alex to catch up to her. She didn’t want to press her luck this day. But she was an accomplished horsewoman used to racing her brothers, and it irked her to play the proper lady after such a long sojourn. If Alex would only stop acting like an overprotective nursemaid, he would recognize that she was in no danger.
“Very well, Alex. But you are acting as tiresome as that tyrant brother of yours with your disapproving glower. I’m an excellent rider. I could even take a turn on that spectacular Andalusian destrier you are seated upon.” At his look of disbelief, she continued, “Please, let’s relish this beautiful day.”
Alex shook his head. “I don’t know why I let you talk me into this, Isabel. Rory will be furious. If you think I look grim, wait until my brother gets wind of our ‘wee hunt.’”
“Well, I’ll not worry about an eventuality that may never occur. He’s been gone so long, maybe he’s decided not to return,” she responded primly, feigning indifference.
“Oh, he’ll return,” Alex warned. “I expect him back at any time. But after this outing today, you and I might wish it differently.”
Isabel halted her palfrey and reached for Alex’s hand as he stopped his black destrier alongside the mare. He’d been a good friend to her. Giving his hand an appreciative squeeze, Isabel apologized. “I’m sorry, Alex. I know you’ve some qualms about our outing. You must think me a thankless ninny. But surely Rory did not realize how long he would be gone or he would not have ordered us chained to the castle. He could not expect us to remain inside for so long. And we did take precautions,” she said, referring to the group of warriors who followed them. She waved her hand around at the beautiful ash and wych elm trees surrounding them, the amber light of late autumn lending mellow warmth to the chilly day. Her cheeks bloomed pink from exertion and joy. “With these beautiful forests in our very backyard. It would be sheer torture not to enjoy a hunt while we can.”
Alex shook his head in mock defeat. “All right, Isabel, you win. If I thought it would do any good, I should ask for quarter. We shall enjoy our hunt and worry about the repercussions later. But at least let us rest for a bit. We’ll water the horses, and Margaret can practice her skill with the bow that we borrowed from young squire Tom.”
Isabel was about to argue but belatedly noticed Margaret’s pleading look and realized that her wild ride had not terrified only Alex. Reluctantly, she yielded with a nod of her head.
“I did it!” The arrow arched beautifully, if not accurately, against the clear azure sky before landing harmlessly in the moss and fallen leaves encircling the tree.
Isabel watched as surprised delight spread over Margaret’s face. With her hands on her hips, she intonated with a perfect impression of Bessie’s voice, “I told you, poppet, if you put your mind to it, you can do anything.”
Margaret rolled her eyes and giggled at Isabel’s mimicry. She turned to her brother. “Alex, did you see, did you see? I shot the arrow!”
Alex laughed, his deep blue eyes twinkling with delight. “I must say that I am impressed, sister. I see that next I shall have to hide my squire’s sword. You seem to have found quite an accomplished instructor in warfare.”
Isabel grinned at the sudden image of Margaret with a claymore. She doubted Margaret would be able to lift it off the floor, let alone threaten anyone with it. But one never knew. Margaret had shown remarkable strength for her size; even the child’s bow they had borrowed required considerable strength to maneuver. “Margaret deserves all the credit. I did no more than show her how to hold the bow, the rest was up to her. Well done, Margaret.” She briskly stood up from the bright green moss-covered tree trunk she had been sitting on as she watched Margaret’s practice, shaking the dirt off the skirt of her luxurious amethyst velvet habit. “I think that is enough practice for now. Perhaps we are ready to hunt for a deer or two to augment the winter reserves?”
Apparently having anticipated her eagerness, Alex was already leading her palfrey forward. She lifted a gently arched eyebrow in surprise, then chuckled at her obvious transparency. She shrugged but offered no defense; she was anxious to be off before the day was done. Looking up through the trees at the sun directly above her, she knew there were only a few hours remaining before Alex would insist that they return to the castle. The days were already unbearably short.
Two hours passed in an instant. Isabel couldn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed herself as much. Except for…a memory of devouring lips and caressing fingers flashed in her mind before she could brush it away. Rory was gone, remembering wouldn’t bring him back any faster.
She felt the full measure of Alex’s gaze upon her. “Have you had enough?” he asked. “The hour grows late, and I fear the weather has taken a turn.” He looked up to indicate the gathering clouds.
It still amazed her how fast bright sun could change to dark rain on Skye.
Isabel grinned. “No, I haven’t. But I know we must return.”
With an authoritative gesture of his hand that distinctly reminded her of his brother, Alex ordered the men to start back toward the waiting birlinn.
They rode in companionable silence for a while before Isabel spoke. “Thank you, Alex. I cannot tell you what this day has meant to me.”
