He was not an ugly man, physically anyway. He had blond hair and the McBride hazel eyes. His nose was pointed and his jaw was chiseled, with high cheekbones. His skin was flawless and supple. It was everything that Andie hated. He had better skin than most of the women in the clan. She never trusted men who didn’t get rough and dirty, or men that had better skin than she had.
“Ye’ll enjoy this, Andie. Just like yer sisters and mother did,” he said and laughed when she spat in his face. He slapped her face again, splitting her lip. Her face was splotchy and red.
“Sweet Andie, ye’ll get that insolence back tenfold,” he said, and dipped his head down to kiss her neck.
She hated the nickname he’d always given her. It made her skin crawl. She thrashed her head about, but to no avail. He held her face immobile with an iron hand.
Alistair moaned. The more she fought, the more he grew excited.
“I love yer spirit, sweet Andie. I’ll let ye keep it, but only for our bedroom sport. Other than that, I will break ye,” he said, kissing her lips.
“I’ll break ye, alright,” she said through gritted teeth. “Put that in me and I will break it.”
He laughed and squeezed her face. She couldn’t breathe. He licked her lips and bit them, forcing them to open. He brutally kissed her lips, bruising them.
“Respond to me, sweet Andie. I know ye want to,” he said, smiling cruelly, tauntingly.
“Respond to what, Alistair? My dirk has more length,” she said and smiled as he grew angrier. He looked up, hearing his men snicker, and they slowly quieted.
“Bitch!”
He punched her. Twice. She knew that she would soon have bruises to commemorate their meeting. Andie kept antagonizing him, though; she was passed caring what would happen to her.
“Is that all ye have to give?”
He punched her again and she saw stars with that one. She closed her eyes briefly when the pain was too much to bear.
“Is this the way ye treat all yer women, Alistair? Ye’re so gallant. ‘Tis a wonder why ye remain unwed,” she briefly managed to say.
He tore the front of her dress, exposing her breasts. His eyes grew wide as he saw the bountiful flesh.
“I’ll show ye how I treat my women,” he said. He dove down and took a mouthful of her breast. It hurt and she whimpered.
“I love hearing ye whimper and cry, sweet Andie. Let me hear more,” he said and bit her breast harshly.
She kept quiet despite the ache. He looked up and saw her contained pain. His bit again and she screamed in pain.
“Aye, sweet Andie. I love hearing ye scream. Ye’ll be screaming my name soon.”
He pulled her dress up, exposing her thighs. Her breathing was harsh and her head throbbed with pain. She was scared beyond reason. He was going to violate her and force her to marry him, and she hadn’t the strength to fight back.
“Aye, that’s the fear I want to see. I own ye, Andie. Ye will always give me what I want. Remember that,” he said, gripping her chin hard. His hand moved down and tightened around her throat. He gave her a bruising kiss. His other hand went to her thigh and inched up. She trembled with fear.
He laughed in exultation. “Ye’re so sweet,” he said, and his menacing laughter gave her goose pimples.
He crushed her mouth again in a painful kiss and positioned himself over her. She fought against the hands that held her down, cursing Alistair. He laughed, enjoying her fight.
She let out an ear piercing scream as she felt him placing his weight on her. He was moving his kilt up when the passage door flung open. Bryce stood there, sword in hand.
“Get off of her, Alistair. Fight like a real mon, with a mon, and leave her alone.”
Alistair’s face contorted as he bellowed in fury, storming to his feet. He grabbed his sword and began fighting. When his men saw that Bryce was getting the upper hand, they let go of Andie and took their swords out of their sheaths.
Bryce didn’t spare her a glance, but said, “Get out, Andie. Hurry.”
Andie didn’t wait for another word. She quickly got on her feet, unsteadily at first, and held the front of her dress closed. She quickly collected a dirk, and bow and arrows, hurrying from the room.
“McKendrick. I must get to him,” she whispered to herself, her voice shaky.
