by B. J. Scott
Fallon slid her hands down the front of her gown. “Have you something I can write on?”
“A verbal list will suffice.”
“Very well. Instruct your man to collect foxcote, tansy, comfrey, willow bark, and henbane. I also require some clean water and a pot for boiling. Once I’ve taken care of Keith, I will check on the others who were injured.” Treating the enemy might be considered treason by some, but she forced herself to view them as men who needed her help and nothing more.
“I’ll see it done.” Dungal summoned one of his clansmen and repeated her list. “Fetch these things at once.” He returned his attentions to Fallon and cocked a brow. “You can write?”
“Aye. I can read and write. Despite the fact I was born a lass, my parents believed it was important for me to learn all I could.”
“You are full of surprises, lass. Most women possess neither the interest nor the need for such skills, and I agree, the less they know the better.”
“You are as crude and archaic as the men who believe woman hold no value and consider them nothing more than chattel.”
“Women are good for two things—bedding and bartering. If we dinna need them for breeding and pleasure, we could do away with them all together.” Dungal lifted a strand of her hair and rubbed the lock between his fingers. “The educated women I’ve met are usually of noble blood. With your raven locks and mysterious sapphire eyes, you put me more in mind of a gypsy.”
“I have no royal ties. My parents were both born in Scotland and were proud of their heritage.” Fallon inclined her head and raised her chin. “Unlike some people I’ve had the misfortune of meeting.” She had nothing to lose by speaking her mind. “I canna understand how you can turn your back on your country and betray your heritage.”
“Scotland is and will always be my homeland. I dinna turn my back on my country. I chose to oppose a murderer and a scoundrel. Robert the Bruce is no more the King of Scotland than I am.” He spat on the ground. “He killed John Comyn, my kinsman, and the only man who stood in his way. For that crime, he will never be accepted by all of the clans. Those who remain loyal to the heirs of King John Balliol will always contest the Bruce’s claim to the throne.”
“You may have reason to oppose the Bruce’s right to govern Scotland, yet you kill innocent people and persecute your countrymen in the name of the English King. The same man who has kept his oppressive thumb on this country for so many years.”
“When the Bruce is defeated, I will take my stand against the English. For now, it serves me well to keep them at my side. Best you curb your tongue,” Dungal growled and grabbed her chin between his fingers.
“I speak the truth and am not afraid to do so.”
Dungal laughed. “Nothing appears to frighten you, does it? Your spirit and temerity intrigue me.”
“I have nothing to fear but the wrath of God and what might happen if I dinna live in the kind and decent way He intended.”
“Mayhap you should worry about what I have in mind for you when I finally get you alone. I have no doubt you’ll be a wildcat when bedded.” Dungal grabbed the crotch of his trews and thrust his hips. “It’s been a while since I rutted with a whore.”
Rather than cower, Fallon met his stare with equal intensity. “I’m no whore, and I dinna dread something that is never destined to happen. Bryce will come for me, and you’ll not have a chance to do anything more than to beg for your life.”
Anger flared in his dark eyes. “I grow tired of your belligerence.” Dungal’s glower spoke volumes. “Dinna challenge me, or you’ll regret the result. When I am finished with you, the name Bryce Fraser will be stripped from your mind like the clothes from your back.”
“I would rather be hanged. You will never be half the man Bryce is in thought or deed. You—”
Dungal’s fingers snaked around her throat, cutting off her air. “I could snap your neck like a twig if I so choose. But I think the time has come for me to teach you a well-deserved lesson in obedience and servitude.” Dungal tossed her over his shoulder and carried her across the camp.
“Put me down!” With her feet tethered, she was unable to kick, but that didn’t stop her from flailing in his arms or from pounding her fists on his back. She’d not go easily.
“Haud yer wheest or I’ll cut out your tongue.” Dungal tightened his grasp. “Get out of my way,” he growled at a man who stood in their path. He threw back the flap of his tent, placed her feet on the ground, then shoved her inside. “I am not to be disturbed.”
