Lords of the Isles

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  “Nay.”

  “How can you be certain?”

  “He is angry, aye, but I don’t think he will do anything to harm me. He cares about me deeply. Cared about my brother.”

  Macrath had his doubts on whether any of those reasons would hold the man back. If he thought it in her best interest, he may very well go through with a foolhardy plan. He didn’t trust the guard. Not even the slightest.

  “Even still, promise me you’ll watch your back when I’m not with you.” Which would be very shortly.

  Ceana nodded. “And you promise to do the same.”

  Macrath grinned. “Haven’t stopped since the day I could walk.”

  Ceana reached out and squeezed his hand. “Despite Victor’s interruption, I still had an amazing time with you. And I meant what I said.”

  “Lass, meeting you has been, by far, the highlight of my life.” He pulled her close and pressed a hard kiss to her mouth. He had an idea of what she wanted to hear, that he loved her, but he just couldn’t say it yet. Not when he planned to push her away at least for the next two games. He’d keep a keen eye on her, but other than that, once they reached the tents, he’d not speak to her again until they won. “Let us go.”

  They walked at a slow pace back to the tents, neither of them wanting to reach there and hurry up the punishment that was certainly coming. But all the same, when they walked beneath the gate, it felt entirely too quick.

  “No matter what happens here until the end—I will see you on the other side. We are one, Ceana.” Macrath’s chest felt like someone had sliced right into him, shredding his insides deliberately, excruciatingly. His troth to her was not a lie.

  “Now and forever,” she whispered, then let go of his hand and took a few steps away.

  The guards were waiting, snickers on their faces, just inside the gate. “Well, if it isn’t the Bitch and her dog.”

  Victor and Beatrice were not in sight, but he had a feeling they’d be waiting for him inside.

  The guards stepped forward, surrounding Ceana—the same who’d attacked her in the tent. “You’re coming with us, lassie.”

  Bloody fucking hell. It was worse than he could ever imagine. They would punish her and not him. Macrath stepped forward, but the guards were expecting it and the central leader—the one who’d actually attempted to violate Ceana before—pulled his sword, holding it against Macrath’s neck.

  “Believe you me, bastard, I want very much to slice this blade across your throat and watch you bleed to death. But I’ve orders not to do so. And, I’ve also orders to escort this fine, luscious piece inside. So, now you’ll need to step back and let me do my job, else you end up gutted, and she ends up speared by my cock from arse to throat.”

  Macrath bared his teeth, loathing that he was completely without options. If he chose to fight, he’d only end up dead and she’d still be dragged inside. He shifted his gaze to hers and was struck by the calm reflected there.

  “Let me go, Macrath,” she whispered. Her pallor had gone ashen, lips pinched tight and eyes glistening. But even still, she held strong.

  He couldn’t answer. Couldn’t say, all right, on with you, then, because he didn’t want her to leave with the vagrants. Didn’t want to see her hurt and he knew that was exactly what was going to happen. Tears pricked his eyes. Ceana put a calming hand on the guard who held his sword to his neck.

  “Please, take it away. I’ll go with you.” She nodded at Macrath, mouthed the words I’ll be all right, and then turned her back on him.

  She walked willingly toward the castle, the other guards surrounding her. Voluntarily provided to her own punishment—his punishment.

  Mo chreach, he was gutted.

  The one with his sword to Macrath’s throat remained a few moments longer. He laughed in his face and then removed the sword from his neck, but only to punch him in the gut with the hilt.

  His vision went red with anger and it was all he could do to keep himself from launching forward and pummeling the man to the ground. Macrath looked up, eyes bulging, and said with determination, “I will see you bleed.”

  “Ha! Not bloody likely.” The vile man followed his cohorts, whistling as he went.

  *

  Ceana kept her body stiff as she was led into the great hall of the castle. Her face was placid, though it was hard to hide her shock at not being assaulted by the guards before arriving. She was certain she was about to be raped.

  The great hall was lit with candles, and warmed by a fire. She felt her bones starting to melt and she’d not realized how cold she’d been outside. On the beach with Macrath she’d been warm, but the scene with Aaron and then with the guards had chilled her blood to the point of ice.

