by B. J. Scott
Following the guard’s demands, she stepped outside, pausing long enough for her eyes to adjust to the bright sunlight. Behind her, the tent was collapsed, the musty smelling canvas rolled before being secured to a packhorse. The speed with which the warriors tore down camp astounded her.
“Dinna make any sudden moves. Dungal told me to stop you any way necessary.” The guard slid his hand over the hilt of his sword.
“I understand.” Fallon’s search of the encampment stalled on the tree where Fergus had once been tethered.
Tears burned her eyes and a rush of emotion squeezed her chest. His lifeless body swung from a high branch, a rope around his neck. She crossed herself and offered up a silent prayer, hoping he had not regained consciousness before the execution. Her heart ached for Maeve and guilt hammered at her soul. He’d given his life in an attempt to protect her. A debt she’d never be able to repay.
“The same fate awaits the Bruce and his sympathizers. Best you keep that in mind.” Dungal clutched Fallon’s arm and dragged her toward his horse. In one swift move she was in the saddle. He hopped on behind her, then kicked his steed into a trot. The men fell in behind them.
“Nayyyyyyyy!” A woman’s hysterical cry echoed around them, but no one turned.
“Maeve,” Fallon whispered. “She was waiting for us to leave so she could tend to her husband.”
“The fool failed to consider the ramifications of his actions. He now leaves behind a grieving widow.” Dungal’s cynical tone held no hint of remorse.
“You are a heartless bastard, a kin to the Devil, and destined to spend eternity in Hell for your deeds.”
“Remember that and we will get along fine. I dinna have time to play games.” Dungal molded his chest against her back and growled in her ear. “Fergus was as good as dead, and I granted him a boon. He died a martyr like your uncle.”
His hot breath caressed her neck. She shuddered with disgust. Would he honor the threat made to his brother and slay any man who dared to get out of line? Did he include his own actions in the oath? The intimate press of his manhood against her backside and the rub of his muscular thighs against hers indicated otherwise.
Dungal kept a quick and steady pace, stopping only once so she could tend to her needs. They rode for hours, putting a fair bit of distance between them and Turnberry. But as the sun dipped behind the trees, he slowed his steed to a trot, eventually coming to a halt in a small clearing where he dismounted.
She tamped down the urge to dig in her heels and send the horse into a gallop. Despite her skill as a horsewoman, she knew she’d never outride a band of trained warriors.
“We’ll make camp here.” Dungal tipped his head back, taking in a cloudless sky. “The night will be fair. There’ll be no need for tents.” He moved to the left side of the horse and lifted her out of the saddle.
Dungal’s cousin approached, his eyes trained on Fallon. A suggestive grin curled his lips. “Where will the lass sleep?” He circled around her, sizing her up and down as if she were prize livestock at town auction. “I’d like to take her for a tumble when you’re done with her.”
“No one tups the chit.” Dungal balled his fists at his sides, his face flushed red and contorted with anger. “She will remain untouched. Her virtue—what little is left—will be my reward for a battle well fought. Providing she doesn’t do something to warrant it sooner. In any event, I will decide who beds her and when. Do I make myself clear?”
His cousin inclined his head and backed away. “Aye. Very clear.” He stormed off, grumbling beneath his breath.
“How dare you insult my honor?” Fallon raised her hand to strike him, but Dungal deflected the blow.
“My informant gave me more than enough reason to question your virtue. He reported what went on between you and Bryce Fraser during your stay at the Bruce’s camp.” Dungal’s lips spread to an evil grin. “If you knew I was in the Bruce’s camp, why did you not say so when you abducted me from the inn?”
“Your denial served to prove my point. You are a liar and canna be trusted. My spy also verified that you are not the innocent maiden you pretend to be. A night spent in the forest, performing lewd animal acts, hardly attests to your innocence.”
Heat rose in Fallon’s cheeks. “Your informant lied. Nothing indecent happened between Bryce Fraser and me. We got lost and it was too dark to travel.”
