Highland Hellion (Blades of Honor #1)

by B. J. Scott

  “Make haste. We dinna have all bloody day,” the man growled and shoved her from behind.

  She tripped, then tumbled down the steps, landing at the base of the stairs on her hands and knees. Arya rocked back on her heels, resting for a minute on the cold, damp floor, before slowly rising. She glared at the guard. “Let’s get on with it.”

  “You willna be in such an all-fired rush once you’ve seen what the Campbell has in store for you,” a second guard said as he joined them. He carried a torch, providing enough light to see down a long, dank corridor. “Move,” he said then placed his hand on her shoulder and pushed.

  Arya battled the urge to fight back, to turn on these two blackguards and do anything she could to escape. But she had no weapon and given their brawn, any attempt would be futile. All she could do was comply for now and pray that Garrett came for her before it was too late. If he was still alive to do so. She’d seen a group of male prisoners on their way to the pit. She counted six, but Garrett was not among them.

  Arya reached the end of the hallway and the second guard unlocked the door to a cell, then ushered her inside. The first guard joined them.

  It took a few minutes for her eyes to adjust to a room lit by a single barred window located at the very top of the wall, the narrow opening was the only source of light and fresh air.

  In one corner of the cell stood a rack, used to stretch a man until he confessed his sins or died a horrible death. In the other was a Judas Chair, known as the chair of torture due to the 500-plus metal spikes on which the prisoner was forced to sit. An Iron Maiden hung from the ceiling and shackles lined the walls.

  “Move along, lassie. Your new home awaits. Hope you dinna mind sharing it with the rats.” The first guard kicked at one of the rodents as it scurried across his boot.

  He grabbed her arm and dragged her past a large wooden table, on which lay an assortment of metal hooks, whips, thumbscrews, a lead sprinkler, and other macabre items.

  The guard paused and picked up an ominous-looking implement of torture. He grinned, then waved the oval-shaped object in front of Arya’s face. “Do you know what this is?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “The Pear of Anguish. My personal favorite when dealing with a wench who willna yield.” He turned the crank, the sharp metal leaves opening like a deadly flower, then he tossed back his head and laughed. “Care to try it out?”

  Show no fear.

  Arya swallowed hard against the lump rising in her throat. She’d not give this sadistic bastard the satisfaction of knowing just how terrified she was. “I’ll pass,” she managed to reply, then stepped away from the table.

  “Get on with it, Niall, we are about to be relieved by the next round of guards, and I for one am anxious to leave this rat-infested pisshole, get myself a tankard of ale, and something to eat,” the second guard called out. “Shackle her to the wall and let’s be away.”

  “Go on ahead, I will join you shortly,” Niall replied, grinning.

  The second guard lit another torch and placed it in a sconce on the wall. “I will meet you for a drink in the alehouse after you finish here,” he said, then trotted off.

  Arya eyed a dirk hanging at Niall’s side, the thought of grabbing it and using it against her captor crossing her mind. With her hands still free, and Niall’s attention focused on his friend’s departure, it might be her only chance. But he grasped her wrists before she had time to act upon her impulse and snapped a band of iron around each one.

  Arya tested the strength of her bonds. But there was no way she could break free. The chains were long enough to allow her to sit on the floor, but only if she tucked her legs beneath her.

  Niall closed the gap between them. His chest pressed against hers, forcing her back to the cold stone wall. “You are lovely,” he growled in her ear, then nipped at her throat. He tugged at the drawstring on her trews. “I have no idea why a woman would dress like a man and accompany her kinsmen on a raid, but it matters not. Are you as fierce when rutting as you are on the battlefield?” He cupped her breasts and squeezed, before reaching for the laces at the neck of her tunic.

  Arya spat in his face. “You will never know,” she hissed. “Get your hands off me, you filthy bastard. I would rather die than have a disgusting swine like you touch me.”

  Niall dragged his sleeve across his cheek, scowling at her. “That could also be arranged. I care not if you are alive or dead when I fuck you. Or better yet, I could take you here and now, then once I’ve had my fill, slit your throat. Tell the Lord you grabbed for my dirk and tried to escape. No one would fault me for defending myself. There would be no witness to say otherwise.”

  “Are you so hard pressed for a lady’s favor that you would resort to rape and murder?” she challenged. “Do you not care if your reputation as a warrior, not to mention as a man, is sullied when you admit a woman bested you?”

  “You’ll not be so high and mighty when the Campbell has you stripped naked and publically flogged before he tosses you into the pit to drown.” Niall pinched her chin between his thumb and fingers, forcing her to look at him. “And if I choose to touch you or do anything else that suits my fancy, who is going to stop me?” He grabbed the crotch of his trews, pumped his hips in a lurid manner, then ran his hand up her inner thigh. “Of course, there is always the pear,” he said, an evil smirk tugging at his lips.

  “You are a deplorable, disgusting—”

  “Niall!” The second guard returned. “The Lord of Argyll wishes to speak to us. Best you not keep him waiting.”

  “I’m coming,” he said, then glowered at Arya. “This is not yet finished. I will be back, and next time, you willna be spared. After you’ve spent a little time in here, you may even accept me willingly.” He released his grip on her, then sauntered toward the door.

