by Rae Monet
The men looked at each other and smiled.
They knew just how to re-kindle the feud between the MacGregors and the McKinneys. If they kidnapped the redhead, the MacGregors would be blamed for sure. The treaty between the two clans was tentative at best. And no one would ever find out the truth.
The leader's eyes gleamed as he studied Megan's young and energetic body while she maneuvered though the trees. Maybe he would allow her to make it back, he thought, but ruined and broken in spirit. When her family saw her so defeated, they would start another war that would never end.
Yes, kidnapping her as a member of the opposing clan is perfect.
Ream Grogan was known for his brutality and cruelty, and it didn't stop with women. He didn't have any squeamish thoughts about taking this wee bonny lass. By inciting the two clans to kill each other off, he would strengthen the English hold on Scotland.
The English understood internal fighting would weaken the Scottish, making them easier to capture. Maintaining a feud between these two clans was vital to Ream's plan. For his reward, the MacGregor and McKinney castles and lands would be his.
It had been promised to him by the English king.
He would not fail.
* * * *
Megan was alone in one of the tents, clearing up the mess left after helping to prepare the noontime meal for the hungry clans. Her sisters had been tasked with delivering the repast. Megan enjoyed the needed respite from their constant chatter.
She was bending over a pot filled with stew when a hand covered her mouth. She started to fight. Then Richard's scent wafted to her. At the same time she saw Caine. Her struggles stopped and she smiled against his palm.
He dropped his hand from her mouth and his arms encircled her from behind while his lips claimed the pulse at her neck.
"Richard.” She sighed as he slowly turned her in his arms. His kisses continued to run from her neck to her jaw.
"Were you expecting another, my beauty?” He continued his lazy exploration.
"Ye're touchin’ me.” She moaned, her emotions bringing forth her brogue. His lips finally claimed hers. Her hands reached up to tangle in his hair while his lips continued to assault hers. Very gently, his tongue reached out to touch her lips. Her mouth opened as she gasped in surprise.
He took advantage, his tongue plunging into her mouth. Her tongue in turn delicately touched his, testing her power and his response. She heard him groan against her mouth as their tongues danced. Her body tightened in anticipation of something much more heady than a kiss—yet she wasn't sure what.
"I dreamed of touching you all night and all day,” he finally said when he drew back from the kiss. He leaned his forehead against hers and softly panted, as Caine might do on a heated day.
"I've created a beast.” She laughed, her breath mingling with his as he chuckled in response.
"Do you have plans today?” His voice flooded Megan's mind, and she sighed. There was something about his voice that drew her in just as strongly as his appearance. It was as if God had made this man just for her.
He moved her back against the wall of the tent and his arms locked on either side of her head, essentially keeping her hostage.
Megan glanced around to see if anyone was coming. Her family was so large, they had seldom noticed her disappearing with Richard during the last three days.
"Only with you."
* * * *
On the surface, one might have assumed that this day progressed much as the previous three had.
This time, however, their relationship was different. Richard was now free with his touch and stroked and handled her frequently. So much so, Megan burned with the heat he kindled in her.
He held her hand and often touched her face. His kisses sent her to an entirely different place than where she was standing. It was as if he had been denied for so long, he couldn't get enough. He was starving for companionship and the simple touch of another person. Now he had been fed and he was gorging himself with the sensation of his caress against hers, his skin touching hers, his lips tracing hers.
And when the sun sank behind the faraway rocks and twilight appeared, they stood, hand in hand, and watched.
"The sunset will never be so spectacular again,” Megan said. “Everything is more wonderful with you by my side."
He smiled and hugged her to him in a bone-crushing embrace.
She melted against him. At that moment in time, Megan's world was perfectly complete.
* * * *
The next day, Megan was washing her clothing in the springs when someone grabbed her from behind, raising her off the ground. She knew immediately it wasn't Richard. The hold was too rough. Arms squeezed her so hard she gasped for breath, so tightly that she couldn't scream or even breathe, and so roughly, she thought her ribs were breaking.
The villain wrapped a cloth around her mouth and eyes, then a rope around her feet. She felt the prick of a knife against her arm, then the warmth of her own blood spilling out. A cloth wiped her where she bled.
She was dumped on the hard ground. Unable to see or cry out, she twisted back and forth until her head struck a rock and she saw stars.
Over the sound of her panicked breaths, she heard voices with Scottish brogues whispering to each other, but they seemed to come from far away. Then the voices stopped. Fingers dug into her bodice and ripped it, pulling her dress off her body, leaving only the scanty covering of her undergarments. The cloth stuffed in her mouth muffled her scream, making the sound softer than the moan of a newborn babe.
"Ah, she's a beauty.” A hand touched her breast, and she squirmed away. Someone laughed, and another voice said, “Quiet, you fool. You want to be caught and hanged?"
Megan tried to scream again against the gag in her mouth, even though she knew it was futile. Shivering from fear, she told herself this was a nightmare and wasn't really happening. Then she was hauled up and thrown over a large, very smelly shoulder. The man started walking. Her heart pounded inside her chest as she tried to wiggle off. She was tossed onto a horse, her body hanging head down.