Remembering something she could not leave without, she headed towards the back staircase. She hurried to the room where her father had died. Seeing his body, she wept. Quickly rushing over to her father’s prone form, she took the clan brooch that was pinned to his shoulder. Andie placed a kiss on his forehead.
“I love ye, Papa. I’ll avenge yer death. I’ll avenge all of their deaths. I’ll make ye proud.”
She stood there for a moment, said a quick prayer, and left to her room. Once there, she took a stuffed play doll her father had made for her. It was a girl doll, dressed in the clan’s plaid, with brown threads as the hair. It had a mouth, eyes, and a nose. In one hand she held a fabric flower, and in the other, a fabric sword.
She took the doll and pinned the brooch on it. She made certain her sword was secure and turned to the door, vowing that she would return again soon. As she left for the threshold, she heard a whimper.
“Hello?” she asked, but no response.
She turned towards the opening again, thinking it was her imagination. Once she reached the threshold, she heard the whimper again.
“Hello? Is someone there?” she asked.
She heard more whimpering and went to a large trunk in the corner. She opened it, and to her astonishment, there was a little boy rolled up into a ball.
“Lord. Are ye all right, lad?” she asked.
His eyes were shut tightly, and he carefully opened them, focusing on Andie.
“Who are ye?” he asked in a small voice.
She extended her free hand. “My name is Andie. Come, little one. We must leave in a hurry. I’ll nay harm ye.”
He took her hand, trusting her.
“We must hurry. Follow closely behind me, alright?”
“Yes,” he said.
He couldn’t be more than six years old, she thought. “What is yer name?”
“Riley,” he said.
“Alright, Riley, keep up with me,” she said and hurried out of the door.
“I can keep up with a girl,” he said, following her.
She smirked a little at his comment, running out. She took him through a path of turns before finally exiting the castle and reaching the woods bordering her land. She stopped and caught her breath. Looking down at Riley, she gave him the water skin she managed to snatch.
“Drink, Riley,” she said, giving it to him.
He took it from her and drank thirstily. “D’ye want some first?” he asked, extending it out to her.
“Nay. I want ye to drink. Ye’ll let me know when ye need more, Riley, right?”
“But arena ye thirsty? Women need to drink water more than men. They’re weaker,” he said innocently.
She laughed. He was a very interesting little boy. “Nay, Riley. Young lads need the water more than a woman,” she said.
“That’s nay what my father says,” he said.
She brushed off his comment. “Riley, we’ll rest here for awhile. We must be careful because it’s still night.”
“We’ll rest if ye need to. Women need to rest more than men. Women are puny.”
She shook her head. “Nay, they arena, Riley. Women are verra strong.”
“That’s nay what my father says.”
Andie found herself growing irritated. She let the subject drop, though. Lowering herself on the grass-covered ground, Andie leaned against the trunk of a tree. A bird screeched in the night and Riley jumped two steps forward.
“Come, Riley. Sit here with me,” she said, pointing in front of her legs.
“Alright, but only so ye willna be scared. Women are fraidy-cats. Men are brave,” he said, coming towards her. She had her legs spread and he sat between the
m. She wrapped her arms around the small, outspoken boy, and brought him in close.
“Women are brave.”
“That’s nay what my father says.”
Andie could feel her ire rising against Riley’s father.
“Ye’er cold,” she said when he shivered.
“Men doona get cold. Women get cold. They’re scrawny.”
“Riley, that is simply nay true,” she said exasperated.
Riley shrugged his shoulders. “That’s nay what my father says,” he said, and she silently mouthed it along with him.
“I forgot yer name,” he said.
“It’s Andie.”
“Andie?” he asked, confused. “But ‘tis a mon’s name!” he said.
She rolled her eyes heavenward. “Nay, ‘tis nay. Anyways, ‘tis spelled with an ‘ie’ nay a ‘y,’ like a mon would.”
“It’s still a mon’s name.”
She squeezed him tightly and he giggled.
“What’s that poppet ye have?”
She looked over at the doll. “My papa made it for me. It has a rose in one hand and a sword in the other.”
“But ‘tis a girl poppet. Girls doona have swords.”
