Reginald stopped in front of Percy so his belly was almost touching her nose. “I’ve been waiting for this one to wake. Ye dinna tell me how pretty this one was.” He raked his fingers through her hair before fisting a handful of it at the nape of her neck. “Look at me.”
Percy’s body went stiff, and she kept her eyes fixed downward. Sylvi yanked her arms against the ropes. They did not give at all.
Reginald trailed a hand down Percy’s face. “If ye willna give me the respect I deserve, maybe I should let my men break ye in. They were eager to see what I brought them.”
A tear dropped from Percy’s chin. Light from overhead caught it on its descent and made it sparkle like a falling gem. Sylvi’s body tensed with rage, so brilliantly hot, she was surprised it did not burn away her ropes. She would not stand by while Percy was raped.
“I wouldna do that if I were ye.” Ian spoke somewhere beside her.
Reginald glared up at him with irritation. “Why?”
“She’s a witch.” Ian’s voice was smooth as it had ever been, the lie falling from his lips like gold tinkling through a thief’s fingers. “She has great powers. It was she who created the potion for me to die and then come back to life. She has many potions and spells, but they only work because she is pure. Ye know what happens when ye take a witch’s purity, aye?”
Sylvi had to force herself to not turn her stare toward Ian. Was he helping Percy?
Reginald squinted at Ian and grunted, something akin to a wordless question.
“Yer prick withers and falls off, and yer bollocks pinch up into yer body.” Ian shrugged as though it were common knowledge. “From what I’ve heard at any rate.”
Reginald’s sharp gaze landed on Percy first, then he jerked his glare back to Isabel. “Is this true?”
Sylvi tensed for the reply. Isabel knew well enough Percy was no witch, that it was nothing more than a recipe of extracts and herbs.
“If she’s sent down below and raped by all those men, she will lose her power and ye’ll have a band of men who are ball-less and pissed.” Ian spoke carefully. He was spelling out Percy’s fate, making Isabel realize the full impact of it.
Reginald pinched Percy’s face harder in his hand, and a soft sob escaped her lips. Sylvi bit her tongue to keep from snarling out threats. It would only incite Reginald to make good on this claim.
Isabel watched all of this with an intense expression creasing her brows. “It’s true,” she said finally. The admission was spoken in a casual tone, as if she found the entire matter boring.
Reginald huffed out a sigh and released his hold on Percy.
Sylvi discreetly exhaled the breath she’d been holding. The idea of sweet Percy at the mercy of ruthless men who would laugh at her pleas. The most unbearable chasm of pain opened in Sylvi’s heart.
“Pity,” Reginald said. “She is beautiful.” He threw a cold smile over his shoulder. “Even more beautiful than ye.”
Isabel’s eyes narrowed, and she slowly stepped toward Percy as if she intended to see the truth for herself. “She’s always had more beauty than any one woman should.” Her arm lifted. It wasn’t until her fist drove downward that Sylvi saw the flash of a blade.
Percy. No.
Sylvi rocked the chair savagely to the side. If she could hit Isabel, throw off her aim.
Sylvi acted without thought and tossed herself to the right. Her actions were slow, thick, like those performed through water. The drug, she realized when she finally pitched over.
Something warm splashed across Sylvi’s face, metallic and salty in her mouth.
Blood.
She landed hard on the ground. Her body jarred at the impact, and her teeth clacked together. But still the chair remained intact.
Sylvi’s head swam in a murky sea of disorientation. Percy’s cry brought her back, thick with pain and helplessness.
Percy.
Sylvi couldn’t lose another friend. Not Percy.
The strong arms of the chair had remained solid through the fall, pinning the ropes more snuggly against Sylvi’s arms. She struggled against them, her determination renewed.
She had to save Percy.
Despite her attempts, all she yielded were helpless scrapes and squeaks of the chair against the wooden floor.
Her bindings would not give.
“Percy.” She jerked her head to the side to clear it of the wave of wild hair blocking her view.