Bryce crouched in the bracken and watched the activity going on in the MacDougall encampment. His heart leapt at the sight of Fallon engaged in a verbal battle with Dungal, but rage clawed at his chest when the blackguard carried her to his tent.
Fallon was in danger, but he had to keep his wits about him. Drawing on every ounce of self-control, he refrained from rushing headlong into the midst of his enemy with his sword drawn, demanding her release.
He had to do something to help her, but the wrong decision might get her killed and put the entire rescue party in jeopardy. His strength of will waning, he reluctantly backed away and rejoined his comrades.
“Did you spot Fallon?” Alasdair kept his voice low, even though they were well out of their enemy’s earshot.
“Aye. Dungal holds her prisoner in a tent at the north end of the clearing. I say we storm the camp now.” On edge, Bryce tensely shifted his weight and clenched his hands into tight fists.
“I know you’re anxious, brother, but if we hope to free Fallon, we must exercise caution. How many men does Dungal have? I fear if we dinna make haste, the bastard will violate her.” Memories of Ashlen flashed before his mind’s eye, her screams echoing in his head.
Alasdair was the voice of reason. But Bryce’s concern for Fallon threatened to override all logic. “There are fifty, mayhap sixty armed warriors. Less than I expected. They suffered more casualties in the battle than we thought, or he has sent some of clansmen on to Galloway ahead of them.”
Alasdair’s brow furrowed. “Either way, they outnumber us five to one.”
“Aye, but one Scot is better than a dozen ordinary men,” Bryce responded quickly.
“That would be so if we were confronting the English. Don’t forget we are dealing with the MacDougalls, a Scottish clan who have struck fear in the hearts of those who oppose them for centuries. Fallon is also Dungal’s captive, which complicates things.”
“I dinna need you to remind me.” The mention of Dungal’s name in conjunction with Fallon’s caused Bryce’s blood to boil. “What do you suggest we do? We canna stand by and let him have his way with her.”
“Darkness will be upon us within the hour. I propose we wait and—”
“We canna delay that long. There is no telling what might happen to Fallon if we wait. If you won’t help me, I will go after her alone.” Bryce threw his hands in the air and began to roam like a cornered animal. “For all we know, he might be ravaging her as we speak.”
“Then we are already too late to stop the vile deed. But we can still save her life.” Alasdair placed his hand on Bryce’s shoulder. “Calm yourself and hear me out, brother, before you run off and get yourself killed. Once I’ve stationed the men in the forest, I will ride to the edge of the encampment and shout out a war cry. The MacDougalls won’t be able to resist the challenge. When they give chase, I will lead them into the woods to be picked off by our waiting archers. The light of full moon will prove beneficial to the task.”
“What will I be doing while you lead this fool’s mission?”
“You’ll take up a position in the brush behind the tent and when the time is right, cut through the back and rescue Fallon. We will kill as many of Dungal’s men as possible and keep the rest busy so you and Fallon can escape.”
Bryce shook his head in frustration. “I just hope we are not too late.”
“Take off your gown.” The expression on Dungal's face was lethal and his words ripped through F
allon like a blade.
“I willna.” She brought her hand to her throat.
“You heard me. Do as I instructed.”
“And if I refuse?” She raised her chin in defiance.
“Then I will do it for you.” Dungal took a menacing step forward. “Take it off now, or I will rip it from your body and take you where you stand.”
In spite of her desire to resist, Fallon reached for the laces of her gown with shaky fingers. Better to buy herself some time rather than to anger him further and invite the inevitable. Dungal would not go easy on her.
“Now!”
Fallon pulled the gown over her head and dropped it onto the floor beside her. A fine linen kirtle was all that kept her from standing naked before him. Heat rose in her cheeks and she refused to look him in the eye. She jumped when he grabbed her wrists, secured them with a rope, then tied the ends to the rafter of the tent.
