“What do you get from Froste in return for killing my husband?” Marion demanded.
Archibald opened his mouth as if to answer when Froste roared, “Enough! You Scots try my patience. Put down your sword and save the woman or you both die.” He grinned maliciously. “Well, I suppose you die either way so it’s no matter to me.”
Graham looked down at Bridgette, and Marion’s mind raced. She had no doubt that Graham would give his life to save Bridgette, but Marion had to try to save them both. If she could provide a distraction, perchance she could give Graham time to sweep down and grab Bridgette. Then they could go for help. It was the only chance they had, and she prayed Graham realized this.
When his gaze met hers, she tried to tell him what to do by looking from him, to Bridgette, to the road. She thought she saw him nod but could not be sure.
The moment Graham’s weapon hit the ground, Marion bolted for Froste and plunged her dagger into his leg. Howling, he kicked out at her, his foot connecting with her gut and sending her flying to the ground. All around her, shouting broke out, and she saw Graham’s horse take off with only Bridgette on it.
“Graham, no!” Marion yelled, knowing he’d done what Iain would have done. He’d sent Bridgette for help while staying to defend Marion.
Froste strode toward her, but she could not scramble backward fast enough. He clutched her in an iron grip and jerked her about while barking at his men to kill Graham.
Archibald took off after Bridgette as Froste’s and her father’s men circled Graham. Marion watched in horror as they closed the circle. For one brief moment, he fought them off, and then one of her father’s knights plunged his sword downward into Graham’s chest and he fell to his knees and then onto his back.
Marion was too shocked to scream, but even if she could have, Froste yanked her up onto his horse and started to ride away. Marion kicked and screamed then and tried to claw his eyes, and just as she was attempting to grasp the dagger sheathed to his side, something hard hit her square in the back of the head and she disappeared into darkness.
She knew instantly by the rocking beneath her and the smell of salt in the air that she was on a ship. What she didn’t know was how long she had been unconscious. Surely, it had not been long enough for Froste to have taken Dunvegan Castle. She also didn’t know if Bridgette had escaped. Her head pounded as she struggled to sit up, and as she blinked her eyes to adjust them to the brightness of day, a hand clasped her around the arm and jerked her all the way up.
Bile rose in her throat, and she hastily bent over and retched at her feet. When she sat up, a linen was thrust in her face. She wiped her mouth and met Froste’s gaze. “Where are we going?” she demanded.
“Where else but home?” He took a long drink from a cup, then handed it to her.
Her first instinct was to smack it from his hand, but then she tried to calm herself. She may not get the offer of drink again. Taking the cup, she drank greedily of the strong spirits, coughing and sputtering as the liquid burned its way down her throat and to her stomach.
She swiped a hand over her wet lips. “Why are you taking me back to my father’s?”
“To marry you.”
“I’m already married,” she screamed.
“Not much longer.” He tweaked her nose. “I’ve left four of my knights there to help the nasty Scot kill your filthy husband when he returns from visiting the soon-to-be powerless King Edward.” Froste paused and looked thoughtful for a moment. Marion’s mind rushed through the possibilities of escape as her heart filled with worry for Iain. “Don’t look so glum, Marion. When your father is king, I’ll be a baron or possibly greater. You will be respected and wealthy. And married to me. Your status will be far superior to what you hold now.”
Marion pressed her fingers to her throbbing temples to keep from screaming. Iain would come for her—if he had not been killed. No! Her mind refused to believe the worst. He would come, but she feared he’d never defeat her father and Froste. Their knights together slightly outnumbered his clan, and she didn’t think he’d be so foolish as to bring his entire clan and leave the castle vulnerable. Her father would have the advantage of his castle to protect him if Iain tried to invade, too. Would King Edward help Iain? Or would he sit back and let Iain use his own men to fight what was ultimately King Edward’s battle?
Marion’s heart thudded with the fear that he would use Iain to weaken her father and Froste, and then—and only then—would King Edward help Iain. Her husband would be destroyed. Marion inhaled a shaky breath. So many in his clan would be killed.
