Highland Honor [Murray Brothers Book 2]

by Hannah Howell

  Dismounting, he studied the signs upon the ground more carefully. Tugging his horse after him he walked into the wood, following her trail straight to the little mound Gisele had tried to shelter behind. There he saw the clear signs of a battle. His brief alarm eased when he saw no blood, but he knew she was not safe. Two men had been with her. She had been taken, but she had been taken alive. He just wished he knew when, and if she were still alive. Where they had taken her would be easy to find out, for they had taken her horse, as well. All he had to do was follow the trail.

  Just thinking that Gisele might be dead, that the DeVeaux might have won, sent shivers down Nigel's spine. He felt the chill of that thought deep in his heart. He could not believe God would allow such an injustice, and he clung to that thought. God and luck had kept that girl alive for a year despite so many people searching for her. It had to keep her alive a little longer, just long enough for him to pull her out of the danger she was in. Any other possibility was simply unthinkable.

  After taking a deep breath to calm himself, Nigel returned to reading the signs. By the time he found himself back at the top of the little hillock overlooking the fields, he was sure of what had happened. His unease with open ground had been justified, for as Gisele had sat here, clear for all to see, the DeVeaux had spotted her. She had then been chased and finally captured in the wood where she had tried to seek shelter. The DeVeaux had next ridden out over the fields, someone pulling her horse after theirs.

  The fields below him were even more dangerously open than the little hillock. It would be quicker and easier if he directly followed their trail, but it would also expose him to the same fate that had befallen Gisele. The DeVeaux knew she had a companion, a Scot riding at her side. They might still be looking for him. Even standing there in full view upon the mossy hillock while he pondered what to do was putting him at risk.

  He hurriedly moved toward the high hedgerows that encircled the fields. They would provide some cover. Nigel decided he would follow them around until he picked up his quarry's trail again. It was hard, but he moved slowly, ambling along and leading his horse as if he were in no hurry, were just some traveler courteous enough not to take the straightest route and damage a newly planted crop.

  As he had begun his search for Gisele he had been torn two ways. She had left him, willingly and stealthily in the middle of the night. A sensible man would see that as the clear rejection it probably was, but Nigel had come to realize that he was not very sensible when it came to Gisele. He had tried to tell himself that it was his pledge to protect her that had him hunting her down, that it was all a matter of honor, but he knew that was not the whole of it. She had, after all, dismissed him from her service by walking away. No one would ever fault him if he simply walked away, gave up, and went home.

  Nigel had to accept the truth. He had come hieing after Gisele because he wanted her back. He also wanted to be certain she was safe, but that had not been a grave concern at the start. She had managed to keep herself safe and alive for a year before he had joined her. It was not until he had seen the signs of trouble that he had added concern for her safety to what drove him.

  He was so confused, in his heart and in his mind, that it made his head ache. Nigel placed the blame for that discomfort squarely on Gisele's pretty shoulders. She had gifted him with the sweetest, wildest passion he had ever known and then walked away without a word. He did not know what he felt for her—or even if he could trust his own feelings, anyway—yet the moment she was not at his side he panicked. His heart felt as if it had just had a piece torn away, and that, he knew, should tell him something.

  A smile touched his face, and he shook his head. He and Gisele needed someone a lot wiser than they were to untangle them. Instinct told him that she, too, suffered some confusion and doubt. A little vindictively, he hoped it was as much, if not mote, than he did. If he were going to be tormented, then so should she.

  As he reached the side of the field opposite the hillock, he found the trail he sought. Cautiously, an ominous feeling growing in his belly, he followed it to a thick clump of trees. The trail went around the trees, but Nigel went inside them, welcoming the shadows. The moment he saw what stood on the other side, he froze.

  "Ye rode right into their hands, didnae ye, loving?” he muttered.

  He cursed and, tethering his horses to a branch, he sat down on the leaf-strewn ground and stared at the fortified demanse in front of him. Nigel knew she was in there, and knew that it was a DeVeau stronghold. Every instinct he had told him so. Gisele had ridden away from him straight into the deadly grasp of her enemy.