  The guards left her alone in the empty hall to await her uncertain fate. Her knees knocked together, and she locked them tight to keep them still, which only made her dizzy.

  She shifted on her feet, feeling a thousand eyes on her and wondered just how many stared at her through spy holes in the walls.

  “Apologies for keeping you waiting, Laird MacRae.” The syrupy sweet voice belonged to an elegant woman who glided, rather than walked, from a rear door until she was within a few feet of Ceana. “I hope you’ve not been here overlong?”

  Ceana shook her head, not wishing to speak, as she was certain her voice would croak and show her weakness.

  “I am the Countess of Argyll.”

  “My lady,” Ceana managed to murmur, and dipped her knees to curtsy, swaying slightly. Rather than bowing to this heinous woman, she would have liked to scratch her eyes out and worse, tie her to a post and lash her as many times as she’d done to Macrath over the course of his life. But, alas, ’twas not possible at that moment.

  “Oh, my, you look positively awful. Are you feeling well?” The cruel smile she gave said she knew precisely that Ceana was indeed not feeling well at all.

  “I am fine.”

  “Hmm… Well, in any case…” She clapped her hands together giving the impression she was about to gossip with her, and whirled on her heels. There was something completely unstable about this woman. It was terrifying. “I have a surprise for you. Have you met my son?”

  The countess’s gaze flicked behind Ceana, and she could hear subtle boot heels click over the wooden planked floor.

  “Indeed, Mother, we have met.” He slid up beside Ceana and patted her backside, which made her skin crawl.

  “How wonderful. Now off with you two. Enjoy your day together.”

  “Wait, what? I’m not going anywhere with you.” Ceana stabbed daggers from her eyes in Victor’s direction.

  Leticia gave a mock sob, drawing Ceana’s attention back around. “Oh, but you see, my dear, you are. Today is a celebration day for everyone, and it just so happens that Lady Beatrice allowed Victor to choose the woman he wished to spend his day with. He chose you.” The woman floated out of the great hall using the same entrance she’d used when she arrived.

  Victor’s fingers curled around her upper arms from behind, biting painfully into her flesh.

  “No!” Ceana cried.

  But he paid no attention to her lamentations. Victor propelled her backward, whirling her to face him, looming overly close to her visage. In her panic, there appeared to be two or three of him.

  “Shut your mouth, wench, or I’ll see it shut for you.”

  She didn’t care for his words, and struggled against him. When she’d thought to be raped by the guards, she’d still planned to fight, abhorred the very idea of it, but by Macrath’s own flesh? She would never be able to live with that. Victor slapped her hard on the face with the back of his hand, momentarily stunning her.

  “What’s all this?” Lady Beatrice’s cool, calm voice broke through the churning of Ceana’s terror.

  “My lady,” Victor said, amiably. “You gave permission for me to enjoy one of the entrants of my choosing.”

  “Not her. You’ll have to do with another.”

  “But, my lady—�
�� he faltered.

  Lady Beatrice let out a great sigh. “Oh, all right, now you may have no one. You see? I do not tolerate those who would argue against me. Now be off with you, vile creature.”

  When Victor remained rooted in place, his clutch digging bruises into Ceana’s arm, Lady Beatrice shouted, “I said leave.”

  The boom of her voice shook the rafters and even made Ceana’s knees knock together.

  Victor hurried after wherever his mother had disappeared to, leaving Ceana alone with the woman who’d only the night before abused Macrath so cruelly.

  “Come. You may spend the rest of the day and night sleeping on a feather-tick.”

  Ceana could have fainted. Maybe she had, for certainly her head was not receiving the right messages. She had to have heard wrong. “Pardon?”

  “You heard the right of it, Laird MacRae.” Beatrice smiled heartlessly. “Seems that having you in here is stirring up quite a bit of trouble outside with your bastard warrior.”

  Ceana did not comment.

  “But, I owe your mother enough to give you a nice night of rest before tomorrow. And I rather like that he’s fuming madder than a cornered adder.”

