by Suz deMello
He tugged the swatch of Kilburn plaidie off his shoulders and wrapped his comrade’s head in it before tying the bundle into a tree. ’Twas uncertain storage, but probably the head would be safe from scavengers ’til the remains of his fallen cousin could be retrieved and taken home.
He stood for a moment, with Archie quiet by his side, in respect for Malcolm, wondering how Malcolm’s mother would receive the news of her son’s death. Failure lay as bitter as bile on his tongue, roiled his belly and tightened his muscles with anger. He had failed to keep his men—and one fragile woman—safe from the dangers of travel.
He dreaded explaining the whole to his laird. However, milaird well understood the dangers of the road. Better than anyone, Dugald reckoned.
He sighed, shook himself a bit and said to Archie, “Let’s go. There’s no time to be lost.”
* * * * *
Every bone and sinew ached, and she was cold unto her soul. Alice stirred. Chill rock beneath her, small stones jabbing through her…her what?
She shivered violently, and no wonder. Her lovely warm riding habit had been removed along with her cozy quilted petticoats. And she was lying partially in a puddle, her hair sopping.
She blinked. Where on earth was she?
Darkness, lit only by one torch, its flickering light glistening on myriad wet surfaces. Most of the reflections were of rough rock, but others…there were bars a foot or so away from where she lay.
She was in a cage. Or rather an oubliette, a small nook that was gated with rusting metal webwork. She tucked her sore legs beneath her and tried to stand, promptly whacking her head on stone above.
Rubbing her wet head, she whimpered and coughed. The smell was appalling, a thick miasma of rotting seaweed, her stinking fear and…and what? Decaying meat.
What kind of meat? She didn’t know. She didn’t want to know.
She remembered what she could about the story of Sawney Bean, a tale she’d dismissed as fancy, like redcaps and kelpies, when she’d heard it.
The tutors had gathered in a local coffee house one evening after exams, and she’d been there with her father. She’d lingered quietly in a corner away from the firelight, afraid she’d be sent away from this otherwise all-male gathering. As the ale and whisky flowed, tongues had loosened and the Scots among the group had begun to tell stories. The night wore on and their brogues deepened as the tales grew more fantastic. Stories of strange beasts that dwelt in the deepest lochs. Caves that sang. Frightening legends about redcaps, creatures whose hats had to constantly be freshened by new blood lest they died, and banshees, female witches whose appearance meant death.
And the most horrifying story of all, one that the Scots claimed was true, was the history of Sawney Bean, a villain who’d found a woman as depraved as himself. They’d denned in a sea cave and spawned an extensive clan who lived on the flesh of unwary travelers. When they’d been captured, their family had numbered about fifty—many the products of incest—and their victims had been innumerable. The Beans’ cave had been filled with human remains—some fresh, some pickled in brine—with the possessions of the murdered hung from the walls, a grotesque wardrobe.
The Beans had been taken to the Tolbooth in Edinburgh and, after a summary trial, executed, the men dismembered and the women burned.
Apparently some of them had escaped or, more likely, evaded capture. And now Alice was their prisoner.
She rubbed her head and cautiously remained in a half-lying position. She scooted forward out of the dampness, propping herself up on one elbow so she could see.
She was in a small caged cave off the main cavern. The torch showed little, but she could discern other little grottoes lining the walls, detectable only due to the glint of the torchlight on wet metal bars. In the center of the main cave, decaying garbage and seaweed, piles of old clothing… Was her riding habit there? Her boots?
The only sounds were her frightened breaths, which mingled with the sighing of the sea. Was she the Beans’ only prisoner? If so, she’d not last a week. How long would it take the cannibals to…to consume Malcolm?
Her belly heaved and she struggled to control herself. Bile rose into her mouth and she choked it back down. Her prison was tiny and smelly enough. Fouling it further would be a mistake.
She touched an exploratory finger to the bars of her cage. It came away wet. She sniffed her finger, detecting nothing more unholy than seawater. She hesitantly licked, finding she was correct.