  For a brief moment, he wondered if that had been her intention. She had become increasingly fretful about the danger she was pulling him into, had suffered a deep guilt when he had been wounded. He had thought that he had cured her of all that, but he may have been wrong. Perhaps, in some mad gesture of gallantry, she had realized that the only way to make the DeVeaux stop chasing him was to surrender herself.

  "Nay,” he whispered, “Gisele isnae that big a fool."

  Even as he spoke the words he knew they were true. Gisele might do such a thing if it were her only choice, if some DeVeau held a sword to his throat and told her it was his life or her surrender. There was no such threat, however. She still had had some choices. Her cousin David had told her that most of her family now believed in her innocence, and so she could go to one of them for help. Gisele had too much spirit to simply give up, had too strong a will to live to just hand herself over to people who ached to kill her.

  What he had to do now was come up with a plan to get her out of there. The longer he stared at the keep, the more sure he was that he was mad to think he could get her free. The moment he tried to reach her in there he would be found and killed, or set beside her on the scaffold. It was a strong, well-manned keep. It looked impenetrable.

  He hastily shook his head. Every keep had a weakness, just as every person did. They were built by people, after all. They also had to have some bolthole, some way for people trapped inside to get out. If someone can get out unseen, then someone can get in unseen. At times, a keep's defenses themselves were the weakness. If the men at the gates and on the walls felt too secure, if it had been a long time since they had had to fight in defense of the keep, then they could grow lax in their watch. Nigel knew that all he needed was a moment of inattention, and he could get inside.

  It was hard to fully muffle the groan of frustration that slowly escaped him, and he put his head in his hands. And just what was he going to do once he did get inside? His attire would not give him away, but if he had to speak to anyone his heavily accented French would quickly let everyone know he was not one of DeVeau's men. There was also the problem of finding Gisele, releasing her from whatever hole she had been thrown into, and then getting her out of the keep.

  Nigel returned to staring at the keep. It was madness. There was nothing he could do, no plan that was not fraught with danger for himself and for Gisele. A wise man would accept defeat, grieve for the loss of the woman, and creep home with his tail between his legs. He sighed with resignation and shook his head, for he knew he would sit there until he rotted or some idea came to him. Nigel prayed that he would be shown the way to free her before Gisele was forced to pay with her life for a murder she did not commit.

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  Seventeen

  Louis dragged Gisele into the great hall, George quietly following behind. She cursed when he shoved her toward the tall, slender man seated in a huge chair at the head table. So hard did Louis shove her that she stumbled and was barely able to right herself before falling into the tall man's lap. Gisele took a deep breath to steady herself, brushed off her clothes, and looked at the man.

  Her heart briefly skipped to a stop, and her blood ran cold. For a moment she thought she was looking at her husband, then shook away that mad idea. There was absolutely no doubt in her mind that her husband was dead. She had seen his body. This had t
o be Vachel, but the resemblance between him and his cousin was so strong it terrified her. Vachel was tall, almost delicate in his slenderness, and nearly beautiful. He had the same perfect features as her late husband, the same perfect skin, even the same thick, long, raven black hair. When she found the strength to look into his eyes, she felt ill. He also had the same beautiful but cold, dark eyes, eyes that held the same look of sly viciousness that Michael's had.

  "At last we meet, cousin,” he drawled, his voice deep and soft, almost musical. “May I be so bold as to say that you are not looking your best?"

  "I am wounded to the heart,” she drawled, and ducked just in time to avoid another knock on the head from Louis.

  "Do not touch her,” commanded Vachel

  Even Gisele felt inclined to step back when she heard the ice in Vachel's voice. A quick glance at Louis revealed that the man had grown a little pale. He had taken at least two steps back and clasped his thick fingered hands behind his back in a show of obedience.