She dug her nails into her palms to keep from crying out. “What did you offer Archibald in return for his betrayal?”
“Why do you care?” Froste snarled.
“I would like to know what price it takes to turn a Scot dishonorable,” she replied, choosing her words with care to bait Froste into telling her.
Froste shrugged. “A low one. All I have to do in return is have one of my men kill the MacLean laird and make sure it cannot be traced to Archibald so he can easily take his cousin’s place. Quite simple, really.”
“My father is mad! You’re mad! He’ll never take the throne, and you’ll never become a baron and get the lands you desire. Iain will triumph,” she shouted, feeling her control slipping away.
Froste whipped his hand out and jerked her to him by the chin. Her skin stung where he gripped her, and pain shot through her jaw. “You will call him the MacLeod. Understand?”
She nodded, her heart hammering.
“When he’s dead, I will marry you and you will lawfully be my wife.”
The idea of being this vile man’s wife made her want to crawl out of her skin. “I will never be your wife because you are no match for Iain.”
Froste released her chin and slapped her. The force of the blow sent her head sideways, and the throbbing in her cheek now matched the throbbing of her skull. He gave her a mirthless smile. “You will be my wife, and you’ll be pleased to know I find I’m quite taken with you. So much so that I have dreamed about you every night.” The lust shining in his eyes sent her skittering to the edge of her seat.
Froste caught her by the elbow and yanked her over the rough wood until she was firmly against his side. “I will join with you when we reach London so you will know a real man. I don’t need to be married to you to take you, my dear.”
She had to swallow repeatedly not to lose her accounts. She prayed to God for an idea of how to escape or how to put off Froste, because one thing she knew for certain was that Iain would never reach her in time to save her from Froste’s intentions.
Twenty-Three
Iain knew something was wrong at Dunvegan when the castle came into sight, but no one appeared on the seagate stairs—or anywhere, for that matter—to greet him. He and Neil exchanged a wary look, and as they stepped off the birlinn, the first thing Iain heard was hundreds of voices raised in a song for the dying. Fear for Marion rushed through his veins as he took off across the rocky land and raced up the stairs, Iain close behind him. When he reached the courtyard he came to a shuddering halt. It appeared that more than half his clan was gathered there, torches blazing. Spotting Father Murdoch, Iain shoved his way through the crowd. Lachlan stood beside the priest, and as Iain scanned the crowd, he saw the faces of those who mattered most to him—except for Marion and Graham.
By the time he reached Lachlan, icy fear had twisted around his heart.
“Where’s Marion?” he demanded without greeting his brother. When Lachlan flinched, Iain’s heart tightened. He clasped his brother’s forearm. “Where is she?” he growled, refusing to believe she was dead.
The wariness in Lachlan’s eyes was unmistakable, but something else flickered there—guilt? “Taken,” Lachlan finally answered. “Archibald betrayed us and Marion was seized. Graham is upstairs dying, and all I can do is join the singing prayers that he lives.”
Red filled Iain’s vision. “Froste?”
Lachlan no
dded.
“Where is Archibald?” Iain was going to rip out the man’s heart.
“Dead,” Lachlan replied, indifferent. “I killed him.”
The momentary shock Iain felt yielded to black fury. “Ye should have left that to me. It is my right!”
“Graham is dying because I failed as laird in yer stead. The right to kill Archibald was mine,” Lachlan spat.
Iain’s fury did not ebb but turned, the tide flowing across the water to England and Froste and, undoubtedly, Marion’s father. He motioned Lachlan to follow him. “Ye will tell me all as I see Graham.”
Iain didn’t wait for Lachlan to reply. He spun around, ignoring his now silent clan, and went into the castle.
He’d seen death too many times, and he knew the pain to come if his brother died. When he saw Graham lying in the middle of his bed, Iain had to grip the side not to fall to his knees and scream his rage and grief. Pale, Graham’s brown hair was slicked back from fever sweats, his cheeks were hollow, and bloody linens were wrapped around his abdomen. But Iain was laird and leaders did not fall apart, not even when death came to his family.