Percy’s face hung forward and dripped with blood. So much blood. Puddling in her lap, smearing the bit of her face Sylvi could see.
Reginald threw his hand toward Isabel and caught her on the cheek with a resounding thwack. She staggered back, out of Sylvi’s line of sight. Out of her realm of even caring.
Sylvi writhed against her bonds, barely aware of their bite into her flesh. “Fight me, you bastard. Be a man and untie me.”
Reginald whirled on her and jerked her chair upright so quickly, the bones in her neck popped. He shoved his face into hers. Small, broken red lines showed under the skin on the large tip of his nose. “Dinna worry, ye’ll get what’s coming to ye soon.”
“Ian, take the other redhead down to the lads.” He shoved Ian in Liv’s direction. “Ye want to prove yerself to me? Give my boys their treat and stay to watch. Make sure ye take a go yerself.” He panted under the effort. “And aye, I’ll be asking to make sure ye did.”
Sylvi shook her head, and a cry lodged in her throat. “Don’t take her. Take me instead.”
She would be able to handle it. If she couldn’t fight them off, she would endure it. No matter what it took, she would find a way to help her ladies. And then she’d find a way to kill every one of the bastards.
Ian glanced at Sylvi, only a skim of a look, but she saw it. And so did Reginald.
He summoned the third man over with the flick of his fingers and indicated Liv. “Take this one down with him. Dinna leave her alone with him.” He arched an eyebrow toward Ian. “Until ye prove yerself, aye?”
Ian lifted his hands defensively and helped the man cut Liv’s ties. She tried to lift an arm to fight, but her movements were slow and inaccurate, her body still affected by the potion. Sylvi’s heart rent in her chest, and she screamed with all the hurt and anger and frustration and hate she had in her. She screamed until her throat rasped as though it would bleed. All of it for naught. The men carried Liv to the door and out of sight.
This time, Ian had not looked back.
Chapter 21
There had to be a way to get Liv out safely. Ian held her arm to keep her upright. He couldn’t help but notice her footsteps became more sure with each stair they descended. Or perhaps he just hoped it was so.
He wanted to tell her to be strong, to gather her wits to fight. The man who held her other arm watched him with suspicion. If Ian attempted any communication, the man would know.
He wished he recognized some of the other men. With how the marauders came and went through Reginald’s band, most of them thieves and beggars, it was not surprising how many did not stay.
The chatter of many voices came from below, and Ian’s heart slid a couple notches downward. There would be more men than he could fight himself. The volume alone told him that.
Conversation ceased as they neared the end of the stone staircase and was quickly replaced by whistles and leering jeers at the impending entertainment. The bitter taste of bile welled in the back of Ian’s throat.
He could not allow this to happen.
He scanned the abandoned church around him, seeking out the demons who resided in what was once hallowed ground. There were easily fifteen men in the room, including the one who held Liv with him. Now he recognized a few, the men he had fought against before he left the group. There were several others he noted as looking familiar, but no one he could appeal to for help.
“We’ve brought ye a lass to love,” a bald man said. “Be gentle.” It was the arse who had held down that woman
the day Ian attacked them.
Ian tensed.
The men all started to laugh. They pressed closer, their eyes sparkling with interest and lust.
Liv’s pulse raced beneath Ian’s fingertips. He could only imagine what was going through her mind. It all made him sick to his stomach. This could not happen.
“I’ll get through this,” she said softly. “I’ll be fine.”
It wasn’t until she squeezed the hand he used to hold her up that he realized she was talking to him. She was trying to reassure him.
He gritted his teeth.
If only he could have killed Reginald, if only he’d been able to attack the other man and somehow prevent them from even coming downstairs, if only—
But all the if only’s in Ian’s head did not stop the men from stalking forward, eager to see their prey.
The other man shoved Liv forward, and she was wrenched from Ian’s grasp. She staggered, but caught herself and immediately stood upright, a look of defiance glowing in her gray eyes.
