She looked so sad — as well as afraid — that he had to believe what she was telling him. He took a long hard look at his surroundings. His instincts told him the woman was alone, that this was not a ruse to draw him into battle.
“I must get back afore she notices I be gone. Go to Portree, m’laird. Help that poor girl. Fergus is no’ to be trusted. I fear what he’s already done to her.”
She started to turn back into the woods.
“Wait!” he called out to her. “Where in Portree do I go?”
“They live no’ far from the docks, in a big house. Just ask anyone there and they can tell ye, they can.”
She said nothing else before disappearing back into the woods.
Muriel did her best to keep up with her captor. She’d lost one slipper within moments of being all but dragged out of the house. The man — who had refused to tell her his name — declined to stop long enough for her to grab it. His sweaty hand clung to hers with such force she worried he’d crush her bones.
Down the crowded streets of Portree he pulled her. The rain had let up earlier and was now naught more than a heavy mist. Just enough so it clung to her brown dress, her face and hair. Anthara had refused to allow her to take anything with her, not even her own cloak. ’Twas one more slap in the face, another way for Anthara to prove she had the upper hand.
They headed south toward the docks through mud and muck. The cold mud seeped through her bare toes as well as her slipper. Soon, she could see the tall masts of several ships. As they drew nearer, with him shoving their way through the crowds, her heart cracked with each step she took.
Once, she tried pleading for someone to help her, to tell them she was being taken against her will. But the tall, smelly man yanked harder, giving her no time to beg for mercy.
Soon she smelled the salty sea air blended with the scent of fish and bodies that seemed as fond of bathing as the man pulling her along. Seagulls, osprey, and gannets flew overhead, diving down into the sea. The braver birds were trying to steal the day’s catch from fishermen’s boats.
Instinct warned her she was heading to her death. Right before they’d left Anthara and Fergus’s home, Fergus had taken great delight in letting her know she had been sold to the ship’s captain for the paltry sum of five groats. “And I was lucky to get that much, considering the shape ye be in,” he had told her.
Oh, how she wanted to use her fingernails to scratch out his eyes! But there had been no time, no opportunity to do so.
As her heart cracked, her stomach roiled at the thought of what lay ahead. She’d not try to raise any false hope that the captain would be kind or generous. Any man who would buy a woman was not a man who could be trusted. And if her experience with Fergus was any indication of what lay in store for her on that ship…
She made a decision then. The first opportunity that presented itself, she would fling herself overboard and let the sea have her. Death was the only preferable alternative to the life she was certain she’d find on that ship.
“Hurry it up!” the smelly man called out over his shoulder. “The cap’n is lookin’ forward to meetin’ ye.”
His grip on her wrist tightened as he pulled her along the dock, where several moored ships gently swayed to and fro. The sun played a game of hide-and-find with the clouds, the waves lapping gently against the shore and docks. Were her circumstances different, she might have found the scene peaceful. Instead, she was terrified.
Her escort made a sharp turn and began hauling her up a gangplank. She tried without success to wrench herself free from his grip. He ignored her as if she were naught more than an irritating fly.
If she could only free herself, she could fall into the water here, and never set foot aboard the rocking ship. Pretending to trip, she fell down onto the dirty board. He stopped, turned around and looked mightily peeved. Without saying a word, he lifted her up and tossed her over one shoulder, then continued up the plank.
Several men stood along the rail, all with greedy, hungry eyes that made her feel even dirtier. One of the men — with a toothless leer and beady eyes — stepped forward. He reached out and touched her shoulder as they went by. Her stomach churned with disgust and her heart thundered against her breast. A loud cheer went up, at which she closed her eyes and prayed.
Please, God, let someone help me!
Rodrick wasted no time returning to Portree. If what he had been told was correct, then Muriel was in grave danger.
Once he entered the town, he stopped the first person he saw — an elderly man with thinning white hair and intense blue eyes — and asked where he might find the home of Fergus MacDonald.
“What do ye want with that son-of-a-whore?” the man inquired curiously before spitting on the ground.
Rodrick quashed the urge to tell him it wasn’t any of his business. “Me younger sister has been stayin’ with them fer a time. I have come to retrieve her.”
The auld man’s eyes grew wide with horror. “Why in the bloody hell would ye do that to a lass? Be she ugly?”
Rodrick thought the question rather odd. “Can ye tell me where their house be?” he asked. His frustration was growing by leaps and bounds.
The old man spit again before answering. “Up the road a piece,” he answered with a nod in the general direction. “Ye’ll find a big grand house with flowers linin’ the path. And if I were ye, I would no’ dally. Fergus MacDonald be a son-of-a-whore who will take advantage of any innocent lass.”
There was no need for Rodrick to ask him what he meant by that. His gut told him that Muriel was in greater peril than he had imagined.
On his way to the MacDonald house, Rodrick stopped at the livery to have his horse saddled and at the ready. He wanted to leave as soon as he rescued Muriel and get off this bloody island. He could hear Caderyn snickering and kicking the stall. The beast disliked being confined as much as Rodrick and was just as stubborn. ’Twas one of the reasons he was so fond of the animal. “I’ll be back fer ye soon enough,” he called to the black stallion. Caderyn replied with a hard kick to the wall.