He put his hand on Bridgette’s shoulder as she sat by Graham’s side, and she flinched before gazing dazedly up at him. Her red, swollen eyes told him she’d been crying for some time.
“What happened?” he asked her.
Bridgette swiped at her tears. “He sacrificed himself to save my life,” she said, her voice full of sadness. “If he dies, I’m accountable.” She started crying so hard that Fiona, who Iain blinked to realize was there and hovering in a corner, came rushing out of the shadows. Without a word, Fiona enfolded Bridgette in her arms, helped her to stand, and then led her out of the room.
For a moment, stark silence engulfed the room, then Lachlan spoke. He told Iain of Archibald’s betrayal; of Marion, Graham, and Bridgette going to help an ailing bairn; their being ambushed; and Bridgette escaping back to the castle to get help.
Lachlan tugged a hand through his hair. “By the time we reached Graham, he was like this, but I killed Archibald and two of Froste’s men, and Rory Mac killed the other two knights.”
Iain stared down at his youngest brother, who would likely die having been shot by an arrow near his heart and gutted with an English sword. He curled his hands into fists, blood roaring through his veins with such force his body throbbed.
“I will bring Marion home. Nothing will stop me.”
“We will bring her home,” Lachlan replied and clasped Iain’s forearm. “We will have vengeance.”
“Aye,” Iain said in a voice of steel. “Vengeance will be ours. Put out the call for the clan to ready for battle.”
Lachlan’s eyes widened. “Think, brother. They have greater numbers in their forces.”
“Aye. We will send word to the MacLeans and the MacDonalds to join us.”
Lachlan nodded. “Iain,” he started, his voice hesitant, “what if…what if Marion has been ravished? What if she has a bairn in her belly come a month from now? Would ye want her back nae knowing if the bairn was yers?”
Unblinking, Iain stared at Lachlan. “I’d want her back blind, disfigured, mute, and with a belly heavy with a bairn that I could nae be sure was mine. I will want her back always. I will want her back nay matter what. She is my life. Do ye ken?”
Lachlan’s eyes sharpened with understanding. “Aye, I do. We need to determine our course carefully.”
“I ken,” Iain replied. As much as he wanted to charge directly to Marion, none of them would return alive if he did that. He needed time to gather his allies, who he prayed truly included King Edward now that the terms of David’s release had been set to scroll and made official. The king would never get the money he was demanding for David’s release if Iain was killed and unable to sway the other clans to pay to see him freed, so Iain felt confident that King Edward would help. It made sense. Together, they could fell de Lacy and Froste. Yet Edward would need time to summon his knights and ride toward de Lacy’s home to attack.
“Gather the council in the great hall. I’ll be there in a moment.”
Lachlan nodded and hastily left the room. Iain kneeled by Graham’s bed and said a prayer for his brother’s recovery, then made his way down to the great hall where the council sat waiting. He strode up to the dais and stood facing Lachlan, Rory Mac, Angus, and the rest of the council. “Rory Mac, ye will go to the MacLeans and gain their agreement to help us, so they will have time to prepare to depart before we arrive.” Iain had no doubt that Alex would join him. “We will join ye at the MacLean hold before departing for England. Angus, go to the MacDonalds to do the same. When ye return, ye will join me. I will be training the men and readying our ships.”
Rory Mac and Angus nodded, fierce determination blazing in their eyes.
Iain stared hard at Lachlan. “And ye, Lachlan…ye will journey to England to see King Edward. Go with King Edward to de Lacy’s home. We will meet ye there.”
“Aye, brother.”
Iain paced in front of the dais continuing to speak. “I will depart in seven days for the MacLean hold.” He loathed the thought of waiting so long, but they had to have all the clans and King Edward to ensure the defeat of their enemies.
“Godspeed,” he said. “Now go!”
For once Froste was true to his word, Marion thought, distraught, as she eyed the man who stood at the opposite side of her bed. The moment they’d arrived at her father’s castle, Froste had dragged her upstairs to a bedchamber. He’d not spoken yet, but she had no doubt what he intended.
“Unclothe,” Froste commanded.
