by KH LeMoyne
Thomas nodded as his scowl deepened. “They lived in the woods until now. I’ve never seen the women up close. There are only a few and they don’t interact with our women. Rumors claim the Plagiars abduct women along their travels, the lasses owned like livestock and treated worse. One of Dillon’s men said he saw a woman with an iron slave collar. I’ve not seen it, myself.”
“Doesn’t sound like a mutual arrangement,” Robert said, his hands clenched.
“Doubt it is.” Thomas glanced over his shoulder uneasily. “With such a secret group there’s always an opportunity for outrageous stories. But word is, when the women outlive their usefulness as breeders, they’re abandoned.”
“Any of them abandoned here?” Logan asked.
Thomas lifted his shoulders, but his face drew down as he shook his head. “No stray women. We have men who’d relish a woman’s attentions—children or no—and they’ve kept an eye for such an occurrence. I did hear of a female newborn left on a cottage stoop in a village north of here. Luck was kind with no frost that night.”
They only keep the male babies. Logan turned away as his oatcake breakfast threatened to return. Then he glanced at the castle. “Why does your laird do business with these men?”
Thomas shrugged and motioned them to follow him. “What I’ve mention are rumors. Most likely only part is true. The men provide needed labor. We don’t have to give them land or feed them. They move on when they’re ready. Or before.”
“Laird Mackinnon must have a better reason than mere rumor for evicting them.”
“Aye.” Thomas scowled until they’d moved away from the field. “No doubt he does. Will you train with us this afternoon, MacKenzie?” His face lifted with a wicked smile. “You don’t fear we will best you?”
“An offer I can’t refuse.” He could use a healthy release of pent-up energy.
“Follow me, and prepare to be challenged by every Mackinnon and MacDougall on the field.”
The chase ended at the cliff’s edge with three men surrounding her. The palest and largest of them grabbed her hair as she tried to dodge past him, forcing her head down. She screamed and turned toward him, biting his hand hard.
His free fist connected with her cheekbone, stunning her with a moment’s loss of vision. Then pain exploded along the side of her face. Even so, she struggled as the other two men pinned her to the ground, each immobilizing an arm and leg.
“Any resistance, and take her eye,” the pale one growled.
She gasped as a blade bit into her right cheek and a thick paralysis seemed to take hold of her. The tanned one stared at her with cold, dead eyes, challenging her to move.
“She’ll be clumsy and slow with one eye.” The olive-skinned man on her left pushed the blade away, but the tip stung her cheek. He grabbed her hair, giving her a shake. A warning. Then he tightened his grip void of compassion and looked away. Given he was the only person who would stop the others, she obeyed.
Stay alive. The goal repeated through her mind.
“She’ll obey the next time if she risks blindness,” the tanned man snapped.
“The blind are clumsy. You may have need of her sight,” the olive man said.
“You dare challenge me?” The pale man’s nostrils widened and his stalked closer and leaned over them. The chalk-white strike slashed across his face rose like a festering wound.
Bri held her breath and averted her gaze. Please don’t.
The olive man jerked her head again. “I’m holding her as you commanded. Do you want to check her or rut her here on the ground and be done with it?”
“Hardly.” Pale Face’s hand dug into her jaw, wrenching her face toward his, forcing her mouth open. Large fingers ran over her teeth and searched her gums.
Her eyes watered and she tried not to gag. Damnation, she worked hard not to bite him. For with a certainty bred of terror, she knew he’d blind her out of spite.
He deemed her mouth acceptable with a muffled grunt.
The hand in her hair tightened, then her shirt ripped.
She gasped again, the impulse to scream overwhelming, but the olive-skinned man covered her mouth and turned her head so she couldn’t watch. With her arms and legs pinned beneath hard muscles, she could barely breathe, much less move. She certainly didn’t want images emblazoned in her memories.
Rough, hard fingers weighed her breasts, then slapped them. Someone pinched her nipples hard for a second.