  There was at least one difference between Vachel and her husband, she mused, as she looked back at the lord of the manor. Michael would have just leapt on the man and beaten him senseless. She knew in her heart that Vachel had that same streak of violence in him but had learned how to refine it, how to imbue his voice with it without shouting or raising his fist. She knew that that made Vachel much more dangerous than Michael ever was. It also made him much more evil and frightening. Michael's cruelty had come forth through anger or a very evident sort of madness, blindly enacted without thought or planning. Vachel could remain calm, would act with complete knowledge of the cruelty he was inflicting and how to make it as horrifying as possible.

  "Afraid he may kill me before you can?” she asked, determined not to quail before this DeVeau. She had done it once and found it not only bitter, but useless.

  "And what makes you believe I am going to kill you?” Vachel asked, watching her over the edge of his ornately carved silver goblet as he sipped at his drink.

  "I have been condemned to death since I fled your cousin's manse. Has my sentence been altered while I was hiding?"

  "Your sentence, your punishment for ending Michael's poor, miserable life, is whatever I choose it to be."

  Gisele inwardly trembled, praying her fear was not clear to read on her face. She suspected that Vachel could make the slow, choking death of a hanging seem merciful. It was going to be very hard to maintain her act of bravado. Vachel terrified her, far more than her brutal husband ever had.

  "Sir,” George said as he stepped up beside Gisele. “I was told that there was a bounty on this woman's head?"

  "Of course, business should always be done before one indulges in one's little pleasures,” Vachel murmured, and he signaled to the cold-faced man seated on his right, who quickly and silently left the room.

  Pleasures? Gisele thought, silently repeating the word in her head. That sounded chillingly ominous. She found it a little unsettling when she tried to calm herself by thinking that Vachel was just one of those sick men who would enjoy watching a woman hang. If that were the least of the horrors she thought he would inflict on her, she decided to try to not think of the worst. Such musings could easily cost her her slim grip on courage.

  Vachel's man returned with a small sack of coins and handed it to George. She noticed that George had the wisdom not to look inside and chance insulting Vachel with that show of mistrust. As George turned to leave, he met Gisele's gaze. She saw that look of doubt there again, but he quickly looked away and hurried out of the great hall. It did not matter, for even if she could have made use of that doubt she could not do so now, and George would soon be gone. Louis looked after him, obviously wondering if waiting to be dismissed by Vachel would cost him his share of the bounty.

  "You had best hurry away, Louis,” Vachel drawled. “George may forget to give you the coin you earned.” He smiled coldly as Louis hurried out of the room, and then glanced at his man, who had reseated himself on his right. “How many do you think will survive the quarrel over that bounty, Ansel?"

  "Half,” Ansel replied, his voice little more than a hoarse whisper.

  Vachel turned his full attention back to Gisele, caught her looking curiously at the muscular Ansel, and said, “His voice was forever softened by my father's hands about his neck. Ansel's loyalty to me is absolute. He objected to my father trying to beat me to death for sleeping with his third wife."

  The curse of her overwhelming curiosity almost made Gisele ask what had happened to the father that had made him stop before Ansel died, but she quickly came to her senses. “If you try to shock me with tales of depravity, do not waste your breath. You may recall that I was married to one of your kinsmen."

  "Michael was but a pale shadow of myself."

  "Especially now,” she murmured. His soft laughter startled her.

  "Oui, Michael is not the man he used to be. You must have bound him to the bed whilst he was in one of his drunken stupors. Even Michael could have fought off a tiny woman like you."

  She rolled her eyes in a gesture of weary frustration. “I did not kill Michael."

  "From all I have heard you made no secret of how much you loathed him."

  "Loathing him is a long step away from strapping him down, then cutting his member off and choking him with it as I slash his throat."

  "Truly? I have always found that loathing and murder are very compatible. And it sounds like a most suitable way for a wife to kill her husband."

  "You may think so.” She knew there was no talking sense to the man, that he thought in dark, evil ways, that she could not even imagine.