Marion scanned the room for any object she could use to dispatch him, and her gaze fastened on the dagger he had just removed and laid on the floor in front of the bed. She quickly looked away so he would not realize her intent. When he curled his finger in a command for her to come to him, she complied, walking toward the bed and stopping in front of him, her foot brushing the dagger. Her heart increased its pace tenfold.
When he stared at her expectantly, she raised her trembling hands to her gown and struggled to unlace it. When she feared he would try to help her, she tugged until the material ripped and the gown loosened. She then kneeled in the pretense of lowering her gown to the ground. The material fell over the dagger, and she grasped it, keeping her eyes on him. He had his gaze on her breasts, the fool. She smiled, brushing the material aside just enough to grasp the dagger, and she scrambled back a step to unsheathe it.
But he was quick—much quicker than she had expected—and with an angry roar, he knocked the dagger out of her hand and gripped her neck.
“I grow weary of you trying to kill me, Marion.” He flung her onto the bed and started to lower himself atop her.
“Wait!” she cried, her mind searching for a way to stall him. She could think of only one possibility. She brought her hand to her belly. “I may be with Iain’s child. If you take me now, and then I begin to quicken, you will never know if the child is his or yours. Would you truly take that risk?”
She could see the fury in his burning eyes and twisted mouth. He stared down at her, hovering over her for a long silent moment. Her pulse hammered a fearful beat until he finally pushed away from her and off the bed. He strode toward his dagger, retrieved it, and then stormed toward the door. “I will wait until your flux has come and gone but not a day longer.”
The door slammed on his ominous words, and Marion was left alone. She quickly dressed in the ripped gown and then sat in the middle of her bed, hugging her knees to her chest. Tears pricked her eyes, but when the door flew open, she dashed them away.
Her father stood at the door as several servants filed into the room. He looked at her dispassionately, as if he didn’t know her at all. “Clear the room of anything she can use as a weapon.”
She watched in stony silence as they stripped the room bare, and Marion’s heart clenched. She’d never seen love from her father and never would. When they were done, they filed back out o
f the chamber, and the lock clicked in the door. She was left alone once more with her fervent prayer that Iain would come soon, that he would prevail without flying the Fairy Flag.
Five days after Iain had sent Angus to the MacDonalds, he returned while Iain was training with the men. “The MacDonald will join ye, and he says he presumes the favor will be returned when he needs it.”
“Aye,” Iain replied. “I supposed as much.” He didn’t like owing the man a favor, but he would sell his soul to get Marion back.
In the days that followed, Iain and his men trained constantly, honing themselves into weapons of destruction. When they were not training, they were continuing to stock the ships and fortify the castle’s defenses for those who would stay behind.
Marion occupied his thoughts every moment. During the day, the need for vengeance drove him, and at night, the stabbing yearning for her in his bed, pressed so close he could feel her heat and smell the heather that surrounded her, tortured him. He spent more time pacing the ramparts than sleeping.
When the time came for them to depart, he said farewell to Graham, who was much improved, and bid him how to proceed as laird in Iain’s absence, with Angus as his guide. Angus had wanted to come to England, but Iain had to know that if he died, or God forbid, he, Lachlan, or Cameron—who was still on his journey to take Elspeth away—didn’t return, that Graham would have a strong, trusted advisor by his side to rebuild the MacLeod legacy.
Iain walked down the seagate stairs and beheld the line of his and the MacDonald’s men waiting to set sail, hope filling his chest.
Lachlan set his hand on Iain’s shoulder from above him on the stairs. “We will triumph.”
Iain nodded. “We must.”
Froste’s fetid breath fanned Marion’s face as he pulled her roughly to him. She was acutely aware that only the thin material of her léine separated her skin from his bare chest.
I’m going to be sick! her mind screamed, as he captured the edge of her léine and started pulling it up. Her mind flashed to the time when she had tried to teach Iain to dance, and the lesson had ended with him stripping her of her léine. That had been like Heaven while this…this was Hell.
When a Laird Loves a Lady (Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts Book 1) Page 32