Without saying a word, Dungal went to his trunk, pulled out a clay jug, and drank deeply. He dragged the back of his hand across his mouth then retrieved a tin cup and filled it to the brim.
He returned to her side and held her head steady. “Drink.” He pressed the rim of the small tankard to her mouth. “The whiskey will relax you and make you more agreeable.”
Fallon sputtered. “I have no taste for spirits, and I’ll agree to naught.” She pursed her lips, the liquid dribbling down her chin.
“Why must you torment me? I cared for your brother and the wounded as you requested, I’ve committed no crime, yet you continue to hold me captive.”
“Dinna fash. I’ll not keep you much longer. Once I take Bryce Fraser into custody and have sated my needs with you, I plan to turn you both over to Longshanks.”
Stretched above her head, her wrists and arms ached, the circulation cut off by the ropes that bit into her flesh. Already well into his cups, and beginning to stumble on his feet, Dungal downed the contents of the tankard for the third time. At this rate, she could only hope he’d be too drunk to follow through with his threat to bed her.
“You can make this easy on yourself and come to me willingly, or I can take you with force. The choice is yours.” Dungal removed his tunic and loosened the cord at the top of his trews.
“Please me,” he said, “and I will request that King Edward forgo the ritual of purification by pain routinely done prior to the execution of traitors.”
Her eyes widened, but she said nothing.
Grinning, Dungal added, “Have you ever attended a hanging? The more you struggle, the tighter the noose becomes. Robbed of air, your lungs burn until you are certain your chest is about to burst.” He paused to pour another drink before he continued.
“However, if the Almighty is merciful, your neck will snap when you drop from the gallows. Being hanged is a terrible way to die.” Dungal concluded his macabre tirade, and pinched her chin between his finger and thumb, forcing her to look at him. “Beg me to bed you, and mayhap I’ll ask the king to give you to me for service rendered. I’m sure you could bear me many fine sons. For Fraser to go to his death knowing you warm my bed and grow round with my bairn is a fitting punishment.”
Fallon lowered her head and her gaze trailed the ground. The thought of a slow and agonizing death sent chills down her spine. Longshanks’ reputation for heartless and cruel forms of punishment was well known, but despite her fear, she refused to surrender. She would endure the torture Dungal described, and if the Almighty deemed it so, go willingly to her grave. But she’d not go willingly to his bed.
“Bryce won’t allow that to happen. He will come for me.”
“If Fraser tries to save you, he will meet the same fate as your uncle.” Dungal’s sinister laugh made her cringe. “First, I’ll enjoy making him watch as I repeatedly fill you with my seed,” he hissed and moved so close that his hot, whiskey-tainted breath brushed her cheek. “Then I’ll see him hanged, drawn, and quartered.”
“The only reason you wish to bed me is because you know I love Bryce and despise you with every fiber of my being.” She could not believe what she’d just said, but it was too late to take it back.
“I beg to differ, my dear. You are indeed a bewitching creature. I grow hard thinking about burying myself deep within you.” He ran the pad of his thumb over her lips then dropped his hand and cupped her woman’s mound. “I’d wager the wetness of your arousal is as thick and sweet as honey. I canna wait to spread your legs and taste for myself.”
“You’re a filthy, vulgar swine. How dare you speak to me of such lewd things?”
“I plan to do more than just speak of them. You may even find you enjoy it.” Dungal nonchalantly blew on his fingernails and then brushed them across his bare chest.
“I will never give myself to you.” She spat in his face. His response was a swift backhanded slap that left her hovering on the edge of consciousness.
“If I decide to keep you for my personal enjoyment, that attitude is something a few good beatings will rectify soon enough.”
With one hand, he cupped her breast and squeezed. With his other hand fisted in her hair, he snapped her head back and his mouth came down on hers in a harsh, rapacious kiss. He licked the blood from her split lower lip and glared at her like an animal prepared to devour his prey. “Like it or not, you will comply or I will teach you to obey.”