She continued to struggle until something hard and heavy struck the side of her skull. Everything went black.
* * * *
Ream smiled and threw the torn dress onto the boulder directly below the camp of the McKinneys. It would be easily found there. He took the plaid he had stolen from a MacGregor and ripped a small piece of it off, smearing the cloth with the girl's blood. He dropped it next to the dress.
This should do it for now, he thought, as he rode off to claim his prize. He had work to do, and he was looking forward to spilling his wrath into the luscious female. He had chosen a perfect location, not so far away she would not be easily found, yet far enough that no one would hear her screams.
* * * *
Megan came awake slowly, groaning as she moved her jaw. Her gag had been removed, but she remained blindfolded. She found she could wiggle her feet, but when she tried moving her hands a rope tightened against her wrists. Her hands were still bound behind her. Her dress was gone and she was clothed only in her shift.
She shifted, trying to get her bearings. She seemed to be lying on rock. The voices of several men drifted to her, talking of their plans. Clearly, they assumed she was asleep. She dropped back down and feigned unconsciousness as she listened to them.
"The McKinney will kill the MacGregor when he finds her bloody dress and the MacGregor plaid.” The man's clipped English voice made Megan shiver; it was so disdainful, so evil, as if he had not a scrap of human kindness in him.
The voice continued, “This will start the clans warring again for sure and I will get my castles and lands."
She stopped herself from crying out with horror. It didn't take a simpleton to surmise what they were planning. They had kidnapped her to restart the clan feud between the McKinneys and the MacGregors.
"What will you do with the girl? Kill her?” one of the men asked.
"I have better plans for he
r. One almost worse than death.” The men cackled with laughter.
Megan's stomach clenched with fear. She had an idea of what he meant to do to her. If need be, she would fight to her death.
She tried to shimmy down the rock. Lightly touching it with the hands behind her back, she let the hard surface guide her. She heard the leader dismiss the other men, telling them to leave him and return to their dwellings.
Megan got up and ran despite the fact she couldn't see where she was going. She realized she needed to get away from these men as quickly as she could.
Someone shouted. Footsteps thudded on the ground behind her. Then a body slammed into her. She went down so hard and fast she cried out in pain. The evil man laughed as he hauled her to her feet then threw her on her back.
She struggled to get up again, but his heavy body landed on hers.
"Where ye goin', my beauty?"
Megan gasped in fear. His endearment was the same one Richard used with her. The man's hand moved to her hair and stroked it. She flinched and turned her head.
"Let's see how much courage the youngest daughter of the McKinney really has, my beauty,” he whispered against her ear.
She recoiled as if she had been struck. She reared up with her knee and heard a grunt. Then a hand slammed against her face. Blood flooded her mouth and she cried out in pain.
"I will break you of that spirit, my beauty, and you will be beggin’ me to stop.” His voice rasped against her throat as he clasped her undergarments in his hand and ripped them all the way down.
Megan screamed, kicking out with every ounce of energy and strength she had. But her flailing legs found only air. He laughed.
She finally realized he was enjoying her fight. Only that understanding stopped her useless struggles. If her hands were untied, she might have continued. But this man was a coward and a villain.
"Ye will never break my spirit, ye devil,” she roared, “because ‘tis not yers to take. I will fight ye until my death, dinna doubt that."
"We'll see, my beauty, we'll see."
With those words, Megan's nightmare began.
* * * *
Megan lay naked and beaten, blood covering every inch of her body. She was dying in the dirt, she thought. Time had passed, hours and hours of horror, maybe a day and night, maybe only an afternoon. She knew not how long—and cared not.
Something soft landed on her stomach. She guessed it was the remains of her shift.
"Let's see what the McKinney thinks of that.” The last thing Megan heard was her own howl of pain as she listened to him ride away.
* * * *
The shouts of men drew Richard's attention. From his tent, he ran to the clearing where just an hour ago men and women were playing games and drinking. Some of the men began pushing each other. Other voices were accusing.
"Our Megan,” he heard one man say.
"Megan McKinney,” said another.
As Richard shoved his way to the front of the group where the two lairds stood, he had a horrible feeling in his gut. The McKinney held something bloody in his hand and the MacGregor another smaller item that looked like part of their plaid.
"Who has last seen my lass, Megan?” the McKinney bellowed, surveying the faces of onlookers who stared at the bloody garment.
Voices rang out in answer. None said what he wanted to hear. She hadn't been seen in over ten hours.
Richard's heart began to beat erratically as he spotted the bloodied dress in the hands of her father.
He recognized the cloth—it was Megan's.
The MacGregor held another soiled or stained cloth in his hand. A piece of one of their plaids.
"I fear the worst. Prepare the men.” The McKinney laird shouted the order.
With strong strides and determined faces, the men moved to suit up.
"McKinney,” said the MacGregor laird, “I know not what this is about. My men dinna do this, of that I am sure.” He looked at the bloodied plaid with distaste.
"You better be prayin’ ye're right about that, MacGregor, or I'll be killin’ ya myself and this bloody feud will never end.” The McKinney strode away.