  "I do. So much more interesting than poison or hiring someone to slip a knife into his back.” He looked at Ansel. “Show her to a room to bathe, and get her a gown."

  "You wish me to be clean and properly attired before you hang me?” she asked as Ansel rose, stepped over to her, and took her by the arm.

  "You do appear very improper, Gisele. One would not wish to shock the poor people attending your execution, would one?"

  "Oh, indeed, one might,” she muttered as Ansel dragged her out of the great hall.

  Gisele did not understand what was happening, and that frightened her. If Vachel were just going to execute her, what did her cleanliness and attire matter? She disregarded his cold words of explanation. That was just a sick jest. There was really only one reason for him to want to clean her up and dress her as a woman, as far as she could see. Vachel quite possibly shared his cousin's taste for rape.

  Ansel shoved her into a large room, where he grabbed a timid maid by the arm and whispered some instructions to her before he shut the door. Gisele ignored the muscular, silent Ansel standing guard and looked around the room. Her fear grew. This was a man's room and, although she dearly wished to be proven wrong, she knew it was Vachel's.

  For a brief moment, she wondered if he were going to offer her freedom in return for her favors. Then she recalled with whom she was dealing. She wrapped her arms around herself as she shivered, but nothing would keep the chill of fear away. If she judged Vachel right, he had looked at her, decided he wanted her, and intended to use her until he tired of her. Then he would have her executed for the murder of his cousin. It was a very tidy way to have a mistress and then be rid of her when he got bored, and she suspected Vachel would savor the simplicity of it all.

  She looked around the room again, but saw no way to escape. One glance at Ansel told her she would never get any help there. Vachel had warned her that Ansel's loyalty was absolute, and she believed it. Her only hope was escape, for she knew Vachel would show no mercy, but unless some miracle happened she was trapped. Gisele fought the urge to weep with helplessness, not wanting Ansel to see it. He would tell Vachel, and Gisele was sure that man would find some pleasure in her sorrow and fear.

  When the tub was brought and filled with hot water she watched the maids closely. The women were all silent, heads bowed and spirits broken. None of them would offer he
r any aid. As soon as the tub was filled and the maids had slunk away, she turned and looked at Ansel.

  "You could at least turn your back,” she snapped, fear making her temper short. Was he supposed to have a taste of her, too?

  "Non,” he rasped.

  "I will not disrobe before you."

  "You will, or I will do it for you."

  Gisele hesitated for a moment and then Ansel took a step toward her. Trembling with embarrassment, she turned her back on him and shed her clothes. Just as she got ready to step into the bath, he grabbed her by the arm and turned her around. Gisele stood stiffly as he looked her over as if she were a slab of meat about to be set upon the Lord's table. The fury she felt over being subjected to such an indignity briefly burned away her fear. When he released her, she spit a curse at him and climbed into the tub. She easily ignored him after that, taking her bath as if she were alone in the room.

  Once she was out of the water and rubbing herself dry with a soft drying cloth, Ansel pointed to the clothes one of the maids had spread out on the bed. She really did not want to put them on, for it seemed as if she were accepting her fate by doing so. Unfortunately, the maids had taken away her boy's clothing, and her only other choice was to remain naked. As soon as she was dressed Ansel looked her over again, nodded, then left her alone. She winced as she heard a heavy bar being slid across the door.

  Choked with fear and despair, Gisele flung herself onto the bed and indulged in a brief, hearty cry. It did not make her feel all that much better, but she hoped it would relieve her of the urge to do so again. The very last thing she wished to do was show any sign of weakness in front of Vachel or one of his minions.

  She was facing rape. Nothing she told herself could change her conviction that that was the fate Vachel had in store for her. Someone who did not know the DeVeaux might think she was about to be forgiven, perhaps even set free, but she knew these men. Ansel had not looked her over to be sure she was not injured. He had done so to be sure she was clean and would not sully his master when the man forced himself upon her.