  “When there is frost in hell,” Arya shouted at his retreating form. But he did not turn around. Once the guards left, she sank to the floor and released a heavy sigh, her mind racing with questions.

  What happened to my captured kinsmen? Were they executed? Is Garrett alive or dead? Mother, who will care for her if I dinna get out of here?

  Her mind riddled with questions for which she had no answers, she lowered head, her heart heavy with despair. Her mam was right, she should not have accompanied the men on this raid. She had been a fool to take such a risk. But it was too late to worry about that now. She did what she felt she had to do and was now at the mercy of the Campbell, awaiting her fate.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “Please, Lord, let Garrett be alive and let him come for me. Dinna end my life this way. My mother needs me,” she said aloud, tears now tracking down her cheeks. “And while I give Garrett a difficult time, I truly care deeply for him, despite what I claim. Grant me the chance to tell—” But her plea ended when she heard the sound of footfall coming down the hallway, toward her cell.

  Chapter 6

  Arya’s heart pounded as if it were trying to claw its way out of her chest. The echo of approaching footfall grew louder and her gut twisted with fear. Had the guards who’d tried to accost her returned to finish what they’d started?

  “Unlock the cell, Niall, and wait for me out here,” a man ordered.

  “Are you sure you dinna need me to accompany you, m'lord? She’s a feisty one. A real hellion,” Niall said.

  “I’m counting on it,” the man replied, then laughed with an evil cackle that made sent a shiver clamoring up her spine.

  “Stay here. I do not wish to be disturbed, and will call if I need you. Is that clear, Niall?”

  “Aye, m’lord.”

  Arya didn’t recognize the gravelly voice. Niall called him m’lord, so he must be someone of importance. But there was no point in speculating, she’d find out soon enough.

  The metal keys clinked against the bars of her cell, the lock clicked, t
hen the rusty hinges creaked loudly as the door opened. Arya stiffened. Regardless of who he was, she’d not cower before him. But she couldn’t help wishing that Garrett would rescue her.

  A dark figure approached, carrying a torch. Arya squinted, hoping to get a better look at her visitor. He was not overly tall and appeared to have a much smaller frame than most warriors, but she could not make out his features. As he moved closer, the stench of death and decay permeating from every inch of the dungeon was suddenly replaced by the scent of rose water and mint. A far cry better than the sickening odor of unwashed flesh and foul breath she’d endured when Niall tried to kiss her. This was a man of high standing, of that she was certain.

  “Well now, I see they have you chained to a wall. How unfortunate.” The man raised the torch, then dragged his knuckle down her cheek. “Such a shame to have a comely creature hidden away in a deplorable place like this.” He brought a square of perfumed linen to his nose and inhaled. “The cell is absolutely ghastly. And the putrid scent is enough to make a man, or woman in your case,” he quickly added, “ill. However do you stand it?”

  “I dinna have any choice.”

  “Nay, I dinna suppose you do at that,” he said with a snicker.

  He held the torch a little higher, and she could finally see his face. He was not an attractive man by any stretch of the imagination, with a protruding forehead, gaunt cheeks, large aquiline nose, and thin lips.

  “I suppose you are wondering who I am, and why I have come to visit you in this hellhole.” He grinned, revealing a set of straight white teeth.

  “It matters not who you are,” Arya replied. “You could be a king, and I still wouldna care. Not unless you are here to set me free and allow me to be on my way.”

  “I will tell you regardless. I’m Mason Campbell. My father is the Lord of Argyll, and you, my dear, are his prisoner.”

  “You came down here to tell me that?” Arya shook her head and clucked her tongue. “Unless—” She paused, her blood running cold when the thought of the likely reason sprang to mind. “Do you plan to rape me? If so, I’ll warn you, I willna submit without a fight.”

  “Do you honestly think I would bed you here? In this disgusting place, with you smelling like gutter swill? I hardly think so.” He brought the scented square to his nose again.

  “Then why did you come?”

  “Curiosity.” Mason cocked his head while he studied her from top to bottom.

  “I dinna understand.”

  “I heard you were a lass of rare beauty and I wanted to see for myself. But the rumors dinna do you justice.” After placing the torch in a sconce on the wall, he stepped closer, and wrapped his fingers around her throat. “Lets see what else you have to offer, aside from a comely face, shall we?” He slid his free hand inside the front of her trews, cupping her sex.

  Arya twisted against her bonds, yanking on the chains until the shackles bit into her flesh and blood dripped down her forearms. “Dinna touch me. I may be your father’s prisoner, but you have no right to lay hand to me.” The words escaped before she could stop them.

  He laughed. “I hardly think you are in any position to object to my advances, or to stop me.” He nipped at her neck, then jabbed his fingers into her most intimate place. “You are as tight as a falconer’s glove. It has been a while since I sampled a virgin.”

  Arya bit the inside of her cheek and stared straight ahead. And while she wanted to cut out his heart and serve it to his father on a platter—and would if the opportunity presented itself—she was helpless to do anything. Where all the men in the Campbell clan disgusting swine?

