“I suppose young Cormac has had you,” Sir Colin said, his voice almost pleasant. “Even though he seems to spend his life running after that whore Lady Isabel, ye would be too sweet for him to resist. So has he had your maiden-head?”
Despite the almost friendly tone of his voice, instinct warned Elspeth that the truth would utterly enrage the man. There was a taut, waiting quality about him. He had leashed some emotion and she strongly suspected it was fury.
Standing up and brushing off her skirts, Elspeth replied haughtily, “I dinnae believe that is a proper question for a gentlemon to be asking a lady.”
“Oh, ye are good, wench.” Sir Colin briefly smiled, but his eyes remained hard and cold. “Ye can tell what a person thinks or feels, cannae ye? ’Tis one reason I want you. Such a skill would be invaluable to a mon seeking power, as I do.”
“I cannae tell such things,” she protested. “I but have a sense of strong emotions in a person. So do many people if they would but heed it.”
“What matter if it is a gift or just a good eye for a telltale twitch? Ye can tell right now that I am angry, verra, verra angry.”
“That takes no strange skill. Ye fair stink of it.”
Elspeth inwardly cursed when his faint smile told her her words had merely confirmed his belief. In a way, he was right. She could sense many things about people. Rarely could anyone successfully lie to her. Elspeth was not sure how she was able to tell such things, why she seemed so sensitive to the feelings of others no matter how well hidden they were, but she had accepted the strange skill a long time ago. She would not, however, allow Sir Colin to twist it to his own ill use.
“And why do ye suppose I am angry?” he asked almost idly. “Could it possibly be because my betrothed wife has been merrily rutting her way across the countryside with Sir Cormac Armstrong? An Armstrong, my love? And one of those particular Armstrongs?” He shook his head. “Rogues and thieves, the lot of them. And this particular Armstrong must be the saddest of that sad lot. Why, he is so ensorcelled by Lady Isabel, I doubt he can e’en get his rod stiff for another woman.”
“I would not ken a thing about that.” It was plain that Sir Colin was not believing her pose of a haughty innocent, but Elspeth decided it was far too late to change the game now.
“Of course not, but ye have tried to test it, havenae ye? After all, Sir Cormac is the braw knight of your maidenly dreams. The bonny laddie ye would think of in the dark of night to make yourself wet with longing.”
“How verra crude ye are. I am appalled at your utter lack of good manners.”
What truly appalled Elspeth was that he even knew that dark little secret, knew that she had longed for Cormac for years. Very few people knew about those dreams. There was obviously a weakness in Donncoill, some soft spot he had found and used to ferret out all kinds of information. It was probably one of the maids, seduced and thinking herself in love. Elspeth could sympathize, but as soon as she could, she would warn her family that someone at Donncoill was either foolishly free with the clan’s secrets or disloyal. And since this time it was one of her most closely guarded secrets, it was probably someone close to her, which made her both sad and angry.
“We shall make a fine pair, ye and I.” Sir Colin moved toward her. “Ye have a keen wit, lass. I shall only have to teach ye a few things.”
Elspeth tried to stay out of his reach without looking as if she was running away from him. “Oh, aye, things like lying, murder, theft, and how to smile sweetly as I slip a knife between a mon’s ribs.”
“Aye. I believe ye will prove to be most adept.”
His calm answer to her insult startled Elspeth so much she stumbled over a low stool. Colin was on her in an instant. The man was far more clever than she had thought him to be. He had seen how she tried to use his tendency to fly into a blind rage against him, and so he had unraveled that net, even managing to turn her game back on her.
Elspeth hit the floor so hard all the breath was knocked out of her. Despite that, she struggled to keep Sir Colin from pinning her down too completely. She also fought against being weakened by the knowledge that she could only delay him, not conquer him.
“Get off me, ye great fool,” she snapped, refusing to let the man know just how afraid she really was.
“Ye are going to give me what ye have been giving Armstrong,” he said, slapping her hard when she managed to get one hand free and punch him in the side of his head. “Ye willnae get away from me this time, so why not sit back and enjoy it?”