After paying the liveryman, Rodrick set off to find the MacDonald house. ’Twas just where and looked exactly like the auld man said it would. ’Twas the only grand house on the street with flowers lining the path. He wrapped his fist against the door.
He had to knock hard a second time before anyone came. He was met by a round, aulder woman, with hair black as pitch and even darker eyes. With a scrutinizing glare, she looked him up and down once before asking him what he wanted.
“I’ve come to get Muriel,” he told her bluntly.
There was a flicker of fear as well as surprise in her eyes, but only a flicker. “There be no one here by that name,” she told him before trying to shut the door.
He held it open with a strong forceful hand. “I ken she be here.”
“Be gone with ye, ye big lout! I told ye, there be no one here by that name!”
He didn’t believe her. “But she was here, aye?” he asked with a raised and hopeful brow.
She grunted once before glancing over her shoulder. A moment later she was leaning in to whisper. “Aye, but she be gone now. Check the docks.”
“Why the docks?” he asked.
“The laird sold her off to a ship’s captain a little while ago,” she whispered before looking over her shoulder again.
His stomach tightened with dread before filling with anger. “What ship?” he demanded to know.
“Wheest!” she rebuked him. “I do no’ ken what ship! I told ye all I ken. Now go!”
And with that, she shoved the door closed on him.
Furious, he felt his fingers tremble. What the bloody hell is wrong with these people?
He’d gone to the docks to try to find Muriel. The people there were far less willing to share any information with him. His inquiries were met with silence, or grunts to bugger off.
He hadn’t yet met Fergus MacDonald, but he looked forward to that day. If his gut was r
ight — and it usually was — the man was a bloody bastard of the highest form.
And it had to run in the family, for they all seemed quite at ease with selling people. So far today he had learned Muriel had been sold not once, but twice. Whilst he would have preferred to go back to find Fergus MacDonald and beat him until he confessed which ship’s captain she’d been sold to, it might have made matters worse.
Frustrated, he found his way into a tavern to eat and rethink his strategy.
He sat at a table in a dark corner, ordered a meat pie and a cup of ale.
Mayhap I have lost me mind, he quietly mused. Here I am, running around the Isle looking for a lass I have never met.
He thought about the dreams. He now knew they had meant something. No longer could he refute that fact. Muriel was here on this island and she needed his help.
Why are ye doin’ this to yerself? He had asked that question more than once in the past two days. Riskin’ yer own neck fer a lass ye’ve never met and fer a man who tried to kill ye.
His quiet reflection was interrupted when a tall, slender man came rushing into the tavern, quickly making his way to the group of men at the table next to Rodrick’s.
“Come lads, we have to get back to the ship,” he said. There was an urgency in his voice.
“Bugger off,” one of the men told him. “We do no’ leave for another three days.”
The tall man thumped his friend on the back of his head, which evoked a slur of curses.
“The captain says we be leavin’ in the morn,” he told them.
“Why the change in plans?” Another of the greasy looking men asked before taking a sip of his ale.
“Ye do no’ need to ken why,” the tall man replied. “Just finish up and get back to the ship.”
“I ain’t goin’ nowhere,” another man said. “At least no’ until ye tell us why.”
His friends agreed with nods and grunts of approval.
After a long moment, the man finally spoke. “The cap’n has bought himself a wench. Got her off some MacDonald fer five groats. And a pretty thing she is.”
The name MacDonald caught Rodrick’s ear. He knew at once he was talking about Muriel.
The men’s attitudes changed dramatically at the mention of a pretty lass. No further convincing was needed. They slammed down mugs of ale, rose in rapid succession and headed for the door.
Rodrick was following right behind them.
Chapter Two
Earlier that afternoon, Muriel believed she could not have been more afraid or in more danger. But she’d been proven wrong.
She’d been taken below to the captain’s quarters, where she was tossed onto the bed and left alone. The door locking behind the disgusting man who’d brought her here sent fissures of fear tracing up and down her spine.
Her mind was racing in different directions. She either had to find a way out or a way to end her own life. She’d be damned if she was going to allow another man to do to her what Fergus had done. She’d not sit idly by and become a slave to anyone else.
Before she could act either way, she heard the door unlocking. Terrified, she scooted off the bed, looking for a way out.
A man entered the chamber, carrying a pitcher of water and washing cloths. He was just as vile and disgusting as the man who had brought her here.
“Cap’n Wallace has ordered ye clean yerself up,” he said as he placed the items on a small table in the center of the room. “I’d no’ dally, were I ye, fer he is a man of little patience.”
He looked her up and down before leaving her alone. She held her breath in the hope that he’d forget to lock the door behind him.
He didn’t.
The sun hung low in the sky, casting the sea and everything it touched in shades of red and orange. Torches were being lit along the docks. Soon, night would descend.
Rodrick did not want to risk waiting until nightfall to board the ship on which he was certain Muriel was being held captive.
He’d been watching from the shadows across the way for nearly half an hour. The men aboard were busy readying the ship to leave on the morrow. They called out and shouted to one another as they checked sails, masts and equipment.