Richard held out his hand. The McKinney skidded to a halt, gazing at him with hostility. “Ye're in my way, laddie."
Richard lifted the bloody fabric from Megan's father's hand. His heart stopped beating for a moment before it kicked back into action. “Kidnapped?” he whispered. His thumb ran over the materials as if he were caressing Megan herself.
"So it be seemin'."
Richard felt his scrutiny.
"Injured.” Richard said the statement more to himself than to her father. He slowly lowered the cloth, signaling to Caine. Caine moved forward and buried his nose in the material.
"So it be seemin'."
Richard eyes moved to the McKinney. “I will find her. Then I will kill the men who did this.” He handed the material back to the McKinney.
"Not if I be findin’ them first, laddie, not if I be findin’ them first.” Tears swam in the old man's eyes. He blinked them away and strode off toward the horses.
With a hand signal to Caine, Richard returned to his camp, grabbed some gear and vaulted onto his horse. He hesitated slightly at the sight of his healer bag, then bent down and grabbed it. The others were still milling around, deciding what to do.
Richard gave a two-word command to Caine. “Find her."
Caine took off at a lope.
Richard charged after him.
* * * *
Fearfully, Megan listened to the sounds of the gradually awakening forest. She panted lightly, trying to determine whether she was alone or her attacker had returned.
After an extended silence, she became more confident her violent foe had departed. And why not, she thought as she tried to move, moaning at the action.
He had done what he had set out to do.
He had abused her until she had had no pride left, until she had begged him for her release. He had laughed at her when she had finally succumbed to his drawn out torture.
Megan forced her body into a sitting position, groaning at the pain. She tried to stand, but her feet would not hold her. She fell back against a hard surface.
The rock was rough, and her heart quickened in excitement. She began frantically grinding her bound hands against the surface to break the rope. Every movement was agony. It seemed to take so long with no reward. She was about to give up when she felt movement in the rope.
She smiled at her small victory. The cursed rope had cut off her circulation, tightening each time she had tried to strike her attacker. Finally, the bindings loosed enough for her to slip a hand out and she cried in relief. Fighting prickles of pain coursing through her freed wrist and hand, she raised it to her head to pull off the cloth blocking her view of the world.
The rising sun glared into her eyes. She lifted her hand to shield them from its white blinding light. Her eyes dropped to her wrists and she cried out at the blood and cuts the rope had wrought upon her. Tears ran down her cheeks, but nothing would cleanse the soul that felt so dirty from her attacker's hands. He'd defiled her body, taken what she'd been saving to give to a gentle man once united in the bonds of love.
Soul wrenching tears choked out of her mouth as she checked the rest of her body. Bruises, cuts, and blood mixed with dirt and gravel traveled the length of her body. Her arms, her naked breasts, her thighs, and her back all radiated with pain.
When she refused to submit to his fist, he had lashed her with his leather belt. Crying out, she clutched a single ragged piece of what was left of her shift to her exposed breasts.
She refused to think of the abuse he had inflicted upon her, the horrible things he had done.
I won't.
Closing her eyes, she tried to steady her gasping breath as her mind blocked the replay of his cruelty.
"I won't,” she whispered in determination.
She pushed the worst of the horror behind a wall in her mind. She opened her eyes. Ten
tatively, she moved her limbs, checking to see if any of them had been broken or so severely beaten they were useless.
When she pulled away from the rock, burning fire seized her back. She grunted and kept moving. Using her hands, she scooted to her knees. Her arms were sore and cut but nothing seemed to be broken, except ... she moved a finger and yelled in pain. Except maybe the finger her attacker had taken such joy in bending back until she had screamed.
She sucked in air through cracked lips and tried to ignore the pain. She needed to get to some water. She tried to move from her knees to her feet. At first her legs would not comply with what her mind was telling it. “Get up!” she chanted to herself. “Get up, get up, get up."
Finally, her legs obeyed her voiced command. She stumbled to her feet, swaying in pain. She carefully placed the left foot in front of the right. But when she tried to change position, the right foot dragged. Her leg buckled and she fell to one already torn knee. Determined that crying out would do her no good, she clenched her teeth and tried to get up again. And fell again. Another time. And another.
After the fifth time, she dropped her chin to her chest and let the agony of her situation overtake her. Tears coursed down her face, rolling over her bruised flesh, mixing with the red of her blood and falling onto her bare chest.
Clearing her throat, she tried to stop the tears. She raised her head and attempted to rise again. This time she stumbled to her feet. A rushing noise came to her ears. A river. She felt a quiver of hope. With slow movements, stopping every few feet to rest, she staggered toward the noise.
Seeing only grass and rocks, she wondered if the noise was in her head from the hard strikes she had taken. But she continued to teeter toward the sound. When she finally saw the small calm stream cascading in front of her, her breath whooshed in relief. She fell to her knees at the edge, almost laughing at the relief of her accomplishment.
I made it to the water.
She cried into the water, thinking one more drop would not overflow the stream. She wrapped her arms around her chest and rocked, trying to find some semblance of balance between her humiliation and her injuries.
She needed to reach out to that water but she couldn't move, as if she was frozen in her misery. As if this was how her body wanted to stay.
