Richard was the only steady head in the room. It was easier for him though. His wife was safely above with three guards at her door.
“It is not your fault,” William told Graham. “Neither of us expected this.”
His blond, bearded jaw worked, but he said nothing.
“I will waste no more time,” William said to Richard. “My men are more than capable of gaining entrance to Hanover.”
“I am certain they are,” Richard said. He gestured toward Alec. “It is your home. What is the best way inside?”
Alec stopped pacing. He blew out a breath as if to clear his head. “The kitchens.” He grimaced. “Through the waste chute.”
“Then that is what we shall do. The three of us, anyhow.” Richard looked at William. “My men and yours will distract the guards while we find Rhiannon.”
“Reginald is mine,” Alec said, checking his pistol.
And Geoffrey was his, William thought.
This time, he would be given no quarter.
* * *
Rhiannon winced when the whalebone stay she’d removed from her bodice broke off in the keyhole and splintered against her hand. A drop of blood welled on her skin. She sat back and cradled her knees against her chest.
She was trapped in the chamber she’d grown to womanhood in. The same room she’d half-starved in.
The same room where Geoffrey had raped her.
Rhiannon pulled to her feet, wavered, and then fell, her hands coming out to catch her. Pain radiated up her forearms, and she struggled for breath.
“All will be well,” she told her unborn child. “Your father will soon come for us.” Wincing, she came back to her feet.
Geoffrey would be ready for William when he did come. What if his ambush worked this time? Geoffrey knew his weaknesses, both in body and of heart. She closed her eyes and prayed.
“Lord, I know he’ll come for me. He will not stop until he has freed me or died in the trying.” Despite the angst between them, it was the one thing she knew for certain. William would play the hero. It was what he did best. “Tell him what he needs to do. Guide him, and Alec and Richard too.” Rhiannon sat on the edge of her bed. She pressed her hand to her stomach. “Protect our wee bairn. I dinna wish to lose another child.”
A key worked the lock from the outside, struggled, then pushed the bits of bone free. The handle lifted. Rhiannon stood, her heart in her throat as the door swung opened and Geoffrey stood there.
God help me.
He slipped inside and shut the door behind him. Her breath came in fast gasps as Geoffrey smiled, greedy, lustful.
“I couldna have hoped for more,” he said, his voice low as if he attempted a seductive tone.
Rhiannon stepped away from the bed.
“Look at you, my sweet dove.” He waved a hand in her direction. “Healthy, well fed. ’Tis as you were before, only better now, because he has had you.”
Geoffrey closed the space between them and took her by the upper arms. His fingers dug in hard as he pulled her against him, pressing her close. She fought for breath, gagging at the very smell of him.
“William,” she sobbed.
Geoffrey looked at her with half-closed eyes. “Say his name again,” he groaned.
She swallowed back the acid in her mouth. “You are insane.”
He took a hold of her gown and tore it off of her. She had her petticoat beneath. His hands swept down her, over her breasts through the fabric. She scratched at him but he pushed her backward until she collided with the wall, the air driven from her lungs. He followed and his hand found the hard mound in her lower abdomen.
“Now I shall have you both.” He licked his lips. “His wife, and his child.”
Geoffrey pressed his mouth against hers. She clamped her jaw, forbidding him access to the inside of her mouth. He tried to pry her jaw open, and she bit him. He yelped, looking at his bloody finger. Then he laughed and pulled her away from the wall.
Geoffrey threw her at the bed and pinned her down on her stomach, her arms twisted behind her back. It was just like before. Only it wasn’t. She pressed her eyes closed and prayed. Her mind turned inward.
Geoffrey unbuckled his sword belt with one hand and tossed it aside. Rhiannon turned her face and watched it on the floor. If only she could get to it. She writhed against him but he was too strong. She cried out and he shoved her face into the pillow until she thought she would suffocate in it. The strength seeped from her muscles and she couldn’t fight him any longer. He wrenched her petticoats out of his way. It wouldn’t take very long she told herself. Geoffrey only wanted his fill. She could pull inside her head for the few minutes it would take.
She heard muffled sounds. Someone at the door. Geoffrey released her and she took her first deep breath. Rhiannon pushed herself up on her hands and knees, peering through her hair. The door crashed open and wood splintered. Geoffrey dove at his sword as William entered the room, his claymore bared and his face darker than Rhiannon had ever seen before.
She pushed off the bed and felt her way along the wall to the corner, then slid down to the floor with her arms around her knees.
* * *
Geoffrey reached for his sword.
Rhiannon was crouched in the corner and William’s heart broke, but he knew he couldn’t let it distract him. He’d made that mistake before, at the Kirk, and it almost cost him everything.
He fed into his hate instead.
“You just had to,” William said. “You couldna leave her out of this. You should have come for me instead.”
Geoffrey lifted his basket-hilted sword. “And you should be dead by now. How did you make it past the guards?”
“Alec. Never underestimate a man when he is in his own home.”
“Alec?” Geoffrey glanced at the door, as if he expected the young lord to come bursting into the chamber at any moment.