She winced as cold air hit her legs and thighs, and she grunted as a hand palmed her belly, squeezing for Goddess only knew what. Then hands gripped her hipbones.
“Narrow, but the breasts will feed if she can deliver.”
Hearing the disdain in his voice, she gave up hiding the shivers seizing her body. This couldn’t be how she ended. After all this time and patience. Like a beacon, Logan’s voice slammed through her thoughts and took hold. Do everything you can to stay alive. Don’t give up. I’m not ever going to give up on you, Bri.
She groaned as the pale man’s fingers examined inside her body with harsh, painful efficiency. How she wanted to conjure something to help herself. Anything. But it was as if her mind had locked itself down.
Thank the Goddess, she had a blissful memory from before this—tender and loving even if it were a dream. She tried to block everything out what was happening, but another groan escaped.
The hand over her face squeezed a fraction, reminding her where she was.
“She’s untouched. No risk of bastards.”
A loud wail split the air. Alarms from the mage tower cut through the horror. She’d only heard them once and, next to Logan’s voice, nothing had ever sounded so beautiful.
The olive-skinned man and his comrade released her. The pale man yanked her up by her arm. “I’ll keep her for the time being. If she doesn’t breed, we’ll deal with her then. Go prepare the boat.” He motioned to the man who’d covered her face. For a brief second, as he faced her, she saw a twinge of regret crack his immutable expression. Her heart stuttered. He hated his leader and for that reason, she regretted seeing him leave.
The pale man gestured to the remaining Plagiar. “Take her boots. Then hold off the others.”
Enough blood returned to Bri’s brain as she braced for more trials. But she was alive, humiliated, sporting a few wounds, and definitely terrified, but she still breathed, and she needed to survive. She couldn’t fight these men and live. Logan would come for her. Robert and Hefin too.
She blinked back tears.
The tanned man bent to his leader’s instructions without hesitation. He stripped her boots from her feet and tossed them into the bushes.
She gathered the tatters of her shirt in one hand before the pale man grabbed her other arm and dragged her behind him. Twigs and pebbles gouged into her feet. “If you don’t keep up, I’ll slit your throat—breeder or not.”
Possibly a better outcome than what he has planned for me. But what better time to believe than now. She mustered her last bit of courage and ran behind him. At the sight of the boat, ready and waiting at the shore, her bravery faltered.
16
Logan wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, glad he’d taken Thomas MacDougall at his word. He and Robert survived two hours of challenges from half the men on the field. Every muscle in his body ached from the effort.
Unfortunately, information hadn’t flown freely. The warriors gave nothing away in their expressions as they tested their worth as potential enemies or allies. Acceptance here would take months. Perhaps years. How Bri had persevered showed the strength of her determination. But he worried what would happen to her if she never found her brothers.
He drank water from the communal bucket and watched Robert lose his footing on the field. He held off his opponent with a swift pivot and low angle on his blade. Then he held his palm up to halt and his opponent broke into a wide grin at the sign of defeat.
Logan waited at the water pail as his cousin approached. “I
magine the shape we’d be in if we did this every day?”
Robert grunted and leaned over, hands on his knees. “Yeah. Great shape or dead.”
“Learn anything?” Logan handed him the ladle and rested against the barrel.
Robert poured it over his head and shook his hair. “Word’s quiet on the attacks from crewmen. Nothing on the minions, but the workout is intense. These men are preparing for serious battle, pushing even the youngest to their limits. Three new squads arrived within the last hour to join the practice. Someone’s getting ready for war.”
“The laird returned an hour ago. Thomas and several of the others followed him through the main doors of the manor.” Logan wiped his blade against his pant leg. “I haven’t seen any emissaries or messengers from outside groups, but I agree. Looks like he’s pulling his troops close.”
Robert nodded and leaned on his sword, narrowing his eyes at the far end of the field and the woods.
Logan turned to check what had caught his attention. Two children were running toward the practice field. “Where’s Bri?”
