by Diana Cosby
“We had best nae tarry.” Lachllan turned his horse and started up the bank.
With a sigh, she followed.
As they cantered toward Ravenmoor Castle, a cool gust whipped across her face. Icy pricks danced over her skin, and the lightness of moments ago faded. Where was Nicholas? Had he reached her brother in time? Unease filled her as she remembered Dunsten’s vow to avenge Giric.
The ground raced past her in a steady cadence. She drew in a deep, steadying breath. Please let them both be safe.
Brambles cluttered the edge of the forest as they closed like macabre sentinels to the silver birch and elm. Moments later, they rode into the deformed shadows of the trees.
A bird screeched in the distance.
On edge, she scoured the surrounding woods. Naught except for the snap and pounding of their mount’s hooves. “Lachllan?”
He rode up by her side. “Aye?”
“I do nae—”
Sticks cracked and hooves pounded in their wake.
Elizabet turned, gasped.
A large band of men galloped at their heels, their banner well known.
Lord Dunsten.
From the riders pouring through the trees, they were outnumbered three to one.
“Ride, lass!” Lachllan shouted.
Heart pounding, she dug her heels into her mount.
Behind her, the clash of steel melded with cries of death.
Elizabet turned.
Dunsten’s men fought with the knights in back of her ranks. Horses screamed as they collided. Riders tumbled from their mounts and their blood stained the earth. Those riding ahead of her turned to join the fight.
“Go!” Lachllan yelled, waving her away.
Elizabet hesitated. Then she withdrew her blade. “I will nae leave my men to die!”
An attacker charged her, then another. Panic grew as Dunsten’s men swarmed around her like hornets.
She slashed toward the closest intruder.
The attacker pulled back.
“Lachllan!” She swung her sword at her aggressors in a wide arc.
Lord Dunsten’s knights kept their distance, but managed to separate her from the protection of her guard.
Enclosed by the warriors, Elizabet caught but glimpses of the skirmish beyond, sickened as the earl’s knights slaughtered her men with savage indifference. Bedamned!
A break opened within the wall of men.
She kneed her horse forward.
A curt order rang from one of the knights; the warriors sealed off any chance of escape.
Panicking, Elizabet whirled her mount.
Their blades readied, the knights held.
The cry of steel gradually stilled, and the forest fell into a macabre silence.
“Pull back,” the earl ordered.
A shudder raced through her, then another as the knights surrounding her reined back.
Bodies littered the earth.
Fear tore through her. Lachllan! She searched the slain men. Tears burned her eyes as she couldna identify him amongst the butchered.
Astride his warhorse, Dunsten rode forward. His expression triumphant, the earl halted before her, sparing a perfunctory glance toward the massacre in his wake.
The broadsword trembling in her hand, she pointed it straight toward his heart. “You are naught but a butcher!”
With a caustic calm, he laid his claymore across his saddle as if ignorant of the blood smearing its steel. “A necessary though irritating detail.”
“A detail?” she rasped, the rawness of her voice bordering hysterics.
Hard eyes narrowed. “If you had cooperated earlier, this bit of unpleasantness could have been avoided.”
“Is that what you call murder?” Realization dawned with a sickening in her gut. “This isna about abducting me is it? ’Tis about your revenge on Giric.”
Malice flickered in his eyes. “I have always admired your quick insight. ’Twill prove an interesting trait in our bed.”
Nausea swept her as she recalled Lachllan’s explanation of how Dunsten, with no conscience, had raped and murdered a young woman; neither could she forget his brutal kiss. She swallowed hard. What were a few more men or his abuse toward her for that matter? How many others had he slain who dared block his way? “I will nae marry you!”
Red slashed Lord Dunsten’s cheeks. He nodded toward a man.
The knight rode toward her, and she lifted her blade. “I will die before I let a bastard like you take me.”
“If you wish to see your brother alive,” Lord Dunsten drawled, “sheathe your sword.”
Fear tore through her. “You are going to kill him anyway.”