“Enjoy rape? Ye are mad. If ye do this, there will be so many trying to kill ye, ye willnae be able to find a hole deep enough in all of Scotland to hide in. Aye, and I will be at the head of that line.”
Even as she cursed him and threatened him, Elspeth fought him with all of her strength. Each trick she tried, however, was only partially successful. She got her leg between his and brought her knee up, but he shifted just in time and took the blow on the leg not in the groin. She got a hand free and tried to gouge at his eyes, but he turned his head and she got his cheek instead. It quickly became clear to her that Sir Colin was no novice in the raping of women. She began to doubt that she had any trick or move that he did not already know, that he could not anticipate and avoid the worst of.
She tried to concentrate only on the fight, to ignore the fact that he was relentlessly tearing her clothes off. “Cormac will cut ye into tiny pieces and feed ye to the corbies.”
“Cormac willnae get within ten yards of this place. Four men wait outside, eager and ready to kill him.” Sir Colin finally got her bodice open, leaving only her thin linen chemise protecting her breasts. “Ah, such beauties they are. Ye will be a fine ride.”
When he started to bend his head to her breast, there was one brief moment when his head was close to hers, and Elspeth took quick advantage of that. She slammed her head into his. He howled and released his grasp enough for her to shove him off her. Dizzy from the blow, which she thought might have hurt her as much as it had him, Elspeth could not get to her feet, so she had to crawl away from him. She cursed when she felt him grab at her skirts, tearing them.
Elspeth flipped on her back and kicked him in the face, knocking him away again. This time she managed to get to her feet, but took only a few steps before he tackled her to the floor yet again. Weakened and groggy, Elspeth was unable to stop him from pinning her firmly beneath him this time. His triumphant smile told her he knew he was winning and she ached to slap it off his face.
There was still a small chance of getting away, she told herself in an attempt to hold back the waves of defeat and despair threatening to completely flood her heart and mind. He would have to move a little in order to position himself properly, perhaps even loosen his grip on her wrists and legs, and then she would start fighting again. The moment she tried to shift her position, however, he slapped her, hard. He started yanking at her skirts and petticoats, and she tried to move again. He slapped her again. By the time she recovered from that blow, she wore little more than her chemise and stockings. Elspeth realized that Sir Colin intended to keep her dazed until it was too late for her to protect herself.
She started to pray. Elspeth prayed she would be given one more chance to escape—one that had some chance of being successful. She prayed that, if she failed to escape violation at Sir Colin’s hands, it would not hurt too badly, would not leave her so scarred in mind and heart that she became cold at the mere touch of a man. She prayed that Sir Colin had lied about the four men outside waiting to kill Cormac.
Cormac stared at the little cottage as he crouched in the underbrush. He had been so intent on trying to follow Sir Colin’s trail, he had almost ridden right up to the door. The sound of a loud sneeze cutting through the air was all that had stopped him, giving him time to tether his horse and creep up to a sheltered spot within sight of the cottage.
Although he was desperate to race to the cottage and save Elspeth, Cormac forced himself to wait. Sir Colin had not gone very
far after stealing Elspeth away, barely a mile from the village. He could have ridden for a few more hours. Cormac had the sinking feeling that Sir Colin had stopped here because he could no longer wait to possess Elspeth. The thought of that man touching her sorely threatened his control. Cormac wanted to do something, something more than crouch in the shadows, watching the four armed men who stood between him and Elspeth. He waited, continually reminding himself that a blind rush now would just get him killed and leave Elspeth completely at Sir Colin’s mercy.
He tensed when one of the men strolled off into the surrounding wood just to his left. Silently, Cormac tracked him. He caught the man in the midst of relieving himself against a tree. Slipping up behind him, he clamped his hand over the man’s mouth even as he rammed his knife up between the man’s ribs. As he lowered the body to the ground, he felt no real satisfaction. He found such killing distasteful, but had learned long ago that it was necessary sometimes. The reminder that this man would not have hesitated to do the same to him eased the pang of guilt he felt. So did the knowledge that the man had been willing to stand guard over Elspeth’s rape. For a few coins he had become a willing partner in the destruction of a woman.