  Macrath was nothing like a snake. He was more like a wolf, ready to tear into the guards who kept him separated from her. Ceana just prayed he didn’t get himself killed in the process. A shiver stole over her and she rubbed vigorously at her arms.

  “Why do you owe my mother?” Ceana asked.

  Lady Beatrice cocked her head and squinted her eyes, studying Ceana for a moment. “I do not wish to share that with you now. Follow me.”

  Ceana dreaded every step she took in the council woman’s wake, but did not see that she had any other choice. She dared not argue either, fearing what the retribution from Lady Beatrice would be.

  Up the winding stair they went, and through an unlit corridor to the third door on the left. Beatrice swung the door open. “There you are.”

  Ceana stepped inside the cold room. The hearth was bare, no candles lit. An old bed covered in a dusty plaid blanket sagged against the far wall.

  “You’ll have to make do without a fire. After all, you’ve not one outside, but at least a good bed for you. Cannot have you spinning tales of cozy hearths and maids to wait upon you. Good night.”

  Good night? It was not nearly the nooning.

  The door closed and there was an audible click from the outside as Beatrice locked her in.

  Chapter Twenty

  “I need to speak with the council! Get me Lady Beatrice!” Macrath’s face felt swollen and full of bruises. His lip was bleeding and at least a couple of his ribs were cracked, but that didn’t stop him from demanding entrance to the castle and access to the woman who held his lass prisoner.

  Dear gods, but what had been done to poor Ceana? His love… She’d not re-emerged the whole night through.

  “Och, quit your whining, you cunt. We’ll not be getting her for you, and best heed our warnings else we beat you into a stupor again.” The guards made rude arm gestures.

  Macrath growled and returned the arm signals. “Fuck you, you limp-cocked arseholes! I’ll not be leaving—”

  “What is all this racket?” The heavy wooden door creaked open and Lady Beatrice stepped onto the stone platform at the top of the stairs dressed as though she were attending a royal procession and not games of death. “Oh, I see.” She smiled. “Why, Macrath, you’ve had a pleasant run in with the guards.”

  “Where is Ceana?”

  “Ceana?” She cocked her head, playing coy, only making him madder than hell.

  “Where. Is. She.” The crunch of his teeth grinding echoed in his ears.

  “She’s right here.” Lady Beatrice opened the door, reached inside and tugged Ceana out.

  For the first time in his life, Macrath’s knees buckled in relief. She looked a little scared, but there were no other marks on her other than what he’d seen the day before. He prayed that meant she’d not been hurt. Ceana made a move to descend the stairs when he reached out for her, but Beatrice held her back.

  “Ah-ah-ah,” she chided. “Men to their lines. Women to theirs. Game four begins.”

  Macrath pushed to standing, hungrily taking in Ceana’s tiny form, and the pleading look in her eyes. All the thoughts he’d had the day before about staying away from her had ceased to exist the moment they took her away.

  The horn blew and then there was a scrambling all around him as both the entrants and the guards hurried to their places, most suffering from illness caused by imbibing on too much wine and rich food the day before.

  Lady Beatrice hooked her arm through Ceana’s and took her down the stairs, marching her right past him, a crooked smile as she went. The woman was tormenting him. Ceana looked behind her, their gazes locking. I am well, she mouthed.

  He was so relieved he could have seen double. His stomach rolled, limbs shook. He’d been coiled so tightly for just under a full day, and now it was all coming unraveled.

  His booted feet were heavy as he slogged through the mushy ground. He slowly approached the lines and the horn blew once more. He was rewarded with a swift kick in the rear from one of the guards, but he didn’t falter, just added their face to his memory—the record he was making of all the guards who’d pay once he was Prince of Sìtheil.

  “The time for celebrating has come to an end!” one of the male council members shouted.

  Macrath searched the women for Ceana, finding her in the back of her ranks right where she should be. Judith was patting her tenderly on the shoulder.

  Lady Beatrice approached the dais, and addressed the crowd of entrants. “Today’s game will see your numbers greatly diminished. Today is a day of reckoning. A day of being reborn. Today is your drowning.”