’Twas a three-mast sailing vessel that could be powered by sail or oar. From Rodrick’s vantage point, he could see two platforms located on either end of the ship. The tall masts creaked and groaned as the ship lolled gently from side to side. Numerous ropes ran from the top of each mast to the rails. Thick rope ladders were draped on either side, from mast to deck.
Knowing they’d not leave until daybreak, he’d returned to the public stables to retrieve Caderyn. The horse was happy to be out of the stall and whinnied his approval. Rodrick had left him standing in front of a tavern not far from the ship with the order to stay. Caderyn snickered once before shaking his head disapprovingly. There were times Rodrick swore the horse understood every word he thought.
He returned to his spot in the shadows, keeping a close eye on the sky as well as the ship. Soon, a line of men began to roll barrels aboard, followed by men carrying crates. ’Twas the perfect opportunity to make his way aboard the ship unnoticed.
Grabbing a crate from the pile on the dock, he hoisted it onto his shoulder and made his way up the gangplank. A short man with weathered skin ordered him to take it below.
Following the men in front of him, he descended the stairs and left the crate with the others. But instead of following the men back to the stairs, he slid into the shadows, pressed against the wall, and waited. As soon as he was alone, he went in search of Muriel.
He half expected to find her chained in some dark corner. His search yielded nothing in the lower part of the ship. Leaving the stores, he found a narrow corridor lined with doors. He was about to turn left, when he heard a woman scream with terror.
The sound curdled his blood before turning it hot with fury.
Muriel knew she was staring into the eyes of a madman.
Captain Seamus Wallace.
He was a tall, brutish looking man, with dark blonde hair that fell past his shoulders. His bright hazel eyes fairly glimmered with anticipation. Without warning, he pounced on her at almost the exact moment he entered his chamber. Grabbing her about her small waist, he drew her toward him in a hard embrace. When she resisted — by clawing at his face — he shoved her onto the bed.
“I like a good fight before a good tumble,” he said with a smile. “Fight all ye want, lassie. Ye’ll still be mine before long.”
Before she could scramble to her feet, he was on top of her. She struggled against his kisses as he hurried to push her skirts out of the way.
She was not about to give in without a struggle.
Though he was taller and bigger than she, she summoned the courage to pound her fists against his arms and shoulders. “Let me go!” she cried.
“Nay,” he chuckled sinisterly. “Ye have been bought and paid fer, lass.”
From somewhere deep within, she found the strength and energy to scream. It started low in her belly before climbing its way out of her throat and mouth.
He chuckled again. “That’s it, lass. Scream fer me!”
Panic set in as she fought with all her might. Her fear, her pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears. If anything, they seemed to urge him on.
Suddenly, he stopped, his eyes growing wide with horrific astonishment. Muriel looked up to see a blade pressed against Seamus Wallace’s throat.
A deep voice spoke then, and it was not one she recognized. “If ye try to alert yer men, I’ll cut yer throat before ye can muster the courage to scream.”
Seamus Wallace swallowed hard before giving a quick nod of his head.
“Up with ye, nice and slow.”
It wasn’t until the captain was on his feet that Muriel could see whom the voice belonged to.
He was taller than the captain and younger by at least a decade. He did not look like he belonged on the ship, for he appeared clean and no whiskers lined his
face. A leather thong tied at his nape kept his brown hair away from his face. ’Twas his blue eyes that nearly sent her knees to knocking, for they were filled with murderous rage. She felt no relief at his actions, for she had no idea who the man was or why he was here.
He kept the dirk pointed at the captain, holding out his free hand. “Come, Muriel. I be takin’ ye home.”
Home? What home? She hadn’t had a home in years. She lay there in stunned disbelief. How did he know her name?
When she didn’t move, he chanced a quick glance her way, before turning back to the captain. “Charles has sent me fer ye.”
That was all she needed to hear to get her moving. If she weren’t still so terrified, she might have wept with joy. Charles! He did no’ ferget about me!
Quickly, she placed her hand in his as he gently pulled her off the bed. As soon as her feet hit the floor he realized she was just a slip of a woman. Her head, barely reaching his shoulders. As he shoved her behind him protectively she clung to his arm for dear life.
“Now, Captain, we will be leavin’ yer ship and ye’re goin’ to lead the way.”
Seamus glowered angrily at the two of them. “I paid fer her fair and square, lad. What makes ye think I will let ye leave this ship?”
Her rescuer took one step toward the captain, pinning him to the door with the blade once again pressed against his throat. “Because if ye do no’ cooperate, I will kill ye. It be that simple.”
His tone of voice, the way he stood so confidently, made even Muriel believe every word he spoke.
“What about the coin I paid fer her?” the captain asked.
The stranger who had come to rescue her grunted with disgust. “Consider it payment in exchange fer yer life.”
The captain began to protest until the blade was pressed more firmly against his throat. “Do ye wish to die now?”
He swallowed hard again and shook his head.
“Then turn around and lead the way above. And remember, I would just as soon kill ye as look at ye.”
Rodrick the Bold Page 2