“I do,” she said.
“Ye have a sword?” he asked incredulously.
“Aye, I do. See?”
She showed him the sword made especially for her. It was smaller than a man’s, made for her grip and weight-carrying ability.
Riley was intrigued, but still said, “Women arena supposed to have swords.”
She let that go without further comment.
“Where are we going?”
“To Laird McKendrick in the morn. My clan needs his help.”
“I want to go home, to my father,” he said, his voice small and weak.
“I promise ye, I’ll get ye home. I must go to McKendrick first.”
“My father can help ye,” he volunteered.
Right. His father sounded very pleasant.
“Why were ye in my room?”
“I was taken from my father and they didna tell me why. But my father is powerful and strong, and I want to go home,” he said, his wavering a little.
She gave him a small squeeze. “I’ll take ye back to him. Let’s get some sleep, huh? For a little. It’s nay safe to travel at night.” And she needed to think things through.
“Alright. I’ll stay here to keep ye safe and nay scared,” he said.
“Thank ye, Riley. Ye are verra kind,” she said, stifling a laugh.
Time passed and yet Andie couldn’t fall asleep. Memories of her father consumed her thoughts. Memories of her sisters and mother being beaten and violated replayed in her head like a nightmare. After their horrible experiences, they lay prone on the ground.
Alistair’s face replaced that of her family, and her heart beat faster and her breath grew unsteady. She hated him so much she wanted to scream like a banshee.
He will die.
She will kill him.
She sat there planning her revenge until the sun began to kiss the sky. Little Riley had fallen asleep and he had snuggled up to her. He was adorable, she thought. Cherub features, with brown hair and eyes. Light freckles crossed the bridge of his nose. His features seemed familiar to her but his coloring threw her off.
“Riley,” she whispered in his ear. “Wake up.”
He stirred awake, groaning. “Am I home?”
“Nay yet, but soon ye will be. Ye must be thirsty. Here, drink.”
He took the water skin she held out for him and he took a long drink. “Ye should drink, too.”
“I’m fine, Riley. Get up slowly,” she said.
He followed as she ordered and stretched. Andie did the same.
“Are ye still tired?”
“Nay. Men doona get tired, women do.”
Her sigh rivaled the breeze. “Riley,” she began slowly. “Women are nay weak, puny, or fraidy-cats.”
“That’s nay what my father says. He says women are weak, puny, and fraidy-cats. He says they are only good for producing bairns,” he said.
She had had enough.
“Who is yer father? I’d like to have words with him,” she said, frustrated.
“He is the most powerful laird in Scotland. He has more warriors than any other,” he boasted proudly. “One day, I will be like him.”
“I hope not,” she said on a sigh. His childhood fantasies about his father were interesting, and almost humorous. “What’s his name, Riley?”
“Gavin Maitland.”
She stopped. “Yer father is Gavin Maitland? The Dark Wolf?”
“Aye.”
She looked at him for a long moment. He didn’t have the legendary pale silver eyes. She shrugged and told him, “We’ll go to him now, then.”
“I thought ye said we wouldna be going until after ye saw the McKendrick.”
“I changed my mind.”
“My papa always says that women change their minds like they change their men.”
She gasped. How vulgar! “I bet he does,” she said, twisting her mouth in annoyance.
They stealthily walked the whole part of the day, and when night fell, they reached the Maitland castle. Andie was relieved they’d managed to get here without Alistair finding them. The Lord knew that she had looked over their shoulders often enough.
They were about two hundred feet from the outer wall. Numerous men lined the post, causing Andie to catch her breath. Men with bows and arrows were on the towers. Torches were lit all around the castle and its thick wall. She thought it odd that with all the watchmen, none had seen them coming.
“Doona move,” a voice said harshly, breaking the serene and peaceful night. It was a threatening voice, and so dark, she shivered.
A group of men came forward, holding the torches away from themselves. Having such little light, she could not see their faces, but she thought that the one in the middle, the tall warrior, had been the one who’d spoken.