  Macrath’s gaze shot from Ceana to the dais. His heart kicked up into his throat. Drowning? She couldn’t be serious! But there was no smile on her face, nor that of the council members. He chanced at glance back at Ceana and her eyes were wide and frightened. Bloody hell… Lips in a flat, determined line, he nodded at her, hoping to give her some assurance that they would make it through, but all the while inside he was clawing his way out of an imaginary, frigid loch.

  “As you all were enjoying Samhain, we went amongst you and chose pairs. There are two rounds in this game—the victim and the savior. Each of you will have your chance to play a part—that is, if you make it past round one. In each round, the victim will be tied at the hands and feet, weighted, and pushed into the loch. The savior must find the victim in the water, free them and bring them to safety. If you pass round one alive, you will switch places. There are an uneven number of you, twenty-two females and twenty-five males, so some of you may count yourself lucky, or not, that you can wait to pair with someone whose partner has failed. If you should both survive, you will move on to the final game. If one of you does not survive, then you will be paired with another of the same fate. If you die… well, may the gods be forever in your ethereal favor. To the pier!”

  The group of men and women trudged somberly through the arched gate, some murmuring that they knew not how to swim. Macrath would not be surprised if their numbers were cut in half, or more, before the morning was out. Forty-seven entrants to start; how many to end? He slowed, letting those in the back of the male ranks file past him so that he could walk beside Ceana.

  “Keep it moving, Macrath. Do not fret over the lass, she’ll be your partner,” Beatrice said cheerfully as she rode by on a shiny brown mare.

  Shock chilled his blood. He would have to save Ceana from drowning, and she him.

  Unlike many of the days when they had clouds shadowing the sun, today the glowing orb burned bright, warming them. The water would still be cold. Enough to numb limbs. If left in the water for more than a few minutes, many would begin to take a chill that couldn’t be thawed. He’d seen men die of the affliction in the Firth by his father’s castle.

  But by pairing him to Ceana, Beatrice had given him
a rare gift. He now had the power to save her. They walked across the moor toward the rocky shores of the loch, descending over natural stone steps. Down the beach they marched, toward the long pier that headed out to a deeper part of the loch. The five council members sat their horses in a row gazing at the entrants. Four guards stood at the far end of the pier beside barrels.

  “Four pairs at once. We’d not want to be at this all day.” Lady Beatrice beamed with merciless. She nodded to her fellow councilmen.

  One pulled a scroll from where it had been tucked into his belt and handed it to her. She unrolled the parchment and listed eight names. None of which were Ceana and Macrath. She’d make them wait, he had a feeling. Beatrice was like that, tormenting in any way she could. Hell, had she not kept Ceana within the castle all the night to tear him apart inside? After a night full of angst and no sleep, he should barely be able to function, but instead, a rush of energy was forcing its way through his veins. He wrenched his neck, trying to look through the small crowd of entrants for a tiny red-haired lass.

  Did Ceana even know? Just as he thought it, he felt her slide beside him. “We are paired,” she said, answering his internal question.

  He resisted the urge to tuck her close. Right now Judith stood in front of her, hiding her from the view of the council, but any move from him would make it obvious. “Aye. We’ll survive.”

  She sagged against him and let out a sigh. “Can you swim?”

  “Aye, lass, verra well.”

  Another deep sigh. “Good, me, too.”

  “ ’Tis more the cold, and how long it takes me to get to you. The water looks murky.”

  “We’ll survive,” she repeated his earlier words. The backs of her fingers brushed over his, and he caught them in his grasp, squeezing tenderly.

  “Aye. That we will. And then they will all pay.”

  “Aye.” Grim conviction filled her voice. Once named Prince and Princess of Sìtheil, they’d be a force to be reckoned with.

  They watched as the four female entrants were bound at their ankles and at their wrists behind their backs—the rope so tight it cut into their flesh. Two of the women sobbed, the other two looked on stoically, determined. After they were bound, sacks of rocks were tied to their wrists—heavy enough to cause one of the women to waver. Each male was handed a dirk to cut the rope and weights once in the water.