“You’ll have to kill me first.” Tears welled in her eyes, but she managed to blink them away. She’d not give in to his demands. Were her hands and feet not bound, she’d fight with every ounce of strength she could muster.
“That’s bold talk given the fact that you are my prisoner. Your death can easily be arranged, but not until I am fully sated.” Dungal picked up his tankard, drank to the last drop, and slammed it down on a wooden trunk. Drawing his dirk from its sheath, he methodically ran his finger along the blade. An evil smirk tugged at his lips as he raised the weapon above her head.
Fallon prayed that he would plunge the weapon into her heart and end this torture here and now. Instead, he cut the ropes he’d used to tie her to the rafters of the tent, releasing her arms. To her amazement, he severed the bonds on her feet as well.
She dropped to her knees and tried to crawl away, but he twisted her hair around his fist then dragged her kicking and clawing toward the pallet in the corner of the tent. He forced her to lie down, using the weight of his body to hold her in place. With bated breath, she braced for what was about to happen next.
With the dirk clenched between his teeth, Dungal clasped her wrists with one hand and jerked them above her head before slitting the front of her kirtle.
“You’re lovelier than I imagined,” he groaned as he peeled back the fabric, exposing her naked flesh. He fondled her breasts, roughly rolling the nipple between his fingers, and then lowered his head, nipping at her neck. “The time has come for you to learn your lesson.” His mouth crashed down upon hers.
Fear squeezed her chest and nausea rolled in her belly, but she refused to beg him for mercy. Instead, she glared up at him. “When Bryce comes, I hope he lops off your ballocks before he runs you through.”
“Silence!” Dungal growled. “You will lay there and allow me to breed you or so help me, I will beat you into submission.”
From his vantage point, Bryce heard their entire conversation. Like a volcano ready to erupt, rage welled from deep in his gut. He fought the urge to tear into the tent and run the bastard through. But to do so would only put Fallon in more danger. He had to wait until the members of the rescue party were in their places, leaving him no choice but to listen and hope that if he was too late to stop the bedding, he’d be in time to her life.
He’d seen too much death and suffering in his travels to remain a religious man, but out of desperation, he lowered his head in prayer.
“Lord, if you’re there, please keep Fallon strong. Make her understand that whatever he does to her doesn’t matter. Keep her alive and I’ll do whatever bidding you see fit.”
An ear-piercing war
cry cut through the air as Alasdair broached the edge of the encampment. Bryce sprang into action.
“What the Hell is going on out there? I told those imbeciles that I was not to be disturbed,” Dungal growled. “I best go and see what’s amiss.”
Bryce quickly made his way to the back of the tent and waited, giving Dungal sufficient time to check things out and hopefully leaving Fallon unattended. Relief washed over him when he saw the shadow of a figure at the rear of the tent move toward the front. So far, the plan to distract Dungal appeared to be working.
“What goes on out here?” Dungal bellowed.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, cousin,” a man at the front of the tent said, “but someone entered the south end of the camp.”
Satisfied Dungal was occupied, Bryce swiftly used his dirk to cut a hole large enough to climb through.
“Do you know who it was?” Dungal asked.
“It could be a spy sent by the Bruce to determine our location or mayhap a drunken thief. We willna know until we catch the bastard,” the man replied.
“Was he alone?”
“I have no idea, but several of our men went after him. Do you wish more to follow?”
“Do what is necessary to capture the bugger. Make haste and dinna disturb me again. There’s a flower to be picked, and I grow tired of waiting.”
“Take a dozen men, follow the blackguard, and bring him back for questioning. The rest of you are to stand guard. Dungal is not to be bothered again this night,” the man shouted.
While Dungal issued orders to his men, Bryce seized the opportunity to climb through the opening he’d cut in the back of the tent. His eyes met with Fallon’s and he brought his finger to his lips as a warning for her to remain silent as he moved with stealth to her side.
Fallon threw her arms around his neck and kissed him repeatedly. “I knew you’d come for me,” she whispered.