“When I deem it appropriate. Your cooperation could gain him a day, a sennight. Or, mayhap we can come to terms and I shall allow him to live.”
“A lie.”
“Are you willing to risk a chance at saving his life?” He gave a nod.
From behind his man lunged, jerked the sword from her hand.
Nay! Elizabet kicked her horse forward.
Another warrior caught her mount’s halter.
Frantic, she jumped to the ground, bolted.
Two of Dunsten’s men cut off her escape.
Fighting to catch her breath, she halted. A low moan at her side caught her attention.
Lachllan lay to her right.
Mary, Mother of God! Tears rolled down her cheeks as she dropped to her knees and cradled his head. “Lachllan.”
The steward’s eyes flickered open. Pain wove in the aged blue depths. “Lass,” he whispered.
A sob escaped, then another. She should have used caution as Nicholas had advised, but like a fool she’d believed Dunsten miles away. “I am so sorry.”
He tried to shake his head, but moaned instead. “You couldna have known.”
“It doesna change anything. If I had—”
A stick cracked as a knight dismounted. He seized her arm, jerked her to her feet.
She whirled and sunk her nails into his face, clawed with unleashed fury.
With a scream, the man shoved her back.
Elizabet stumbled and another knight caught her from behind, held tight.
“No one is to harm her!” Lord Dunsten snapped.
Pain shot through her arms as the knight jerked her roughly back.
“Release me!” She kicked and twisted to break free.
The earl rode up, halted. His gaze swept over her with malicious delight. “You intrigue me, Elizabet. A woman of persistence and passion. I have anticipated this moment for a long time.” His eyes shone with twisted delight as his fingers traced over the leather whip secured to his mount. “I willna break you. ’Twould be a crime to ruin such spirit when it will undoubtedly bring pleasure to the bedding.” He nodded to one of his men.
A blindfold was wrapped over her eyes. Before she had a chance to scream, a guard shoved a gag in her mouth, secured it, then bound a strip of cloth around her wrists.
Strong hands lifted her up and set her before a man in his saddle.
Steely arms wrapped tight around her waist. “Do nae fight me.”
At Lord Dunsten’s voice, her stomach lurched. With a muffled scream, she fought to dismount.
A hand clasped her throat, squeezed.
Blackness threatened as she fought to breathe.
“You are only making this more difficult on yourself,” Lord Dunsten whispered in a soft threat as his other hand slid up to capture her breast. “But hear me well, Elizabet. I will have you. Continue to fight me and ’twill be here, before my men. ’Tis your decision.”
She stilled.
He squeezed her nipple.
Humiliated, Elizabet refused to cry out, give him the satisfaction.
“The bedding will indeed be a divine pleasure.”
His low laugh haunted her as he kicked his mount forward, and she knew she’d just entered her own private hell.
Hours later, a scrape alerted Elizabet someone opened a door, then she was
jerked forward. Exhausted and terrified, she wove as she fought to steady herself. A sharp tug, and the blindfold was removed.
Cool wind rushed over her face as she squinted, taking in the candlelit interior. Vaguely she remembered this room from their childhood play so long ago. Except naught existed of the friendship they’d held in the past.
The earl dismissed his men. The last guard shut the door leaving her alone—with him.
Her heart pounded. Numbness throbbed in her hands still bound tight. She tried to wriggle her fingers, but the rope bit into her flesh and pain rewarded her action.
Dunsten turned toward her and advanced. Candlelight flickered over his face illuminating the harsh angles that carved an angry path to his eyes.
The echo of waves crashed on the jagged cliffs below in a sinister backdrop.
A pace away he stopped. His hand shot out and caught her jaw.
Almost losing her balance, she cried out, her gasp muffled by the gag.
He ripped away the offensive material.
Her skin tingled as blood rushed through the numbness. She dragged in a long breath; the briny ocean air rushed down her throat in a raw slide.
“You believed that you could escape me,” he spat, his eyes bright, his tone ragged, deranged. “You will learn that I always get what I want.”