“Canna trust the help these days. It seems Alec was not given quite enough poison.” William glanced at Rhiannon. She was watching him through her hair. He hated to do this in front of her. But he would not allow Geoffrey to leave the room alive. “I failed to kill you before,” he told Geoffrey. “I willna make the same mistake twice.”
William stepped forward. Geoffrey’s eyes widened with panic for a moment, then he steadied himself for the fight and closed the distance between them.
Their swords clashed, echoing in the chamber. Geoffrey swung wide and William took advantage of the opening in his guard, slashing the front of his tunic. Geoffrey winced as blood formed a damp red line across his torso.
They circled each other.
Geoffrey’s breath was short, his face beginning to pale.
“You still have not recovered from our last encounter,” William said.
Thin lips sneered. “I have recovered enough. Well enough to take your wife, and your child together.”
Gritting his teeth, William slammed down hard on Geoffrey’s blade. Steel scraped as Geoffrey struggled beneath William’s claymore. William’s shoulder ached, as it always did when he wielded his sword, but he compensated by using his greater body mass against Geoffrey, muscles in his back and legs engaging.
Screeching metal filled the chamber. Geoffrey broke away, taking a step back. He took another, then realized that he was backed into the corner. Baiting him, William lifted his sword, just high enough to give Geoffrey a nice opening across his belly. Geoffrey, winded, with desperate eyes, took the bait, charging William.
William lowered his sword, both hands around the hilt, the blade tilted downward, catching Geoffrey’s sword and jerking it from his grasp.
It hit the floor with a clang.
Geoffrey fell to his knees, his eyes vacant.
“I swear, Father, I did the best I could.” Geoffrey spoke in a falsetto. “I didna want him to win. He cheated.” Geoffrey stopped, cocking his head as if listening to a voice only he could hear. “I will do better next time, Father. I willna disgrace you again.”
Did he refer to the duel that he and Geoffrey had fought all those years ago as children? William knew Geoffrey had never forgotten, and that he held a grudge against him because of it, but he had no idea it had gone this far.
“Please Father, please. Dinna hurt me. I will be better. I will try harder.” Geoffrey lifted his arms over his head. He was a quiver of flesh on the floor. It could have been a ruse, but William had the impression it wasn’t.
He looked at Rhiannon. She shook her head.
William kept his sword between himself and Geoffrey as he moved toward her. He had bigger concerns than whether to kill Geoffrey now, or to wait until he came back to his senses. She held onto the wall for support and struggled to her feet. William wrapped his arm around her, then turned them both so he could keep an eye on Geoffrey.
“I’m sorry,” William said. “I was too late.” His fingers tightened around the fabric of her petticoat. “Geoffrey told me . . .” He looked away, unable to meet her gaze, knowing he had failed her.
Rhiannon touched his face, turning his head until he looked at her. Tears streaked down her cheeks. His hands shook against the pommel of his sword. He had to fight to keep the weapon in his grasp.
“You were not too late,” she said. “He lied.”
“Tell me the truth, mo leannan.”
“I am.” Tears rained from her soaked lashes. “He lied to you. You were not too late.”
The sigh that escaped him seemed to fill the room. He struggled to gather her into him, his sword in the way. She clung to his side.
Alec appeared in the doorway, his breath short and his sword bloody. He saw Geoffrey, then strode forward and picked his sword up off the floor. Alec looked around the chamber. His eyes widened when he took in Rhiannon’s tears and her discarded gown.
Alec pointed his sword at Geoffrey.
“He has gone mad,” Rhiannon said. “Can you kill a man who has lost his mind?”
“I can kill the man who raped my sister.”
William felt her stiffen against him. She took a breath. “What he did to me is in the past.”
Alec’s gaze wavered, then hardened again. William recognized the bleak look in his eyes. Alec took a step closer to Geoffrey. “Stand,” he commanded, his tone black.
“He’s mine, Alec,” William said, letting go of Rhiannon and lifting his sword. He’d killed before, but never out of revenge. Looking at Geoffrey, curled into a ball on the floor, he knew he had it in him to plunge his sword hilt deep without one iota of compassion.
“This is not an honorable death,” Rhiannon said.
“Why should he die honorably?”
Rhiannon wrapped her fingers around William’s hand. “You and Alec are the honorable ones. Geoffrey cannot duel you, and you cannot murder him.”
“Step aside, Rhiannon.”
She shook her head. “I won’t let you. I know this isn’t you.”
“What happened last year?” Alec asked, looking from between them.
“Many things.”
Geoffrey began to wail like a bairn. He looked at William and cringed back in fear, crowding into the corner. “Dinna hurt me, Father. I will be a good lad. I will. I promise.”
William pulled free of Rhiannon, still meaning to kill Geoffrey.
“William, please.”
“We can lock him up,” Alec said. “It will be a worse fate than death.”
“Remember when I asked you to run away?” she said. “Remember how it was the last thing you wanted to do. But you did it anyway, because I asked you to.”
His sword felt heavy. He lowered it to his side.
“Do this for me. It is better. Let him rot in a cell here at Hanover. Alec will make sure he never sees the light of day.”
William felt himself giving in. What was it about her that made him cave?