“You mean, since she gave you the cold shoulder before lunch?” Robert frowned. “She headed out with one of the women and several kids.” He twisted around and scrutinized the sidelines of the practice field. “I saw the woman and one child return earlier. Those look like the other children.”
Logan pushed away from the barrel. “If that boy was with them, where is she?” He didn’t wait for Robert’s response, but ran toward the young boy carrying a toddler in his arms and yelling at the top of his lungs. Logan pushed his way through the crowd now converging on the child.
“She told us to keep quiet. To wait until they left, then run for help.”
Thomas shouldered his way through the crowd and knelt before the boy. The toddler was now crying on her mother’s shoulder. “Who attacked you, son?”
“Those men.” The boy gestured across his face, making a slash with one hand. “The ones working for the laird.”
“Briallen was with you?” Logan interrupted, ignoring the glares from the warriors.
The boy nodded, his face pinched with fear. “They followed us. They called out to her, and she told us to hide.” He wiped the heel of his palm against the tear that leaked down his face.
“Where were you when they took her?” Thomas asked.
The boy pointed back toward the edge of the woods. “At the creek heading to the firth. She hid us and led them away.”
Logan looked to Thomas. “How do I get there?”
Thomas shouted for more men and gestured toward the woods. Logan pushed back through the crowd and grabbed his sword from Robert. Running hard, they cleared the tree line in minutes. Several more brought them to the clearing the boy had described.
Nothing remained but broken branches and a small shred of pale blue fabric hooked on a bramble.
Logan picked off the piece of Bri’s blouse, curled it in his fist, and snarled. “Where would they go from here?”
“The firth. Then south toward the far borders,” one of Thomas’s men said. Logan noticed the look that passed between him and the others. There had to be a faster way. A secret they didn’t want others to know.
But Thomas nodded and gestured toward the water. “This way.”
They ran, sliding down the rocky slope, and worked their way along the narrow path over sheer drops. The wide expanse of the firth came into view as a scream ripped through the air.
“I need a faster way.” Logan looked from Thomas’s man to the churning water at the bottom of the cliff’s face and then Robert.
“The beach is around the edge, but the rocks—” the man started.
“Feet first, give me a ten count and hold your sword tight.” Robert didn’t wait for a response but took three fast steps and vaulted into the air.
Logan counted to ten, not bothering a look at the men behind him, and lunged after Robert.
The cold water stung as he plunged below the surface. He spread his arms and legs, halting his descent, and swam toward the cove, not bothering to surface for air. Following Robert’s body underwater, he forced the images of Bri at the falls from his mind.
He broke surface fifteen feet from the water’s edge, and high-stepped until he reached the shore. By the time he hit the sand and pebbles, he was sprinting toward the struggle near the shoreline.
Robert launched toward the first man. They spun in a deadly circle with swords clashing.
Logan charged past them. An albino Plagiar dragged Bri, with his knife at her neck, into knee-deep water toward a small rowboat. Blood trailed over her collarbone and stained the remaining tatters of her blouse in a crimson blossom.
He’d kill him—after he got Bri back.
Sword gripped in his hand, Logan splashed forward. Bri struggled against the man’s grip, her fingers tugging at the arm crushing her neck. Too pale, with a bruise forming on her face and her pupils dilated, Bri’s golden glow stuttered.
“One more step and I’ll kill her right here.”
“A stupid move.” Logan marched closer. “You do, and I’ll cut off your balls and feed them to the fish before I kill you.”
“She’s mine or dead.” The albino backed toward the boat.
The Plagiar in the boat behind him looked from Logan to his leader and gave an almost infinitesimal push with his paddle against the rock bottom. The boat swayed a few feet farther from shore.
A small gift. Not much, but it bought Logan time. Otherwise, he’d need a miracle.
Bri’s gaze connected with his for a moment before she released her hands from her kidnapper and went limp.
“Bitch.” The albino released her neck and grabbed a fistful of her hair as she slid down. A blast of fire shot up his arm.
