Marion’s heart pounded as she desperately tried to determine how to escape.
“Forget what you’d like, Malcolm,” the man holding her and covering her mouth hissed near her ear. “Let’s get on with it. I want to kill the MacLeod and be done with Scotland. We must follow orders,” the knight added.
“I know,” Malcolm snarled. “But she does not deserve to be Froste’s wife.” Malcolm squeezed her cheeks so hard that tears stung her eyes. “You’re likely not even chaste anymore, are you?”
Marion’s skin crawled with the question, and the knight holding her chuckled as Malcolm stared through the darkness at her. “On further thought,” he said, his voice taking on a husky tone that made bile rise in her throat, “let’s enjoy her first. If she’s not chaste—”
Malcolm’s fist flew by her face so fast that she screamed, but the clammy hand covering her mouth smothered the sound. Malcolm’s fist met her captor’s nose with a sickening crunch, the hand dropped away, and she was shoved aside. The man lunged at Malcolm, and Marion saw her chance. She dashed past the men who were locked in combat, but just as she filled her lungs to scream for help, she was hit from behind and went crashing to the ground, crushed under the weight of a body and its armor. She was going to die.
Horror filled her until she was pulled up by her hair and came face-to-face with Malcolm, who clamped his hand over her mouth once more. “We want you to scream, but not just yet. We need to have you placed perfectly so we can ambush the MacLeod and his men.”
Driven by rage and fear, Marion brought her fist up and started to hit Malcolm in the face. Behind her, she heard the quick clank of armor, and then her hands were grabbed and pulled roughly behind her back.
“I’ve got her,” Malcolm growled. He jerked her toward him and encircled her body with his arm, nearly crushing her ribs with his grip. He lifted her off the ground, and before she knew what was happening, he dragged her into the cold river as the other knight moved to the bank on the other side. She started to shiver, watching helplessly as the man withdrew two daggers that gleamed in the moonlight. Her breath seized in her chest. They thought to make her scream to bring Iain running and then the knight would throw the daggers at Iain. Even if he missed, Malcolm had his sword, and Iain would not be prepared. She could not scream, no matter what they did to her. She could not call Iain to his death.
Her fear must have shown on her face because Malcolm’s grin widened as he stared at her. “Don’t fret. I won’t harm you, though I want to. Now do your duty as Froste’s future bride and scream.”
Immediately, his hand moved from her mouth to her windpipe and pressed.
“I won’t scream,” Marion managed to choke out before Malcolm’s fingers crushed her throat a bit harder, cutting her words off.
“If you don’t scream, you’ll die, and I vow to you, the MacLeod will die either way.”
She’d have no part in helping them kill Iain, even if it meant her own death, which it likely would. It was becoming harder and harder to draw air and stars were dancing in her vision, yet she was determined not to scream.
When Iain found a good spot for them to sleep, he spread out a blanket and then quickly caught a rabbit for supper. Angus glared at him as Iain skinned the rabbit beside the fire.
“Say yer grievance with me or stop yer glaring,” Iain said.
“Is that the command of a laird?” The old MacLeod faced Iain and braced his legs as if preparing to fight.
Rory Mac shook his head with a laugh. “I dunnae think he likes ye, Iain.”
Iain ignored his friend’s prodding and stared at Angus. “That’s the request of one man to another, Angus. I may be laird, but I strive to treat all my men fairly. If ye think I’ve done ye some wrongdoing then I’d like it to be confessed so we can solve it. Though as we’ve only known each other a day, it baffles me what that could be.”
Angus’s stance immediately relaxed, and he moved closer to Iain and sat on the tree stump next to him. “Marion is like a daughter te me.”
“I thought so,” Iain replied, moving over for Rory Mac to sit down, too.
“I want the best for her,” Angus continued.
Iain set the rabbit down. “Are ye implying I’m nae best for her?”
The man notched his chin up. “I’m saying she’s already had a lifetime of feeling unloved. I heard what ye said te her at the chapel.”
“What did ye say?” Rory Mac asked in a deceptively innocent tone.
Iain gave Rory Mac a warning look, but his friend simply grinned in return. A tick started in Iain’s jaw as he met Angus’s gaze once more. “I will treat her well.”