Her stomach lurched at the thought of his touch. She shook her head. “Please—”
Dragging her body against his, he caught her mouth in a rough kiss.
She balked. His fingers squeezed her face tighter, and she tasted her own blood.
Dark, cold eyes filled with satisfaction lifted to hers. “ ’Twould be extremely satisfying to remain and take you until you scream, but my tasks this day are far from through.”
Repulsed, she wiped her hand across the back of her mouth. “Giric will never come!”
He gave a cold laugh. “Your brother would do anything to save you.”
And Giric would. She had to stop Dunsten. Mayhap she could bluff. “Nicholas will kill you—”
His eyes narrowed to slits.
She stilled. She’d nae meant to bring Nicholas into this convoluted mess.
“Nicholas?” Shrewd eyes studied her, growing more ominous, if possible. “You care for the English bastard!” With a curse he shook her until her teeth rattled, then without warning, stopped. The rage in his eyes tilted to madness, and his expression slipped into a surreal calm.
Elizabet’s panic of moments ago avalanched into a morbid fear. He was insane.
The earl stroked his fingers through her short hair, catching the end to twirl around his index finger. “When I am through with you,” he said in a soft caress, “Sir Nicholas will be but a fleeting image in your mind.” He ran his thumb tenderly over her lips bruised by his roughness.
She jerked from his touch.
A cold smile touched his mouth. “You will delight me until the end, Elizabet. Your spirit is mine, now and forever.” He released her.
Trembling with fear, she stumbled back, needing the distance, trying to quell her panic from learning that his stability matched that of a crazed boar.
Dunsten, his smile askew, strode forward, and released the ties.
Pain burned through her arms as blood sped to her fingers. She rubbed her hands and glanced out the window where night was descending, and where, somewhere, miles away, Giric and Nicholas rode ignorant of Dunsten’s lethal intent.
“They will come.” The earl gave a cold laugh. “The beginning of their end.”
Elizabet remained silent. Any challenge, verbal or otherwise, would incite him further. She must find a way to escape.
Dunsten nodded. “You are a quick learner, a trait that will keep you alive.” Turning, he strode from the chamber.
The guard followed, pulled the door shut. Numb, she walked to the window and stared into the twilight.
With a distant rumble, breakers slammed the weathered rock below with a crushing force, and water spewed high into the air. In the shimmering blue haze of the sky, the first star appeared.
A sign? She closed her eyes and prayed that somehow if she didna escape in time that Giric and Nicholas would find a way to storm Hardwell Castle. As if either had forces to conquer Dunsten’s significant stronghold.
Through the tears, another star shimmered in the blackening sky. A wolf howled in the distance, a sad mournful sound. Her body trembled as she turned and slid to the floor. Fighting for hope, Elizabet laid her forehead upon her knees. Mayhap destiny carved her another path.
Fading sunlight trickled through the leaf-filled branches, casting fractured shadows along the forest floor. Nicholas’s horse snorted as he guided his mount through the stand of trees, exploiting the last fragment of dusk in an effort to find Elizabet and her escort. “Elizabet.” His voice ripped through the stillness with harsh desperation, the hours they’d searched taking their toll.
A light wind answered his call, fresh with the taste of dew, devoid of any sign of her.
“If she is out here,” Terrick said, his tone somber, “we will find her.”
The muted thump of hooves sounded against earth. “Why did she not remain at the castle until my return?” Nicholas snapped, clinging to the anger. Anger he could deal with, forge into purpose.
“She believed Lord Dunsten was miles away,” the Scot returned. “As did you.” He guided his mount around a decaying stump overrun with ivy and brambles. “How could she have known he hadna traveled to the village along the river Annan as planned?”
Terrick was right. When he’d departed, he along with Elizabet had believed Lord Dunsten was at least a day’s ride away. A low ache began to throb in his temples, and he rubbed his brow, remembering her apprehension at his leaving, her concern for her brother and his journey, but through it all, her unfailing love and support.
“We are not sure that the Earl of Dunsten has her,” Nicholas said, holding a vague hope that she was delayed in her return to Ravenmoor Castle for an innocent reason.