Logan lunged for Bri, yanked her to him with one arm, and drove his sword into the albino’s midsection. He hid her against his chest as he forced his sword higher, gutting the Plagiar. Several harsh breaths later, he sloshed backward. The dead man slid off his sword and into the water. Logan waited, counting to confirm no bubbles or unexpected resurrection threatened to catch them off guard.
Certain the Plagiar was dead, Logan glanced up. The boat was several yards away, the currents pulling it toward the middle of the channel. He met the boatman’s gaze and almost imagined a tilt of his head in brief acknowledgment. Not that Logan wanted thanks. Bri was still with him, and for that he didn’t care if he owed a debt to the devil himself.
He walked them free of the water and circled her with both arms. “Bri?”
She shook her head against his chest. Then, without looking at him, she pushed away and slowly trudged toward Hefin.
“What do you want done with this one?” Robert asked, watching Bri’s progress with a worried expression. He knelt with his sword at the back of the third man, holding the brute’s arms wrenched behind his back and forcing him facedown on the pebbles.
“We’ll take him.” Thomas’s man hauled the Plagiar to his feet. “The laird will have a plan for him.”
Thomas held up a blanket, but Logan intercepted him and wrapped it around Bri’s shoulders. The wool covered her enough to hide the tatters of her blouse. However, her cheek was a livid dark red, destined to be blue and purple, and her split lip bleeding. She remained too calm for his peace of mind, although the brief flicker of loathing she spared for the dead man now floating at the water’s edge reassured him.
But not by much. She continued to say nothing, and stared at the ground.
Another of Thomas’s men had retrieved her boots and Logan crouched before her, sliding them onto her cut and bruised feet. He didn’t talk, and tried not to touch her, for risk of shattering her fragile, puff-of-smoke composure. If she’d wanted comfort, she would have stayed in his arms.
His Bri was strong. A fighter. Please, God. Let her only be in shock. For if they’d harmed her beyond the surface wounds he’d cataloged, he’d kill them all.
The return trip to the field took much longer than the
ir mad dash to the shoreline and dragged on in total silence.
Thomas and his men went ahead with the Plagiar prisoner. Logan followed with Robert behind Bri and Hefin. She didn’t take the elder man’s arm, and only once slowed to adjust the blanket around her.
Logan worried more with each step she took. She was moving under her own steam, though from the hunch of her shoulders he anticipated heavy emotional fallout.
He left her seated at Mary’s table with Hefin. However, when he returned from speaking with Thomas fifteen minutes later, no one had moved.
Bri sat in the same position, still wrapped in the blanket, the blood and dirt still covering her face and hands, her gaze focused on the table.
“I need one of you,” Thomas’s clansman said, looking between Robert and Logan. Robert motioned for Logan to stay, and he left.
Towels in her hand, Mary gave a small sigh. “I tried. She doesn’t want—”
Logan shook his head, took the supplies, and sat beside Bri, while Hefin moved to the opposite side of the cottage. Bri seemed lost, with her hands fisted, white-knuckled, in the edges of the blanket. Mary glanced at him with sympathy.
“Bri, look at me.”
She remained in her huddle, no reaction, no tears.
He’d feel better if she yelled or cried. Her stone-like presence with every emotion locked tight scared the hell out of him.
“Bri. Please look at me. You trust me. Just a look.”
She slowly turned her head. The bleak defeat in her silver-gray eyes twisted his gut into a painful knot. He raised his hand while she watched, and gently pulled her to him. Cradling her against his chest, he stroked her back. He wasn’t certain she was aware of him until he stopped. Then she clutched his shirt and dug in her fingers.
“Breathe, honey. I’m right here. Not going anywhere.”
After several minutes, she relaxed into him and the hard tension in her muscles eased. The air stirred as Robert returned but no one spoke or moved.
Logan bent to her ear. “I know how much you want to be strong, but please let me clean away the blood.” He kept his voice soft, gentle. His heart shattered at the hiccup in her breath. From over Bri’s head, he watched Robert’s lips tighten, concern radiating from him. His cousin motioned Hefin to follow him outside, giving Logan and Bri privacy.