Not drinkable. She tried the puddle behind her and found the same saltiness, then fought another wave of despair. Gathering whatever determination she still possessed, she ran hesitant hands over the metal latticework. It seemed stable and secure, but was fastened at one side with only a twist of wire. The other side was bolted into rock, but how deeply? And how solid could the stone be, she wondered, so close to the ocean? Might it not be weakened by exposure to sea mist and tide?
The tide.
Mother of mercy.
A puddle wetted the cave behind her and the stone beneath her was damp. Was that from the general humidity of the place, or would she be drowned by the high tide?
Was the sound of the waves louder than when she’d awakened, or was that her fear and dark imagination seizing her, filling her with dread?
Stop it, she told herself. She had enough real threats to manage without inventing more.
She grabbed the bars with firm hands, tightened her grip and tugged, once, twice, three times. Was that her imagination again or had the gate wiggled a bit?
Mayhap. She tested the wire twist that secured the gate to a ring sunk into the stone. The stiff wire was heavy and she feared that she couldn’t loosen it. But she’d try nevertheless.
Shouts distracted her from her task but she still yanked at the metal while trying to discern what was going on in the main cave.
Someone else had been brought in. Someone who bellowed and plunged like an angry bull, the chains that bound him rattling like thunder.
She knew that voice.
Dugald.
Chapter Six
Her heart froze. That she’d die was bad, but that Dugald would also, in a vain attempt to rescue her, was intolerable. “No!” she screamed.
She doubled her efforts, tripled them, fingers shaking with cold and effort.
“Mistress Alice, is that ye?” he called, sounding calmer.
“Yes, it is.”
Coarse laughter. “So join your hoor.”
Another bellow from Dugald and a lot of thrashing about. Screams—not Dugald’s, though, for which Alice was grateful. It sounded as if he was banging a few heads together, but gradually the noises approached her tiny prison. She scuttled to the back of the grotto.
Gloved hands untwisted the wire clasp and the gate swung open with a rusty creak. Dugald was thrust in, so roughly that his head whacked the bumpy ceiling. While he shook his head, dazed, their captors locked the cage and left, laughing.
She could see him, a vague dark shape blocking what little light glowed from the torches. He rolled to face her. His visage was a white mask in the darkness, with two great black holes…
She shrank back with a gasp before realizing that the holes were his eyes, featureless due to the lack of light. She panted, making an effort to calm and even her breaths.
But Dugald had been captured. What hope had they for rescue?
“I’m glad to have found ye, mistress.” He sounded perfectly serene, as though she’d just arrived back at their inn from a walk.
“Wh-what?”
“I was afeared that they’d try to kill me straightaway and I’d have to search for their lair.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Well, I cannae allow them to murther me, ye ken? So I’d have had to kill them first.” He sounded utterly calm and certain.
That startled her.
He continued, “But luckily ‘twasn’t necessary. ‘Twas far easier for me to trick them into taking me to ye. I ken that they feel that the
y have plenty to eat, what with taking puir Malcolm.”
Alice breathed deeply, willing her tears away. She hadn’t cared much about Malcolm—had feared him, actually, after seeing him with the whore—but she wouldn’t wish a fate like his on anyone. “B-but how will we get away?” she asked.
She could see his smile gleaming through the darkness. Dugald had unusually white, strong teeth, she noticed.
“Och, lassie, that’s nae the question.”
“Umm…what is?”
“The question is, how might they get away?”
* * * * *
Dugald was pleased to find that Mistress Alice hadnae been reduced to a pool of feminine tears. She had backbone, he thought, proud of the governess he’d picked. She hadnae panicked, though she showed a deal of fear. And with good reason, as far as she knew.
But she didnae ken what he was, and in this situation, he probably couldnae keep the information from her.
While he’d been ruminating she’d cuddled closer, and he put his arm around her waist without thinking about it. “Lass, you’re half-naked and cold. They took your warm clothes, the blackguards.”