Giric grunted. “I pray you are right, but I have my doubts.”
As did he. Nicholas guided his mount through the stand of trees, and they rode into a break in the forest. Orange-gold shards of light rippled across the sun-ripened leaves, a stark reminder of the fleeting day. He drew to a halt, listened for a sound of voices, the snap of a twig. Naught. Where was she? Where was her guard?
On their initial ride back to Ravenmoor Castle, a sense of urgency had haunted him. He’d owed it to finding Dunsten absent at the village along the river Annan. But upon their arrival, Sir Jon’s report of Elizabet’s departure with Lachllan and an escort to ride to Wolfhaven Castle to retrieve a few of her items had ignited a deep-seated fear.
After changing to a fresh mount and adding twenty men to his ranks, he and Giric had departed to find them. They’d arrived at Wolfhaven Castle and learned that Elizabet and her men had left hours ago.
Now, with the sun easing from the sky, they were no closer to finding her.
Had they missed seeing her during travel, and had she and the men arrived at Ravenmoor Castle? Were his efforts, concerns for naught? He prayed ’twas so, but a foreboding gnawed at him like a festering wound.
They rode into a denser stand of woods.
“Over here,” a guard yelled.
Nicholas kicked his horse toward the guard, Terrick riding at his side.
The scent of death rose around them in a nauseating swirl. The blurred shapes grew into bodies smeared in blood, the bodies of his men. Panicking, he scoured the dense forest, each darkening shadow mocking his effort. “Elizabet!” His desperate call faded into the morbid silence. Blast it, where was she?
Hooves scraped against the earth as Giric rode in a wide circle, then pulled to a halt. “Lachllan!” He jumped to the ground beside a twisted body.
Nicholas made out the elder, the red of his hair barely discernible in the fading light. God’s teeth! He dismounted and rushed to Terrick’s side.
A harsh breath rattl
ed from the Scot, then another. His eyes flickered open and regret dwelled within. “I didna know if you would arrive in time.”
Giric knelt beside his steward. “We are here.”
Sadness wrenched Lachllan’s face. “She should have run. I told the lass to go.”
“Where is she?” Giric rasped.
“Dunsten has her,” Lachllan spat.
Terror ripped through Nicholas’s heart. “How long ago?”
The steward glanced toward him. “Several hours now.” He tried to swallow, but ended in a fit of coughing. “She fought him. A brave lass, but he—”
“Rest easy now,” Terrick said as he scanned his injuries. “We are going to take you to Wolfhaven Castle and tend to your wounds.”
“We are closer to Ravenmoor,” Nicholas said. “We will bring him there.”
The earl met his gaze. “My thanks.”
“Lady Elizabet,” Lachllan whispered.
“We will bring her back,” Nicholas said, his eyes locked on Terrick’s. The slow fury burning in the Scot’s gaze matched his own. “Over Dunsten’s dead body if necessary.” He strode to his mount.
Giric caught his shoulder as he reached for the saddle. “Where do you think you are bloody going?”
Blinded by rage, Nicholas turned. “You know bloody where!”
“Aye,” Giric spat. “Dunsten would like you riding in mad as a wounded badger and ready to skewer everyone in your sight. Like a lamb to slaughter you would be.”
Nicholas shoved him away, staggered by the pain, needing to take charge of the situation. “Go to Hades.”
Terrick’s eyes narrowed. “If you leave now, you will be on your way right quick enough.”
“Do you think I am going to lose precious hours by returning to Ravenmoor Castle with Lachllan and any others who survived when the task can be taken care of by my men?”
“What I know,” Terrick said with a hard bite, “is that you are going to wait until the crack of dawn guides you, and you have had a bit of rest beneath you, and Dunsten doesna have all of the advantages.”
Emotions pounded him with each breath as Nicholas slowly regained control. The cost heartbreaking. That bastard had her. If he touched her . . . If he harmed one inch of her . . . Blast it! Never had he felt so helpless.