Angus shook his head. “Treating her well will nae be enough. Marion has a tender heart that yearns for affection.”
“I yearn for affection, too,” Rory Mac said, mimicking a woman’s voice with a chuckle.
Both men glared at him. He had the sense to look chagrinned. He stood, unsheathed Marion’s dagger, and silently handed it to Iain. “I think I’ll go check on Neil and gather some more wood.”
“Verra wise,” Iain said as he set Marion’s dagger on his knee. When Rory Mac walked away, Iain faced Angus. “She will nae yearn as my wife,” he stated, then picked up the rabbit and began skinning it once more, wishing the matter to be sorted. When after a minute, Angus did not move from in front of Iain, he looked at the man once more. “What?”
“She will yearn because ye will nae be able te give her what she truly desires. And I’m nae talking about a night with ye.”
Iain clenched his teeth. He had always been one to allow his men to speak freely, but at the moment, he considered that a change may do. “I dunnae talk matters of the heart. I’m a Scottish warrior, nae an Englishman who speaks prettily. Ye’ve been gone from Scotland too long. Ye’re soft.”
“I’m nae soft. Just smart enough te see what ye dunnae. Ye can be a widower te one woman ye loved yet allow another into yer heart.”
“Cease yer talking, Angus,” Iain growled. He didn’t want to think about Catriona, his heart, or allowing anyone else to make him weak, and he refused to continue this conversation.
A determined look crossed Angus’s face. “Maybe she should come live with me, since ye dunnae really want her around,” the Scot prodded. “Ye can be married in name only, that way she will be safe and ye’ll have met Edward’s conditions for talks of David’s release.”
“Nay.” The word boomed from Iain deep in his chest, but instead of the fear he’d hoped to raise in Angus, the older man smiled slightly.
“Why nae? If ye’re as lacking in emotion as ye claim, then any wench will do te smother yer lust.”
“Any wench will nae do,” Iain bellowed. “Marion belongs with me.”
“Aye, she does,” Angus agreed, surprising Iain with his words and his grin. “I feel much better now that we had this talk. I thank ye for obliging me.”
Iain gaped at the man. “Ye tricked me,” Iain muttered. “Ye said something ye did nae mean in order to see how I would reply. What are ye trying to decide about me, old man?”
Angus picked up the rabbit he’d killed and started to skin it. “I am wondering if she had any hope of melting a wee bit of that thick ice around ye.”
“Listen here, ye daft old fool,” Iain growled. “She does nae have a hope of melting a thing as there is nothing to thaw.” His heart was dead, and that was how he wanted it. Desire could not harm him, but love—love when lost left pain that could kill a man.
“Ye dunnae need te be angry,” Angus said good-naturedly. “Ye can protest all ye want, but I dunnae think ye can stop what’s already happening. If ye wished for no emotion between ye, ye’d join with her and many others. Ye want only her.”
Iain never allowed himself to show anger, but it pulsed through him in fast, hard beats. He did want only her, but that had nothing to do with anything but lust. The thought rang false in his head, but he shoved the doubt away and concentrated on his annoyance. “I can stop whatever I wish.
I’m laird. If I dunnae want to feel anything for her, I won’t. It’s as simple as that.”
Angus cocked an eyebrow at him. “Simple, ye say?”
Iain was just about to answer when Marion’s scream echoed through the night. The high-pitched piercing sound of her fear ripped across his heart and tore away the scab of indifference that had been covering the gaping wound left by Catriona’s death. His reaction was instantaneous, as if he were an arrow shot from a bow. He dropped the rabbit, gripped Marion’s dagger, sprang up, and barreled past Angus into the blackness without hesitation, his feet pounding over hard rock, soft dirt, and branches. As he dodged limbs and shoved shrubs out of his way, Marion let out a string of the foulest curses he’d ever heard from a woman’s lips. In spite of the edge of concern driving him forward like a crazed man, he grinned. No doubt, sharp on the heels of her curses she’d mentally calculated how many indulgences her perceived sin would cost her. His life certainly would not be dull with Marion.