  “As tempting as fucking you now may sound, that was not the reason I came to your cell. Mason withdrew his hand and took a step back. “Care to hazard a guess?”

  She remained silent, avoiding eye contact.

  “Are you not in the least bit curious?” He twisted a strand of her hair around his fist, then snapped her head back. “You are a feisty wench in serious need of taming. True, I could pummel you now if I choose to, but instead, I have a proposition for you.”

  “I am not interested in anything you have to offer.”

  “Hmmmm. Not even an exchange for your life?” He asked. “Considering what my father has planned for you on the morrow, one would think, you’d welcome any alternative. Being stripped naked, flogged within an inch of your life, then drown in a pit of stagnant water is a horrible way to die. However, if you agree to my terms, I could speak to my father.”

  “Does your sire always condemn his prisoners without a trial?”

  “You came here to steal from my father’s estate, did you not?”

  “We only wanted enough food to feed the bairns. Necessary supplies your father has denied us.”

  “As is his right. But you also took part in a raid during which several of my father’s men were wounded or killed.”

  “We had no choice but to defend ourselves. We were given no other option when they showed no quarter. They outnumbered us five to one and we never stood a chance.”

  Mason shrugged. “The law states that based on your crimes, my father can execute you without a trial. Unless I do something to stop that from happening, he intends to make an example of you.”

  “What could I possibly have that would interest you enough to intervene on my behalf? Surely you can rut with any lass you desire. Or do you get pleasure by taking advantage of women who are not able to defend themselves and loath you?”

  “I do enjoy a challenge and you are hardly a helpless wench. But I am to be married in a fortnight to the daughter of one of the most powerful lairds in the Highlands and am not impressed with my father’s choice.”

  “And what has that to do with me?”

  “If you’d seen my betrothed, you would understand. Homely doesna describe her. She is not only a rotund woman, but she has the face of a sow. The thought of bedding her makes my stomach sour. However, my father is convinced the union will strengthen his alliance with her clan.”

  Arya glared back at him, appalled by the arrogance of this scoundrel. “And you wish me to marry you in her stead?” She didn’t bother to hide the disdain in her voice. Not only did she find Mason unattractive, but the thought of spending her life married to him was a fate worse than death.

  “Dinna flatter yourself. A union between you and I would serve no purpose.”

  “I’m confused. If you dinna wish to marry me—” Arya stopped speaking as the realization of what he meant came into mind.

  He nodded. “Now that I’ve confirmed the rumors of your beauty and virtue are true, I wish to make you my whore. You would, of course, have to pay for your crimes, but I am sure I could convince my father to have you flogged, then locked in the tower for the rest of your life rather than executed. At least, until I’ve had my fill or find someone more appealing.”

  “You arrogant bastard! I would rather die than lay with you.”

  “That would be a pity,” Mason scoffed. “While you do have a firm round arse, I do prefer my women with meat on their bones and more than a handful of breast. But you’ll do.”

  “I’ll gladly face death rather than warm your bed.

  “Dinna be so quick to decide. I will give you till morn to think about it. After spending a night in this rat-infested hole in the ground, you may change your mind.” He plucked the torch from the wall, then leaned in and kissed her. “Until then, I bid you farewell,” he said, then turned and walked away.

  Arya spat on the floor. “I’ll not change my mind. I would rather dwell with rats,” she shouted. But he did not favor her with a reply.

  After the cell door slammed shut and the sound of footsteps faded, Arya sank to the floor. There had to be some other way to get out of here. Being the concubine of Mason Campbell was not one of them.

  With
Logan’s assistance, Garrett arrived at Scotia’s croft. But as he reached for the door latch, he hesitated.

  “Are you sure you dinna want me to come in with you?” his cousin asked. “You’re still pretty wobbly on your feet.”

  “Nay. I must do this alone. It is going to be hard enough telling Scotia that Arya was captured. I dinna need an audience when she tears a strip off my hide for allowing her daughter to come along.” Garrett squared his shoulders and knocked. “Best get this over with.”

  Logan nodded. “I dinna envy you. From what I’ve heard, Scotia is so ill she can hardly lift her head. I’d be worried the news might kill her, rather than fearing her wrath.”

  “She may be gravely ill, but she is as feisty as they come. I am sure that is where Arya gets her spirit and tenacity. Her father was a brave warrior, but a very quiet man who would do anything to please his wife and daughter.”

  “God’s speed, cousin.” Logan patted Garrett on the back. “When you’re through, I’ll be waiting for you at the clearing. The rest of the men will meet us there after they have seen to their families. Most are moving their wives and bairns higher into the mountains in case of a retaliatory attack. Once assembled, we can work on a plan to free Arya and the others.”

  “I pray we’re not too late.” Garrett rapped softly on the door, but when he got no reply, he knocked louder, then entered.

  “Is that you, Arya? I was beside myself with worry when you dinna come home in time for the evening meal,” Scotia said in a strained voice that was barely above a whisper.

  Her companion, Isla, rose and faced Garrett. “Is Arya outside?” she asked hesitantly.

  “Arya?” Scotia called.