Returning to his hiding place, Cormac waited for another chance. Three guards were still too many for him to confront openly. If one would just be foolish enough to go after his friend, that would be enough. He had taken down two men before with a dagger and a sword.
The wait became excruciating and Cormac was trying to think of ways he could quickly cut down three men and still make it into the cottage alive when, after a brief conference with his companions, another man slipped into the woods. Cormac caught him as he bent over the body of the other man. He let this body fall next to the other one.
As he silently made his way back to the cottage, making full use of the deepening shadows of late evening, he readied his knife and his sword. Although he had never thought he would be grateful for all those years of running and hiding from the Douglases, he had to admit he had learned a lot. Those hard lessons in stealth were proving their worth now. He hated the killing, but he was glad he had learned how to do it quickly and quietly.
When he got near enough to see the two remaining guards, he would have smiled if he had not been forced into the position of killing them. They stood together, obviously discussing what might have happened to the other two and trying to decide how best to protect themselves. They were going to make it easy for him.
Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Cormac started toward the cottage at a steady lope. The moment the men saw him, Cormac threw his knife, catching one man in the throat. The other was ready for him, sword in hand and braced for a fight by the time he drew near. Cormac cursed as their swords clashed. This one would not be a quiet kill. All he could do was pray that it was a quick one—quick enough so that, even if Sir Colin was warned by the sound, he would not have enough time to flee or prepare an adequate defense.
“Ah, so ye are awake again. Good.”
Elspeth blinked and stared at Sir Colin. He had obviously slapped her one time too often and too hard. She was so dazed with pain she was not sure when or why she had lost consciousness.
Her head cleared quickly when she realized that she was no longer on a floor and that she could not move her hands or her feet. Ice flowed through her veins as she looked down at herself. She was lashed by the wrists and ankles to the four rough-hewn posts of a large bed. What horrified her the most, however, was that she was naked. There would be no more chances to escape. She inwardly cringed when Sir Colin reached out to touch the curve of one breast with his fingers.
This was going to destroy her, she decided. Fighting to the last yet still losing, still being taken against her will, somehow did not seem as appalling as this. She would have at least had the comfort of knowing she had fought her fate, had perhaps inflicted some damage upon her defiler. This left her totally helpless. She was laid out like some ancient human sacrifice. He would not have to hit her at all, which meant she would be completely aware throughout her own degradation. Suddenly, she felt utterly terrified, but she fought to hide it, not wanting to give Sir Colin the satisfaction.
“Sadly, aye, it appears I am indeed awake, although I would be forgiven if I believed myself caught in the verra worst of nightmares,” she said, pleased with the chill calm in her voice.
“Helpless and naked and yet ye still try to spit at me,” Sir Colin said, a glimmer of amusement in his expression. “We will breed some fine sons, men worthy of ruling Scotland.”
“I believe there is already a king on the throne and a dynasty set.”
“At the birth of our first son, I shall begin to destroy it. Do ye ken whose house this is?”
It took Elspeth a moment to understand him, his change of subject was so abrupt. “Nay. Should I?”
“Ye took in the witch’s bairn, didnae ye?” Sir Colin sat down on the edge of the bed and took off his boots.
“Ye cannae be the lordling who seduced her and left her with child.” Elspeth grasped at the topic of discussion a little desperately, needing a distraction, for she knew exactly why Sir Colin was starting to remove his clothes. “Ye arenae dark enough.”
“Nay, I left no bairn in her.” He chuckled. “Claimed she was seduced, did she? The villagers probably killed her simply for the telling of such a huge lie and, worse, thinking all of them were fool enough to believe it. Nay, that lass was born a whore. Most of the men in the area and many of those who made regular journeys to court kenned all about her.” He glanced around the tidy little cottage with approval as he unlaced his heavily padded jupon. “She was beautiful enough to do verra weel for herself.”