He burst through the trees, expecting to perhaps find that she’d ignored his advice and waded too far into the river, but what he saw brought him to a stunned halt. Marion stood knee-deep in the water, and behind her stood a tall man dressed in armor. The knight had his hand around her neck, and when he pulled her backward and thrust her under the water, a red haze covered Iain’s vision. He was going to kill that man for daring to hurt Marion. He didn’t give a damn if it angered King Edward or David. He’d start a hundred bloody wars if that was what he had to do to keep his wife from harm. And her melting him or whatever nonsense Angus had sputtered had nothing to do with it.
Six
She’d screamed.
That fact pounded through Marion’s head as she kicked her legs and clawed at the hands holding her underwater. By God, she’d scream again if she got the chance. She dug her nails into soft flesh, but the hand squeezed harder.
The desire to live overrode the shame of failing to keep Iain from harm as her lungs burned with the need to call for help again.
Malcolm wrenched her back to the surface just as she was sure she was going to die. She coughed violently, water spewing from her mouth and racking her body. Over the sound of her hacking, a war cry split the air, as well as her fear and the very chambers of her heart.
He’d heard her!
She blinked her watery eyes and searched the darkness for Iain. He thundered out of the shadows and toward her, white mist rising from the ground as if it were smoldering. The fog parted with each of his strides, and his sword sang in a high arc over his head. In all the nights, she’d stood on the rampart and watched her father and his men return from battle, she’d never seen a man look as fierce and frightening as her husband did. He didn’t seem like a mere mortal; he seemed like a god intent on decimation as he charged into the river.
The pressure against her throat disappeared in a flash as Malcolm raised his hand to give the signal for his comrade to throw the daggers.
“Danger on the left bank!” Marion shouted and pointed.
Iain looked to the left at the same time Malcolm shoved her backward and under the water again. For a moment, she thought he would hold her there until she was dead this time, but then his hand disappeared and she came up in a rush, rubbing the water out of her eyes. Malcolm was just ahead of her, his sword poised to kill. Marion scanned for the other knight on the left bank but didn’t see him. When something touched her leg, she jerked and then shrieked when she realized it was the other knight floating on his back in the water with a dagger—one that looked suspiciously like the one Angus had given her—sticking out of his neck, the only patch of skin that was not protected by armor.
When the dead man started to sink, Marion reached down and pulled the dagger out of his neck. Her stomach roiled with queasiness, but she stood upright in time to see Malcolm swing his sword to try to hit Iain in his left side. She tried to scream a warning, but her voice came out rough and her throat protested any further use.
Iain didn’t need a warning anyway. He moved in a blur she could not follow. It was like trying to capture the moment a storm turned deadly. He opened like a sky filled with torrential rain and poured his fury on the other knight.
Yet Malcolm’s fighting prowess had not been exaggerated. He took blow after blow from Iain and did not fall. And then, when Iain raised his sword to strike once more, she heard Malcolm exclaim, “Die!” She gasped when she thought she knew why. Iain’s left side was exposed! Marion splashed forward toward Malcolm, raised her dagger, and plunged it into his back—or attempted to. The dagger did not go through the armor. It splashed into the water and disappeared. There was no time to look for it.
Malcolm spun around, eyes wild, and swung his sword toward her neck. She screamed as Iain’s sword glimmered in the moonlight above Malcolm, then came down and ended the man’s life with a sharp blow to his head. He dropped into the river directly in front of her.
Her legs trembled and threatened to give out, but Iain wrapped her in his embrace. She buried her face against his chest, sagging into him. They stood for a moment, face-to-face, both panting heavily.
“Wife.” His voice held a faint tremor, as if some emotion had touched him, and she could almost feel her hope rising in the air.
She lifted her gaze to his. “I’m sorry.” With her hands fisted by her side, she waited for Iain to tell her how disappointed he was in her. That was what her father would have done.
In the distance, Angus was calling her name and Rory Mac was shouting for the MacLeod. Iain called out that they were fine, that he’d killed two of Froste’s men, and to give them a moment. Then he caught her gaze once more.
“Ye’re sorry?” he asked, sounding incredulous. “Ye’ve nothing to be sorry for, Marion. I’m to keep ye from harm, and I failed.”