That drew a little chuckle. “Yes, they are.”
“Ye’ll pardon the liberty, I hope.” He drew her shivering form in tight even though he knew that he had no warmth to give.
He heard her pulse quicken, felt her body heat increase. Mistress Alice was aroused.
His heart, ordinarily slow and sedate, jumped. His tool hardened, a condition that no longer surprised him when around her. It seemed that the auld fellow, after having slept for a year, had awakened and wouldnae return to his mild, peaceful doze.
He sighed. Did he wish to play the game of love once more? Alice was a temptation, to be sure, with her wildly feminine scent, shy smile and hesitant allure. And her mysteries. He shouldnae forget the many mysteries that the lady hid behind her quiet façade.
Her aroma intensified and his cock strained against his trews. He reminded himself that although he was convinced he could rescue them both, no certainty existed. The Beans had butchered many an unwary traveler. They’d even killed a Kilburn, so Dugald’s special abilities were not a perfect protection.
Alice hesitantly stroked his chest, and his heart turned over. He was lost. He knew it as surely as he knew that the sky was blue-gray and the sun rose in the east.
“Dugald…” Her voice was so soft that, even with his unusually good hearing, he wasn’t at all confident that she’d spoken.
Her hand wandered over his chest in a timid caress. Her inexperience was endearing and he longed to teach her everything about love between a man and a woman. But she was a virgin, and ’twouldn’t be right.
“We’re going to die, aren’t we? The Beans are cannibals. They will kill us and eat our flesh.” Her body trembled.
He stirred. “Nay, lass. I’m waiting until they sleep or leave, for they must do one or the other.”
“What do you mean?”
He shrugged. “They must sleep, ye ken? Here, or outside. Just before dawn will be the best time to strike.”
“They could kill either of us at any time.”
“But they willnae. Have ye nae been listening? They plan to keep us here until we’re…needed. They have a larder filled with others.” His voice was bitter. “Including our Malcolm. Outside. He’s…he’s spitted over a bonfire.”
Horror suffused her face. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thank ye. Ye didnae ken him well. He’d been a good boy and was growing into a fine man now he’d reached his majority.”
A sob shook her slender frame. “I’m so afraid.”
He tightened his embrace. “Doonae be affrighted. I’m here and I’m your man, remember? I will protect ye with my life.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she whispered. “I don’t want you to be hurt.”
He couldn’t help chuckling. “Worry not, mistress.”
“Dugald, I…I don’t want to die without knowing the love of a man. Without…your love.”
He was struck dumb, then gathered his wits and said, “Och, so that’s the way of it, aye? Lass, doonae be making a quick decision.”
“It’s not a quick decision. You must know that.” She stroked up and down his torso with quivering fingers, as though she was afeared that her shy explorations would offend him.
“Aye, I ken,” he said, recalling their kisses at the inn. So hot and sweet she was. And because he couldnae help himself, because he yearned to touch that sweetness, he bent his head and set his lips onto hers.
An explosion of heat and white light burst through his brain. Like the first time they’d kissed and yet unlike, for this contact was tinctured with fear and longing…her fear and his longing. He hadnae realized the depth of his loneliness or the reach of his hopes.
He pressed his mouth more firmly to hers and sensed her yielding, her acceptance, her eagerness. Her arms wound around his neck, and she snuggled her slim, lovely body tight to his.
So slight she was, so delicately made, so perfect. He seemed to have lost control of his hands, for they roamed everywhere, exploring the arc of her shoulder, her small but curvy breasts. He plucked a nipple through her shift and enjoyed her reaction, a shudder that ran through her body like ripples on the surface of a still pond.
So responsive, even in her innocence. “Ah, mo dòchas,” he sighed.
“What?”
He squeezed her tighter. “My hope.”
“Ahhh…”
Her soft exhalation did nothing to calm his need or soothe his conscience. “I hope ye may not live to regret this. For I’ll no turn down a lovely lass when she offers herself to me so freely.”