“You have my word on that,” Alec said. He came forward, dragging Geoffrey to his feet.
William nodded finally, sheathing his sword.
“Reginald is dead, by the way,” Alec told them.
“Then it’s done,” Rhiannon said, walking into William’s chest. He held her, letting it slowly bleed the pain and fear from his muscles.
“No more getting dragged off in the middle of the night,” he told her.
He wanted to promise that he would be watching her like a hawk for the rest of their lives, but had no idea if Rhiannon would want to return to Scotland with him after the way he had let her down.
“Why do you stink?” she asked, looking up at him.
“We came in through the garbage shoot.”
Rhiannon hesitated, her nose scrunched, then she came back into his arms anyway. “I do not care what you smell like. Just hold me.”
He did, unsure of how much longer he would have her to hold.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Rhiannon stood in the entrance of the stables at Hanover, watching William brush his horse. He hadn’t noticed her. Yet. She opened her hand and stared at the fat ring in her palm. Her father’s moonstone. Rhiannon had found it tucked away inside a chest in her parent’s bedchamber. The more valuable jewels had been removed already, but the ring, being set with what some would consider a lesser jewel, had been left behind.
Just because something was different, didn’t make it less valuable. Not in her eyes.
Rhiannon watched the way William’s plaid fell in even folds around his legs, listened to him speak in Gaelic to his horse. Triona and Ronan had been right when they told her that she had come home.
But home wasn’t Scotland.
She moved toward William, but the closer she got, the more she felt her heart come under guard.
He was still distancing himself from her. She had hoped things would be better between them now that Reginald was dead and Geoffrey locked away, but they weren’t.
William looked up, saw her, and straightened. He lowered his hand to his side.
She came around the stallion to face him. “I have something for you.”
He set the brush aside. She watched his shoulders rise and fall in a sigh. He turned to face her, but refused to make eye contact.
Rhiannon had had about enough of his hard, outer shell. How dare he continue to close her out of his heart after all they had been through.
She shoved her hand toward him. “’Tis my father’s ring, you idiot, and I want you to have it. It reminds me of the color of your eyes.”
Wincing, William took the ring from her palm.
“Will you wear it or not?”
His head was bowed, the ring between his thumb and forefinger. “I will wear it.” He slipped it over his finger. It was tight. He moved it to his smallest finger.
“You are a wee bit bigger than my father.”
“Aye.”
“And just as arrogant.”
He looked up.
Rhiannon took a deep breath. “I am tired of your cold looks, and I tire of your attempts to avoid me, and I am tired of your grouchy unloving-self.”
His eyes widened. “Unloving?”
She tipped her chin to him. “Aye.”
He shifted. “I tire of being used by you.”
“Used? What are you talking about?”
He stepped in, closing the gap between them. Her breath seeped out of her lungs and her pulse raced. Not in fear, never in fear, but with longing.
“You share my bed, but not my home,” he said. “You are using me, like every other woman has.”
Her jaw fell open. “You think I am using you for . . . for your . . .”
He backed off. “And I have used you, have I not? All you ever wanted was your freedom. So take it. I willna stop you.”
It took Rhiannon a moment to pull her thoughts together.
William, you braw, arrogant, barbarian of a man!
He left the stable and she went after him.
“Wait!”
He halted, his fingers flexing before he turned to face her.
“Tha gràdh agam ort.” I love you. “Now, a
nswer me, William MacAlastair, where is my home?”
“Hanover.”
She shook her head.
“The Highlands?”
“Nay.”
He frowned. “I do not know.”
Rhiannon stepped up to him and wound her arms around his shoulders. “William MacAlastair.”
His brow furrowed. Either he didn’t understand, or he refused to accept her answer.
“You,” she said. “You are my home. Wherever you go. Whatever you do. Wherever you are.”
“But your freedom?”
“This is freedom. You are my heart. Will you stop me from following it?”
His arms came slowly around her, then he smiled, as if her words had finally sunk in. William scooped her up off the ground. Rhiannon found herself wondering what it would be like to make love in a bed of straw.
“I love you, Rhiannon. Today, tomorrow, and for all the days thereafter.”
“Then I am free.” Rhiannon kissed his scratchy jaw. “Now take me into a stall and show me just how much you love me.”
He eyed her as if he wasn’t sure if she was serious.
Rhiannon laughed and nodded.
There was something she’d recently learned about their bairn, or bairns, rather, that she still needed to tell him.
He carried her off.
She decided to break it to him later.
* * *
MacAlastair Hall, 1609
Mora backed away, a familiar knowing smile on her face.
“Nay,” Rhiannon said.
“Aye.”
Rhiannon sat up, straightening her chemise. “It cannot be.” She blew out a breath. “Well, yes, it can be.”
Singing to herself, Mora went to her bag and began rummaging around. Rhiannon knew she was looking for the satchel that contained certain herbs. “But what will I do with the twins?”
“You have time, six months yet. Plenty of opportunity to acclimate them to goat’s milk. They are old enough now, anyway.”
Rhiannon stood, her hand over her lower stomach. She had not had her courses once since she’d met William.
Blast him!
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