“But you didn’t,” she exclaimed. “You just saved me!”
“There’d nae have been a need if I’d nae left ye down here alone.” His tormented tone made her breath catch, and when he looked at her, there was anguish in his eyes. He tugged a hand through his hair in obvious agitation. “Can ye forgive me?”
“Forgive you?” Her heart swelled almost painfully. Iain had asked her forgiveness, which meant he thought enough of her to want her forgiveness, if nothing else. She swallowed the large lump in her throat. Not once, in all her years, had her father ever asked her forgiveness for anything; he was always quick to tell her what she’d done wrong to make her feel small and unworthy. Iain was not like that. For all his gruffness, he was also gentle.
“I can forgive you,” she said, “if you can do the same for me.”
He cupped her face. “Why do ye think ye need my forgiveness?”
“I vowed to myself I’d not scream because that’s what they wanted,” she said, motioning behind her. “They wanted me to scream for you so you would come to my aid, and then they were going to kill you.”
“I suppose I’ve the answer to the question of if Froste intends on defying Edward,” Iain said, his voice hard. “Nae that I really thought otherwise.”
Marion shivered at the idea. “Do you think Froste sent more men?”
“Nay,” Iain answered. “I think the arrogant clot-heid imagined those two would complete the mission. We’ll make our way to Alex MacLean’s hold tomorrow morning and warn him that knights may be passing through these parts.”
“Marion,” came Angus’s worried voice.
Marion peered around her husband’s enormous frame to see Angus and Rory Mac standing at the bank of the river. Angus held a torch that illuminated both men’s faces.
Rory Mac was the one who spoke first as Iain took Marion’s hand and led her to the men. “I told the old man to do as ye ordered Iain and give ye a minute, but he was fretting over the chick like a hen.”
Marion supposed she was the chick and Angus the hen.
“I’m nae stunned,” Iain replied, his tone not indicating if he was angry that Angus had disobeyed him. That was another big difference between her f
ather and Iain. Her father would have punished Angus for daring to defy him, even though Angus was clearly worried for her. Iain seemed to understand this, and even if he did not like it, he was in control enough not to show it and to allow Angus to see her. Warmth toward Iain filled her heart.
“Are ye hurt, Marion?” Angus asked, his voice shaking. “I could nae move swiftly enough te help ye,” he grumbled, rubbing his leg.
She regarded his leg. “Have you been hurt?”
He shook his head. “Just sore from yer father’s beating.”
“Oh, Angus!” she cried out, angry with her father and mad at herself for not seeing to his wounds sooner. “Let me help you,” she said, starting toward him.
Angus shook his head. “Nay, lass. I’ll tend te my own wounds. I ken how. Yer place tonight is by yer husband’s side.”
She glanced at Iain to protest, and he shrugged. “If ye wish to tend to him, do so.”
“Nay,” Angus said, the stubbornness she knew well clear on his face. “Ye go with the MacLeod.”
Rory Mac made a derisive noise from his throat. “I’ll tend the old goat,” he said to Marion. “Tell me what to do.”
She quickly explained it to him, and when she was done, Rory Mac looked to Iain. “I suppose we will head to Alex’s tomorrow.”
“Aye,” Iain replied. “He should know that he might get English visitors on his land.” Iain’s tone had turned sour.
Rory Mac nodded and then grinned. “Are ye nae worried Marion will be taken with the MacLean?”
Iain scowled. “I’m nae worried a bit.”
“Why would you think I’d be taken with the MacLean laird?” Marion demanded.
Rory Mac’s satisfied chuckle told her she’d reacted exactly as he’d hoped. “He’s got quite the reputation, and the lassies find him verra pleasing to their eyes. Some visiting ladies have even been known to slip into the MacLean’s bed when their own husbands are asleep.” Rory Mac wriggled his eyebrows at her.
“I’d never do such a thing,” Marion exclaimed, knowing she was only adding to Rory Mac’s pleasure at getting a rise out of her, but she could not help herself. “I can’t imagine a man more attractive than my husband, and I’m sure he’ll please me so much in bed, I’d never dream of another man!”
When a Laird Loves a Lady (Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts Book 1) Page 10