“I dinna care if you are chaste or not. I prefer my women with experience.” He fisted his hand in her hair then yanked her head back.
She stared into lust-filled eyes, causing her stomach to tumble. He captured her mouth in a ravenous kiss and forced his tongue past her lips. She bit down hard.
He yelped in pain, but refused to release his hold. He twisted her arm behind her back until she whimpered in pain then ravaged her mouth again.
When he finally let her go, Fallon staggered backward and wiped the smudge of his blood from her lips. “You’re a vile creature and I pray you rot in—”
“We’ve already established my destination.” Dungal’s sinister laugh rebounded off the rocky cliffs surrounding the glen. “I like a woman with spirit. Breaking you will be an enjoyable task.” His wry smirk quickly changed to a menacing glower. “Sit down and dinna give me any trouble. Killing you before I have the chance to sate my needs would be a shame.”
Standing atop Loudon Hill, Bryce surveyed the open area below. Made of volcanic rock, the high prominence was nestled amidst smaller hills and grassy moors. The strategic position offered an unimpeded view of the area in all directions and a man could see for several miles. At the foot of the hill was an expansive, flat plain surrounded by boggy marshland.
Here, Robert planned to confront Aymer de Valance. The place where eleven years ago, Wallace defeated the English Lord Fenwick, the man William believed responsible for his father’s murder.
When Bryce and his brothers were still lads, his cousin Simon told them about Wallace’s victory at Loudon Hill and of other pivotal battles in their war with England. He couldn’t wait until he was old enough to wield a sword and join the patriots on the battlefield. Now, he stood on the same ground where his cousin had fought shoulder-to-shoulder with William Wallace and won.
A blend of anger and grief filled him. He missed Simon and wished he were alive to see this battle. Bryce slammed a fisted hand against his open palm. With any luck, he’d have his chance to seek revenge on his behalf.
He joined Robert as he doled out orders to James and Alasdair.
“Take some men onto the plain and have them dig three long trenches. They must be deep enough for the men to hide and wide enough that the English horses canna jump them. Start at the edge of the bog surrounding Loch Gait and work inward, across the flatland.”
“Do you want them dug clear across?” James asked.
Robert shook his head. “Nay. You must leave several narrow gaps of solid ground. By doing so, we can slow the English advance and pick them off as they funnel through. Those who try to leap over the trenches will be impaled on our pikes.”
“Similar to the tactic used by Wallace at Stirling Bridge,” Bryce pointed out.
“Aye. The enemy outnumbers us five to one. If only a few can reach us at a time, our odds greatly improve. I learned a lot from William and men like your cousin Simon.” Robert lowered his head and crossed himself.
“We all did.” Bryce mimicked Robert’s show of respect, a lump forming in his throat.
Alasdair stepped forward. “Best we get started. I will take fifty men and begin the trenches. In a couple of hours, send replacements. By working nonstop we will complete the task well before de Valance arrives.”
“He is on his way. One of his men arrived a few minutes ago with a missive from de Valance.” John Kennedy moved to the front of the line and offered Robert a piece of vellum with the seal of England binding it closed.
Robert’s expression darkened. “How did he get into our camp and where is he now?”
“The messenger ar
rived under a flag of truce, and I was sure you would want to know immediately. Dinna fash. We have him confined and well guarded. We willna permit him to return to de Valance. He already knows too much,” John explained.
Robert snatched the missive and opened it. But as he finished reading the note, his rigid features softened into a wry grin. “Aymer has offered a challenge. Little does he know, that is exactly what I hoped he would do. I’ll draft a response and send it back. We will meet him two days hence.”
While Robert penned the note, Bryce’s thoughts drifted back to Fallon. There had been no mention of the MacDougall’s whereabouts and the last he’d heard, the blackguard was heading toward Turnberry. He prayed she was safe.
“The plan is a sound one.” Alasdair leaned closer to Bryce and nudged him in the ribs with his elbow.
Bryce grunted and shrugged. “What did you say?”