Ian’s awareness prickled. Someone was behind him. Yet he did not turn. He did not want to pull his gaze from Liv. The person grabbed his hand and pushed something long and solid into his palm. A hilt.
Ian jerked around.
“No,” the man said.
Ian snapped his head forward but could not stop the kick of his heartbeat at the familiar voice. Kyle. His brother, two years his junior, who stood to inherit the estate with Ian gone.
“I dinna know what ye’ve gotten yerself into,” Kyle said. “But I’ve got yer back, brother.”
Ian gave a subtle nod and tried to shove aside all the questions welling in his mind. Why Kyle was there, how long he’d been with the men, what he was willing to do to help, if he knew what he was getting himself into. But none of that mattered now. Liv mattered, and the men who were circling her and fighting over who would be first.
Ian leaned his head to speak discreetly to his brother. “Claim her as yers before anyone else and give her a dagger. She can handle herself.”
Kyle shoved past Ian and strode out toward the men. Ian’s little brother had always been one of the largest warriors. Well over a head above all others and with a body roped with muscles most men would only dream of ever possessing.
“I dinna think I’ve had a chance to play this game.” Kyle squared his shoulders. The act seemed to make him swell even larger. “I want to go first.” He put a hand to his sword. “Unless one of ye lads has a problem with that.”
Ian’s heart pounded as if he were the one out there challenging all those men.
“Yeah.” A man with pale blonde hair and a singed beard stepped forward. “I do.”
He was a big man as well, but not big enough. Kyle smirked and waved him over.
The man didn’t step toward Kyle but to Liv, and caught her arm. Kyle opened his mouth to speak, but Liv’s arm flew up and caught the man in the face. A hearty crack filled the air, and blood poured from his nose.
Kyle stomped over to the man, his steps deliberately slow and heavy to accentuate his size. “I said she’s mine first.” He lifted his fist and brought it down on the injured man. The mercenary dropped like a stone and did not rise.
That was one down at least.
Kyle turned back to the others and raised his arm. Blood smeared his right hand. “Anyone else?”
Not a single objection came forward. Even the bald man who had held down the woman those months ago held his ground and would not come forward. Some of the more grizzled men stared with hatred at Kyle, wanting to fight but not stupid enough to try. Several of the weaker ones cast their gazes away, as if they didn’t even want to be caught looking at him and have it mistaken for a challenge.
Liv tensed and tried to step back, but Kyle grabbed her to him with a hard laugh. They were so close, her body pressed against his. He caught her hand and thrust it to his crotch. “Do ye feel that?”
Ian tensed, and fear blasted through him like ice. Was Kyle—
All at once, Kyle and Liv broke apart, both of them with blades glinting in the sunshine.
Ian caught an easy breath before brandishing the blade Kyle had snuck him. He’d almost forgotten what a convincing liar his brother could be. Lucky for them all, Kyle was an even better fighter.
Gone was the heavy slowness he’d exaggerated, and in its place were lightning fast strikes and the agility of a man half his size. Already one man had fallen, and Kyle was on another.
Ian lunged at the man who had helped bring Liv downstairs. He had his blade out too but was still easily overtaken.
Ian said a quick prayer between swipes of his blade. For this once-holy place would soon be filled with death.
•••
Sylvi fought against her bindings and tried to block out the sounds coming from below. The shouting and grunting.
Tears burned in her eyes. She’d hoped somehow Ian could have prevented Liv from having to endure such misery. Perhaps he tried.
A cold thread of fear tightened through her.
If Ian had tried, he might already be dead.
Percy had stopped crying, but her head remained bent. Sylvi stared hard at her and prayed she was not also dead.
So much death. All for her.
She’d sacrificed too damn much, and it left her soul leaden.
Reginald spoke to Isabel in low tones, too quiet for Sylvi to make out what he said. He stroked a hand over Isabel’s cheek, and she nodded. Sylvi didn’t know what the hell they were planning, but she didn’t like it.