Alex gazed meaningfully at his sister Margaret, who rode ahead with Colin. “It is I who should thank you. For what you’ve done for Margaret. My brother’s wrath is a small price to pay for the happiness on my sister’s face. It’s almost as if the last few years have faded into a bad dream. The change in her is remarkable.” He nodded his head to indicate Colin. “Even the Viking has seemed to take notic
e.”
They shared a smile. “I thought much the same myself,” Isabel said. “Though he seeks to hide his interest, it is as plain as the scowl on his face.”
Alex chuckled, and they continued on. As daylight faded, Alex ordered some of the men-at-arms who accompanied them to push ahead and ready the boats. They were safe this close to Dunvegan, but Alex said he didn’t want to have the women out on the loch any longer than was necessary in the event of a storm. Isabel didn’t realize how far they’d fallen behind until they entered the forest and she could see only Margaret and Colin ahead of her and Alex.
Colin led the small group along the narrow path deeper into the forest. The light wind gently rustled the leaves on the forest floor. The bluebells and primroses of spring were long forgotten, replaced by foxglove, thistles, wood sage, and now russet-colored clumps of heather. The floor of the forest was peppered with large black mushrooms. Relaxed by the lush beauty surrounding her and the gentle sway of her palfrey as the horse expertly picked along the uneven path, lost in daydreams, Isabel startled at the sudden standstill. She glanced up to see Colin raise his hand in warning for silence.
Something was wrong.
An unnatural quiet seemed to have smothered the small chirping sounds of the forest, eerily reminding Isabel of the strange stillness in the air that often preceded a fearsome storm—when the creatures of nature flee, having sensed danger before man. Instinctively, she held her breath, straining to hear something. Now fully alert, she searched the trees but found nothing out of the ordinary. Assuming that perhaps Colin had just spotted a deer in the foliage ahead, she exhaled and slowly relaxed back in the saddle.
Right before the gates of hell flew open.
Alex’s arm unexpectedly whipped out to push her face forward against her horse only moments before the quiet hiss of an arrow whizzed above her. Precisely in the space previously occupied by her head.
“Damn.” She heard Alex swear, her head still planted firmly on the mane of the mare. The gentle teasing voice was gone, replaced by the hard, decisive voice of authority. “Colin, take Margaret and Isabel and make for the landing. Bring help. I’ll stay behind and try to hold them back.” He swatted Isabel’s mare on the rump. “Go. Quick. Ride as fast as you can.”
At the harsh physical command, her mare leapt forward frantically. Fighting to stay seated, Isabel grabbed the reins of the terrified horse while trying desperately to settle it down. She eased back the reins, gradually able to slow the frenzied pace. Just ahead of her, Colin yanked Margaret’s horse forward and disappeared into the dense forest. Wait, she scolded herself as a flash of clearheadedness broke through the chaos. This was her fault. She couldn’t leave Alex alone. Heedless of the danger, she turned the horse around and started back toward Alex.
They had surrounded him, but Alex was holding his own, fighting the men back with the broad swing of his sword. He’d almost broken free when he caught sight of her, and his eyes narrowed ominously. “What the hell do you think you are doing—” His voice broke off as the blow of a claymore on his back stunned him, but it was the following blow to the head that knocked him from his saddle. He fell unconscious to the ground.
“Nooooo! Alex. Oh God, please.” Her hands flew to her face in horror as she opened her mouth to scream, and for a moment the shock was so great that no sound came forth. She was nearly overcome with fear for Alex, but after a brief feeling of paralysis, something akin to calmness took over her movements. Strangely disembodied from the horror and fear surrounding her, Isabel found herself filled with a fierce determination, like a warrior in the midst of battle—she knew what she had to do. She had to compose herself and help him.
She jumped from the saddle, hastening to where Alex lay twisted and dreadfully still in a pile of dirt and leaves. She was so focused on reaching Alex, she didn’t notice that she was surrounded by a handful of terrifying-looking clansmen until it was too late. She was just about to reach out for Alex when she was jerked harshly into the hold of a dirty, crude-looking warrior. When she met his gaze, she flinched. He had the eyes of a dead herring.
“What have we here? Looks like a wee bit of bonny entertainment for the afternoon.” His ugly, lecherous gaze traveled down her face. “Seems we have found ourselves a fine beauty. I’ll wager whoever you belong to will be anxious to get you back and willing to pay for it. Although I hope it’s not that one, lass,” he said, motioning to where Alex lay. “He’s not likely to claim you anytime soon…if ever.” His sour breath hissed in her ear. Isabel recoiled visibly from the menace curdling his voice.
Inwardly, she cursed her foolishness in leaving her bow and arrows on the palfrey. Her instincts had failed her, but the attack had happened so quickly. “Unhand me. Can’t you see this man is hurt? He needs me. Let me go.” She tried to wrench her body away from his hold, but he was too strong and was gripping her too tightly.