His eyes fairly glowed even with the dim light of the flames. Andie looked at him. He was enormous, a veritable giant, and looked very ominous in his stance. His legs were braced apart, his posture sure, solid, and deadly. She could have sworn that she saw his eyes shimmer, like a wolf’s. Her hair stood on end.
She stopped, pushing Riley behind her.
“Who are ye?” she said, pulling out her dirk.
“Put that away. Yer feeble attempts of protecting yerself arena impressive. Give me the lad,” she heard the man snap. His voice was so cold, it sent shivers up her spine again.
“Nay. Who are ye?” she said just as harshly.
“Give me the lad, or I’ll burn ye like the witch ye are!” he demanded. His voice was deep, self-assured.
“Nay! If ye want the lad, ye’ll have to best me. And harm the lad, and ye shall have me to reckon with, including his father,” she yelled.
The brute swore.
“Doona speak like that in front of the lad,” she snapped, highly offended.
“Papa?” Riley asked, peeking from behind her.
“Riley,” came the response.
“Papa!” Riley said, running from behind Andie.
“Nay, Riley! Ye canna be certain!” Andie said, moving ahead and grabbing Riley’s arm.
The leader brought the torch up to his face and Riley cheered when he recognized his father. Andie, on the other hand, inhaled sharply and took two steps backward, recoiling. From the brief look she got, she saw a deep scar on his chin, and cold, soulless eyes. Pale glowing eyes.
The Dark Wolf.
She shivered, both from the coldness in his pale silver eyes and from fear.
Once Riley ran to his father, Gavin pushed him behind him, holding up his sword to Andie.
“We arena paying the ransom, McBride. Ye’ll pay for taking my son, though. Take her,” Gavin commanded.
Andie didn’t put up a fight when they restrained her. She clutched her doll to her, but let them take away her dirk, and bow and arrows. Her
sword hung by her side. Since no one suspected that she, a woman, would be carrying one, the thought never occurred to them to look. When she cooperated, they didn’t mistreat her.
She saw Gavin lift Riley onto his shoulders and Riley squealed in youthful delight. She looked over to her right and saw some cottages smoldering from fire. Odd, she thought, wondering why they had been set on fire. The men surrounded her, leading her within the outer wall, and eventually to the inside of the castle.
With no thought about anything else, Gavin got straight to the point. “Why didna Andrew the traitor come himself to return my son?”
“Doona ye dare speak of my father that way!” she yelled, diving for Gavin. Her anguish over her father’s death made her thoughtless. Men held her back.
“Spirit, eh? That’s uncommon for women, except where bedding and traitoring are concerned.”
They were in a medium sized room. Despite the hearth blazing with fire, the room was dim. The walk towards this room was supplied with meager light. Andie suspected that was done on purpose so that she wouldn’t know the keep’s layout. The insufficient lighting probably prevented them from seeing her now forming bruises.
Andie could barely hold the Dark Wolf’s piercing gaze, which had not lifted off her since they’d stopped walking. His ice-cold silver stare sparked daggers.
Unable to take the watchful glare any longer, she said in outburst, “Oh save it. I’m well aware of yer opinion of women. Believe me, I hold the same sentiment against ye.”
“I think I will ransom ye. Which bratty daughter are ye?”
“Papa?” Riley said, tugging at Gavin’s plaid.
“Nay now, Riley.”
“But father,” Riley kept on, but was ignored.
“Ye canna ransom me, Maitland.”
“Why nay?” He crossed his arms, and his shoulders seemed to increase in breadth by double. His biceps looked like large boulders beneath his skin. And those pale eyes- they glittered with anger.
“Andrew McBride is dead,” she said, her voice empty.
“So why did ye bring my son back?” he asked.
As she stared at him, she felt as if everything- movements, speech, breathing- passed slowly. Blinking rapidly, she decided that it must be the heat getting to her. She raised her hand and it was unusually heavy. She tried to focus on his soulless eyes, but couldn’t.
Forget Me Not, My Scottish Love (Heart of a Highlander Collection Book 3) Page 30