“But nay enough for any of those who enjoyed her favors to put a halt to that murder.”
“Of course not. She was a whore and an ill-tempered one at that. And mayhap she wasnae really a witch, but she had certainly done enough to warrant a good hanging. Did ye think that wee, black-eyed devil was the only bairn she ever carried? Nay, she didnae want bairns, but was cursed fertile. Cleaned most of them from her body once she kenned that they were there. When she was too late to do that safely, she birthed them, then got rid of them. Killed two, mayhap more. They are buried out back of this bonny, little cottage along with a mon or two who had angered her. Nay, not the father,” he replied to the unspoken question Elspeth could not hide. “My wee cousin was a hard woman.”
“Of course, I should have kenned it, being that ye are so much alike. What a lovely chat we are having. Just like old friends, we are. Mayhap ye should untie me and I will fetch us both an ale.”
Sir Colin laughed as he tossed aside his jupon and began to unlace his shirt. Then he suddenly tensed. “What was that?”
Elspeth heard it, too. The distinct sound of sword-on-sword fighting now shattered the peace just outside the cottage door. Anything could be happening out there, even an argument amongst the guards Sir Colin had out there. She preferred to think that it was Cormac. She laughed softly as Sir Colin scrambled to get his sword even as the door to the cottage was kicked open so fiercely it cracked.
“Ah, Sir Colin, I fear your death has just come to the door.”
Chapter Eleven
The sight that greeted Cormac’s eyes when he kicked the door open to the cottage nearly made him roar with fury. All that kept him from acting too swiftly and too blindly, endangering himself and Elspeth with the recklessness of rage, was Elspeth herself. Her almost cheerful words nearly made him laugh. And she was smiling at him. She was tied naked to a bed and covered in livid bruises, yet she smiled.
“I dinnae ken who is madder, lass, ye or I,” Cormac said, keeping most of his attention on a coldly furious Sir Colin, who, Cormac noted with relief, was still mostly dressed.
“Ye, of course. I dinnae go about kicking in people’s doors,” she replied, almost giddy with the relief of seeing him alive and ready to put an end to Sir Colin’s insanity. “I dinnae suppose ye will have time to cut my bon
ds ere ye have to fight with this fool.”
“If I dance close by ye whilst blinding this madmon with my skill and grace, I will be sure to see to it.”
“Thank ye. Weel, go on then. Kill him.”
“Bloodthirsty wench.”
“Now that the two of ye have greeted each other,” Sir Colin snapped, “mayhap we can get on with the business of my killing you, Armstrong.”
“Oh, aye? Do ye think ye can do any better than your hired churls?”
“Killed them all, did ye?” Sir Colin shook his head and tsked. “Your lover is quite bloodthirsty, isnae he, Elspeth?”
“I didnae give ye leave to speak to me with such familiarity,” she said.
“Verra sharp of tongue for a lass tied naked to a bed,” murmured Sir Colin and then he smiled, almost sweetly, at Cormac. “Ye did happen to notice that she was naked, didnae ye? Verra fine skin the lass has. Soft. Verra soft. Bruises a wee bit too easily though. Ah, but so sweet to the taste. Like honey on the tongue.”
It was not hard to guess Sir Colin’s game. Cormac struggled against the fury the man’s words stirred to life inside of him. Fighting had to be done coldly, logically. Some emotion was acceptable, giving one the incentive to continue despite any pain and to kill if necessary. A little caution and care for one’s own life was also a good thing. Rage was not. Rage caused one to be careless, to blind one to everything but the need to wound or kill. Rage could steal away a man’s skill.
Cormac knew all that, repeated the lessons he had learned over and over. It did not help much. Every poisonous word that dripped from Sir Colin’s tongue fed his anger. The mere thought of Sir Colin looking upon Elspeth’s beauty made him ache to kill the man. The thought that the man might have touched her, tasted her soft skin, made him shake with the urge to cut him into small pieces slowly.
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