Alasdair tried unsuccessfully to rake his fingers through a matted mane of hair. “This is not a bairn’s game we play. Your head is in the clouds and you need to focus on the battle, not your woman.”
“You’re daft.” Anger heated his blood and with his pulse throbbing in his neck and hammering in his ears, Bryce stomped away, lest he let his brother feel the repercussions of his comments. He was fed up with Alasdair’s nagging and innuendos.
“Am I the one who is daft? You’re the fool who has been sulking around like a lovesick hound.” Alasdair grasped Bryce’s upper arm and spun him around. “If Fallon is not the cause of your distraction, then tell me what keeps you preoccupied both night and day.”
“Let go of my arm,” Bryce growled. He glared at Alasdair’s hands and fisted his own at his side to keep from lashing out at his brother. To his surprise, Alasdair released him and backed away.
“We will soon be headed into battle, but your mind is elsewhere. I’ll wager you dinna hear a word Robert said.”
“I heard Robert’s plan. His idea is feasible, but I still have some reservations. Everything has fallen into place too easily. But if all goes accordingly, I canna wait to see the shock on de Valance’s face when the tide is turned and he is caught in Robert’s web. Retaliation for Methven is all I have thought about for the last year.”
“The overpowering need for revenge can eat away at a man’s soul until there is nothing left. After the battle is over, you can return for Fallon. I imagine you’ll be wed not long after and before I know it, I’ll be an uncle again.” Alasdair slapped Bryce on the back. “Given the virility of Fraser men, Fallon may already be breeding.”
“She is not, and I don’t intend to return to Turnberry when this battle if over.” Bryce cut his brother off. “I will continue in Robert’s service until the English are driven out of Scotland. Then I will journey to France as I intended.”
“So you keep telling me.” Alasdair slid his hands over his belly and laughed.
“What is so humorous?” Bryce asked through gritted teeth as an image of his fist connecting with his brother’s jaw rose to his mind’s eye.
“You are, little brother. No matter how much you protest or try to deny the truth, your preoccupation with Fallon is evident. I dinna need her gift of second sight to foretell the future. As bleak as settling down with one woman may sound.”
James approached. “The messenger has been sent, accepting de Valance’s challenge. The English are camped about a mile from here, maybe more. They are not close enough to see the trenches being dug.”
“By the time they arrive for the skirmish, we will be ready for them.” Robert patted James on the back. “I have faith our time has finally come.”
“Do we have any word on the MacDougalls?” A rush of excitement and anticipation coursed through Bryce’s veins as it always did before a battle. He relished the idea of facing Dungal again. But concern for Fallon still niggled at his gut, a feeling of foreboding he was unable to shake.
“From what I was told, the MacDougalls are joining de Valance, but have yet to arrive. When they do, it will increase the enemy forces to over three thousand,” James replied.
“I have no doubt the MacDougalls will come. Rats always travel in packs,” Bryce added, then left the gathering.
Chapter 14
While some of Dungal’s men gathered wood and started a cook-fire in the center of the clearing, others piled dried leaves and fresh rushes, covered them with woolen plaids or animal pelts, and arranged the pallets in rows around the perimeter. The task of setting up the camp completed, Dungal left Fallon in the custody of a guard while he and his men imbibed in food and ale.
The rugged sentry towered over her. With his disheveled red hair hanging loosely around his shoulders he reminded her of Alasdair Fraser. He, too, presented the fierce façade of an unapproachable beast, but she’d seen through Alasdair’s gruff exterior to the gentle man inside.
“You’ll not give me any trouble. Try to run, and I’ll cut you down before you take your first step.” He slid his hand over the hilt of his sword. “Woman or no, I won’t hesitate to use my blade.”
“You take your duty seriously. Do you value your honor as a Scotsman as much?” There was no sign of compassion in his eyes, but she hoped if forced to make a choice, he’d opt for the latter.
Dungal had selected well. The guard stood at attention, staring straight ahead, and did not utter a word in his own defense. His expression was unreadable.