In the time they talked, she had taken advantage of the opportunity to thoroughly scan the room.
The sunlight overhead indicated it was late afternoon. The room was large, with old bits of furniture pressed along the back, away from the stairs. In one far corner, she recognized their confiscated bags.
If she could get away, even for just a fraction of a moment, she knew she was fast enough to make it to her bag and grab a weapon. She could kill Reginald and escape Isabel. She could go to Ian. Down to help him and Liv, and either free them from capture or aid them in battle. She couldn’t stop thinking of them, wondering what transpired downstairs. Battle? Or their demise?
Her heart flinched.
The hum of Reginald and Isabel’s conversation fell quiet. Their gazes turned to her, and they approached. Sylvi’s body tensed.
“We’re discussing the best way to cut your bindings.” Reginald smirked. “I can’t have ye flying out at me like a hellcat, now can I?”
“Are you afraid of me?” Sylvi challenged.
Reginald scoffed. “I just want to ensure ye canna get away.”
Isabel lifted a heavy mallet and swung it at her. Sylvi jerked, but not with enough force to rock the chair, nor keep her from being struck. The mallet slammed into her arm, and something deep inside cracked. Pain splintered through her arm and radiated outward, searing as glowing embers.
No matter how hard Sylvi gritted her teeth, she could not bite back the scream. It rasped from her throat and brought tears hot to her eyes. She blinked them away and glared through the clearing blur to where Reginald watched with a smug smile on his face.
She would kill him.
Even with a broken arm.
For what he did to her family and to My Lady. And now also what he’d done to Liv and what Isabel did to Percy. All these years, she’d been so careful not to let anyone be too close. Yet he’d found those she cared about and hurt them all.
Reginald yanked the rope from the wrist of her injured arm, and spots of white danced in Sylvi’s vision. Her breath became shallow, and her lips prickled. A cold sensation washed over her skin. She floated above her body for a moment, vaguely aware of him shifting her arm, but no longer feeling any of the pain.
Sylvi was being moved, her consciousness fluttering between an exhaustive black and fuzzy white awareness. Something hard pressed against her back. A floor. She was on the floor.
&
nbsp; “Isabel, hold her down.” Reginald’s voice sounded in the distance.
It wasn’t until the jingle of a belt hit her ears that realization slapped her back into reality. Isabel leaned over her, and a grip settled hard on Sylvi’s good arm, securing her to the ground.
She looked up at the woman she had once called a friend. The woman she had risked the remainder of those she loved to save. “Why would you do this?”
Isabel turned a cold look downward. “Because you had everything I did not. Power, strength, camaraderie.”
“You have to earn those things, Isabel.” Sylvi tried to pull her arm free, to no avail. “We thought you were one of us. It’s why we came here—why we risked our lives. To save you.”
“I’m not one of you,” Isabel ground out through her teeth. “Not as strong as you, not as skilled as Liv, not as beautiful and talented as Percy. Always rejected, always used. I’m nothing with all of you, and I was never meant to be nothing—I’m the king’s cousin.” She tipped her head upright as if it bore the weight of a crown.
A rustling of fabric sounded from near Sylvi’s feet. She didn’t look to see what it was Reginald was doing. She didn’t want to see, could not see.
“If you felt like nothing, it was your own doing. We cared for you,” Sylvi said. “We risked everything for you.” She tried not to think of the immobile form of Percy nearby. Doing so ached too deeply in her heart.
Tears glistened in Isabel’s eyes. “It’s too late to say such things now.”
“How can you do this?” Sylvi gritted through her teeth.
Isabel shook her head and said nothing further.
Reginald’s hands moved over the ties of Sylvi’s trews. A shudder of revulsion wracked through her and sent a fresh wave of pain radiating from her arm.
“In that case,” Sylvi said, “I won’t feel bad about this.”
Highland Wrath Page 17