“Lovely? Me?” She snorted.
“Aye, you’re lovely. Hasnae a man told ye?”
“Lovely for a little brown mouse.”
He again found himself chuckling. Had this not been his very thought when they’d met? “Aye, at first glance, your charms are…elusive. But your eyes are clear and direct, and your skin fair and as soft as the finest silk. Your form is slender, and yet I’ve seen your strength. Ye’ve endured, Alice, and I’m proud of ye. I’m honored that ye want me.”
“I feel the same.”
Her bluntness didnae surprise him. ’Twas a time for honesty. Before dawn he’d fight for both their lives and kill as many as necessary. He hoped that she could accept him for what he was, even if she could never understand him.
“A vain hope,” he muttered.
“What?”
He sighed again. “I hope ye’ll no hate me by the time morning comes.”
A small hand crept into his. “I could never do that. You’re my…you’re my hero, do you understand that?”
He creaked out a laugh. “Ah, mistress, I’m nobody’s hero. Or shouldnae be. ’Twas my mistakes that have put you in harm’s way, but I’ll put it right.”
“Before dawn.”
“Aye.”
“Until then?” Her hand left his and slid boldly down his torso. When she touched the waistband of his trews, she stopped.
“I’ll not help ye lose your innocence, lass.”
He heard her suck in her breath in an almost violent inhalation. “I thought that men were…that men could not help themselves.”
He laughed again, noticing that since he’d met Alice Derwent, he’d laughed more than he had for an entire year. “Och, I wear it well, I ken, but I’m a deal older than most males ye’ve met, I imagine.”
“Yes?”
He’d prodded her curiosity. “Aye.” After a moment of hesitation, he decided to make a clean breast of it. Had he not just been thinking that this was a time for full honesty? “I have fifty years, mistress.”
Another sharp intake of breath. “You do not.”
This time his laugh was full-bodied, full-throated. “Aye, lassie, I surely do.”
“How can that be?”
“Kilburns are a breed apart. Ye’ll see when we get to the castle.”
“You…Kilburns do not age as the rest of us do?”
“Nay, we do not.” And some of us doonae die, he added silently.
“Well, then, what difference should that make?”
“None at all, if it doesnae matter to ye.” If he could keep his sanity while Alice lived, all would be well.
She pushed him onto his back and rolled on top of him, her nose an inch from his, staring at his face. He presumed that she was trying to discern signs of his age and knew she would be unsuccessful. Every hair on his head was as black as soot, his skin unwrinkled. He used to have crow’s feet from smiling, but they’d faded. Mayhap with Mistress Alice’s help, his laugh lines would return.
“Mo dòchas,” he murmured again. “My sweet hope.”
This time she kissed him, and he let her lead.
She knew much of kissing but little else, he discerned, for while her mouth and tongue were ardent and confident, her hands meandered with great hesitation but no purpose, and her hips wiggled only occasionally over his rod. Just as well, because after such a long snooze he doubted his control, which had in auld days been legendary.
He gently placed his hands onto her bottom and caressed. The rounds were small but fine, generously filling his palms. He squeezed and she gasped, a pleasing reaction.
He squeezed again while pressing her buttocks down, holding her firmly against him as he swirled his hips. When her gasp was followed by a moan, he knew he’d hit the spot and simply kept her there while they kissed. Her exploration of his mouth with her tongue had turned into full-scale love-play, and her cunny had settled into a regular, quivering rhythm, pulsing against his tool.
He slid one hand up her back, letting the weight of his arm urge her down against his chest, pushing her breasts against him. Without her stays, her nipples fair pricked his chest. The hot, hard, needy nubbins could drive him wild.
But they wouldnae. He sucked in a big draft of air, regained control over his renegade cock and smiled. The younger lads might think they knew about lassies. But youth and arrogance couldnae substitute for years of experience, decades of learning about women, their needs and wants, their lovely bodies. And he had the advantage of patience and control.