The spicy aroma of roasted meat wafting in the air caused her stomach to growl, providing a stark reminder she’d had nothing to eat or drink since breaking her morning fast. She licked her parched lips, imagining a dipper of cool water to sate her thirst, but quickly pushed the thought to the back of her mind. She refused to ask her captors for anything.
Dungal staggered toward her. “Leave us. I’ll watch the chit while you eat.” He dismissed the guard, and waited for him to saunter away before dragging Fallon to her feet. Amidst the bawdy comments and shouts of encouragement from his friends to take her where they stood, he snaked his arm around her waist. “Shall I do as they request?” he groaned in her ear.
She’d rather be struck dead than to suffer the humiliation of spending one minute wrapped in his arms. The notion of being physically claimed by her enemy made her skin crawl. Convinced if she showed him any sign of weakness he’d follow through with his threats, she steeled herself against his advances. “You told the men I was not to be touched. Have you forgotten, or do you not abide by your own demands?”
“I set the rules, m’lady, and I can change them.” He nuzzled his beard-roughened chin against her neck.
“So it appears.” She stiffened in his arms.
A chuckle rumbled deep in his chest, but his stern expression remained unyielding. “In all my days, I’ve never met a woman as outspoken or as irritating. Yet I find your tenacity intriguing.” He tightened his embrace. “I should have killed you when I had the chance, but like a burr under a horse’s blanket, you hold my attention and pique my curiosity. You are either a very clever temptress or a fool.”
“I am neither, sir. Before she died, my mam taught me to stand up for myself and to speak my mind, even against overbearing men. I demand you release me at once.” She tried to wriggle free, then pressed her palms to his chest and shoved. He may think her bold, but if he knew how terrified she was that he’d rape her, he might complete the deed. She pushed him again, but he remained steadfast.
Dungal grabbed her hands and twisted her arms behind her back until she released a whimper of submission. “You are my prisoner. Best you remember your place.” He let go of her wrists and pinched her cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look him in the eye. “Dinna delude yourself, woman. I can, and will, have you whenever I see fit to do so.” He released his grip, and she stumbled backward.
Fallon bit back the urge to further express her disgust at the idea of bedding Dungal, deciding it was better to hold her tongue rather than anger him further. In his drunken state, there was no telling how he might react.
/> “I am weary from the journey and need to rest.” She lowered herself to the ground.
“Is that so?” Dungal raised his brow. “You may share my pallet if you wish, or spend the night tied to the tree. The choice is yours.” Dungal crossed his arms over his chest and awaited an answer.
“I dinna consider those suitable options.”
“You are fortunate that I gave you any choice at all. Nonetheless, they are the only two you have. Either you select one, or I will do it for you.”
“I pick the tree.”
“Suit yourself. After we win the battle, you will no longer have a say in where you sleep—or with whom,” Dungal sneered as he summoned the guard. “Tie her to the tree and when you’re done, take her slippers as an added precaution.”
Twilight faded into night and the forest grew dark with ominous shadows shrouding the clearing. Except for the low drone of a conversation going on at the distant edges of the camp, the crackle of burning wood, and the warriors’ snoring, all was quiet.
Fallon shifted her position, trying to get comfortable, but with her back against a hard tree trunk, her efforts proved futile. Dew-laced fog swirled around her, dampening her clothing and hair. She tucked her bare feet beneath her gown and shivered. A plaid or pelt would shield her from the elements, but she would rather freeze than ask Dungal for anything.
She’d need her wits about her if she had any chance of getting away, albeit at this moment the possibility appeared bleak. Determined to make the most of her precarious situation, she inhaled deeply, allowing the scent of pine to calm her senses. Exhausted, she closed her eyes and drifted off.
“Do you plan to slumber the day away?”
The deep voice startled her. When someone nudged her with the toe of his boot, Fallon opened her heavy eyelids and found herself staring into the face of Dungal’s brother squatting beside her.