The warrior laughed unpleasantly. “Don’t you worry about him. He won’t need you where he is going.” Cruelly, he kicked Alex’s unmoving body.
Isabel was relieved to hear the pained groan. Alex had been lying so still, she’d been afraid he was already dead. The blow had probably just knocked him out, but they would not let him live. She had to do something. If she hadn’t begged Alex to leave Dunvegan, none of this would have happened. Anguished guilt mingled with helplessness. “Who are you? What do you want with me?”
“I’ve already told you what we want from you, a wee bit of sport.” He smiled, revealing the stumps of his crooked brown teeth. “As for the other, who do you think we are? Who would be bold enough to raid MacLeod lands in the middle of the day?” The arrogance spewing from the swarthy clansman was great.
“Mackenzies,” Isabel hissed.
“Ah, so our reputation precedes us. And who might you be, my beauty?” He considered her appearance, noting the quality of her garments. “Obviously a lady.” He reached out to stroke her breast with his rough, dirty fingers. “A lady with the body of a whore.”
Instinctively, Isabel swatted his hand away. He retaliated swiftly, cuffing her brutally on the chin. Her head whipped backward with the power of the blow, knocking her hair loose from its ribbons. If possible, the lewd stares of the men became even more filled with lust.
Although dazed from the blow, she swore, “If you touch me again, I’ll kill you.”
A deadly silence followed her pronouncement, as the rest of the men waited for the reaction of their leader. His bawdy laughter rang out at her threat. “Ah, we have found ourselves a wee firebrand. You’ll be a pleasure to tame, my sweet, but heed this warning. Do not anger me, or I may begin your lessons right here. I ask you again, what is your name and who will claim you? The truth, gel, or you will know my wrath.”
Isabel debated her answer, quickly weighing whether the truth would help or hinder her in this situation. Apparently, she was taking more time than he had allotted, because she found herself yanked back by her hair, pulled against his sweaty body as his hand ripped open the bodice of her riding habit. His grimy fingers reached under her sark and clawed roughly at her breast, jagged nails scratching the delicate skin. Isabel felt sickened by his touch; nausea spread up her throat, and she knew she was near to retching.
“Enough. Your name, or do you require more persuasion?”
“Isabel.”
“Well, Isabel, who will claim you?”
“Rory MacLeod. I am wife to the MacLeod.” She lifted her chin as if to challenge him. Her voice sounded small but held a touch of defiance.
Astonished by her claim, the man abruptly released her. He was obviously displeased and appeared uncertain as to whether she should be believed. Isabel could see the thoughts running through his mind. Rory MacLeod was a powerful adversary. Relieving him of a few head of cattle was one thing, relieving him of his wife…Well, he would be a hunted man. Taking his wife would make him an enemy for a lifetime—likely a short lifetime.
The Mackenzie clansman crossed his arms and stared at he
r for a moment before coming to his decision. “You lie. The wife of the MacLeod would never be left to roam the forests with such a paltry escort. He would be a foolish man to leave such a tempting treat behind while he dallies with Argyll. More likely is that you are his leman.” He reached out and twisted a clump of her unbound hair painfully in his fist. His eyes filled with lust and excitement as he said with a chilling leer, “I did warn you to speak the truth.”
Isabel tried to talk, tried to explain that she was speaking true, but his fetid mouth pressed against hers, crushing her lips violently as she was thrown roughly to the ground. His huge body landed in a harsh thud on top of hers. The weight of his limbs crushed her, pushing her deep into the unforgiving ground. His beard tore at her face as he kissed her.
For a moment she wanted to die, before the fight for life took over.
She fought like a tiger, scratching and clawing at his face, but he clasped her hands above her head and tossed up her skirt, tearing quickly through the layers of undergarments to reach bare skin. Panic rose in her throat and threatened to spill. She felt his fingers grabbing at the soft skin of her bottom, lifting her hips toward his. Through a tunnel of disbelief, she heard his lusty groans mixed with the laughter of his men as he raised his plaid and pushed his hard member against her closed legs, trying to force them open. She felt his coarse hair against her legs as one hand reached down to try to separate her clamped legs.
Lewd voices urged him on.
When she realized what he was about to do, horror unlike any she’d ever experienced chilled her soul. For a paralyzing moment, she couldn’t move. She was suffocating, spiraling downward in a helpless free fall toward hell.
She heard Alex curse and then moan as her screams roused him. But his efforts to help her were thwarted by the fists of the Mackenzies.
Her body gave one last surge—a reflexive fight for survival. She kicked and wiggled against the unyielding weight of his body. But her movements seemed only to excite him. She bit the snakelike tongue that crawled down her throat, tasting blood.
Highlander Untamed Page 15
