by Emma Prince
“You know that Bevin touched me again, don’t you?” she blurted.
His fist halted halfway to her face. “What?”
She’d seen the way de Soules interacted with the others. He hardly spoke to the other men and didn’t even seem to know their names, except for Bevin. It had made her surmise that the remaining men meant nothing to de Soules. They were likely only hired mercenaries.
But Bevin was different. Though the brute did de Soules’s bidding, and he seemed to be the man’s only true ally, de Soules didn’t fully trust him. Based on how de Soules had reacted to Bevin hitting her before, there was a chance that the wedge between them could be exploited. Words began pouring from her.
“Before, when I tried to escape,” she continued hurriedly. “When he tackled me, he grabbed my breast. Then he bent one of my fingers back so hard that I feared he’d break it and made me promise not to tell you.”
In the low light of the fire, de Soules’s dark eyes flared with rage. “I told him no’ to touch what is mine,” he breathed.
Oui, he was unhinged, but Vivienne just might be able to use that to save herself from his torment—for a time, anyway.
“That is why he told me not to tell you,” she repeated.
De Soules suddenly jerked to his feet and stormed out of the cave. From Bevin’s confused shout and then his grunts of pain, she knew de Soules had set upon him.
A long while later, de Soules stumbled into the light of the fire. His knuckles were rubbed raw and he was so exhausted that he staggered like a drunkard. He slumped down before the fire, breathing hard.
Slowly, the other men began filtering cautiously into the cave. They kept their distance from de Soules, eyeing him warily and muttering about needing more coin if they were expected to stay here indefinitely. Bevin slunk in after them, his face a swollen, bloody mess.
De Soules seemed oblivious to them all. He sat hunched over the fire, staring into the flames. After a while, he lay down on the cave floor, pulling his cloak around him, and fell asleep.
It seemed she had earned herself a few hours of peace. Vivienne leaned back against the cave wall, succumbing to exhaustion with a prayer of thanks on her lips.
Chapter Thirty-Five
“It is time.”
Will nodded to Kieran in response and began lowering the sail on their small birlinn.
They’d agreed that once they’d crossed roughly half the distance from Girvan to Ailsa Craig, they would drop the white canvas sail to avoid being spotted from the island. Even though it was well past midnight, Kieran had feared the sail would glow pale blue in the moonlight. As it was, their only advantage was the element of surprise, which they could not risk wasting.
Just as Kieran had told the King they could, they’d made the ride from Scone to Girvan in only a little more than a day and a half. Still, that meant it had been six days since Vivienne had been taken from the cottage.
Six long, dark days. Kieran had nigh driven himself mad with thoughts of all that could have happened to Vivienne in that time. It was only thanks to Will, Niall, and Mairin that he’d maintained his threadbare hold on sanity.
Will didn’t waste words on empty reassurances. Instead, he reminded Kieran in a bluntly logical way that de Soules had wanted Vivienne to suffer, which meant she was more than likely still alive. Oddly, it was a comfort.
Niall had been the one amongst them whose energy never flagged. Though he was the youngest man in the Corps, and English, Kieran realized he’d misjudged him. The lad was steadfast and even-keeled beyond his years. What was more, he seemed nearly as determined as Kieran himself to reach Vivienne. There was no doubt he was fiercely loyal and protective.
For her part, Mairin was mostly quiet, but just as they’d been departing Scone, she’d fixed Kieran with those wary gray eyes and said, “She is a strong one. I kenned it as soon as I met her.” Then dropping her gaze, she’d murmured, “Ye’d be surprised just how much a lass can endure when she has to.”
Kieran only knew the vaguest of details about Mairin—that her brothers Logan and Reid were both members of the Corps, that some event in her past had made her skittish and guarded—but he sensed that despite her youth, she knew a thing or two about strength herself. He’d clung to her words as they’d ridden like hell across Scotland.
Once they’d reached the wee town of Girvan, his hopes were bolstered further when they’d set about securing their birlinn for the crossing to Ailsa Craig. Even though dusk had settled over the town, the small harbor had been abuzz with the news that one of the fishermen’s birlinns had been stolen the night before.
It only confirmed what Kieran knew in his gut—de Soules and his men had passed through on their way to Ailsa Craig. With Vivienne in tow, he prayed.
The King had given Kieran and the others more coin than they could have spent in a year to make their trek easier, so Kieran had not only paid handsomely for the use of another birlinn, but had also repaid the man whose boat had been stolen by de Soules.
And now they were nearly to the island. Without the sail hoisted, they would have to row the rest of the way. Though the wound on his chest was tight and achy from the hard treatment it had received in the last few days, Kieran relished the opportunity to throw his strength against the waves separating him from Vivienne.
Will took up the other oar, and they rowed in silence for a while before Niall forced Kieran to rest and took over his oar.
“Mayhap now is a good time to discuss our plan,” Mairin ventured as Kieran caught his breath.
Will and Niall looked at each other, then Kieran.
“Save Vivienne,” Kieran ground out. “That is the plan.” He would hack through every last man himself in order to reach Vivienne.
Will, who had the mind of a strategist, cocked the light brown brow over his eyepatch. “Ye said de Soules had at least five able-bodied men, and mayhap some of the wounded have recovered as well. That would make it nearly two to one.”
“Aye, but we are Highlanders.” Kieran glanced at Niall, who wore a frown. “Well, no’ counting the lad.”
He’d never seen any of them fight, but he couldn’t be questioning their abilities now, not when he’d finally set aside his pride and acknowledged just how badly he needed their help.
“We all earned our spot in the Corps one way or another,” Kieran added, meeting each of their eyes in turn.
“Fair enough,” Will replied. “Still, we’d best circle around the island a wee bit so as no’ to be caught off-guard if de Soules’s men are about. And we ought to stick together.”
They all nodded in agreement.
“We can sort out the rest when we see what we find on the island,” Kieran said.
Just then, an enormous, shadowed blob loomed up from the ink-dark waters before them. Ailsa Craig. Its sides were sheer, but the top of the isle was rounded, like a domed loaf of bread taken out of a pan.
Will lifted a hand from his oar to point off to the left, silently indicating that they make landfall there. As they drew nearer, Kieran saw the wisdom in the man’s decision. The eastern shore of the island, which they’d been approaching head-on, was the obvious choice for a landing. In the moonlight, Kieran could make out a sandy, flat beach that extended toward the water from the otherwise steep cliff sides.
Will and Niall guided them around the beach to a rockier, sheltered cove. When they’d rowed as close as they could, Kieran jumped out into the cold, knee-deep water and hauled the birlinn partway onto the rocks.
Once the boat was secure, Will and Niall both hoisted themselves over the birlinn’s side into the shallow water, but when Mairin moved to do the same, Niall plucked her up into his arms without a word.
Mairin gasped and likely would have bent Niall’s ear—either with words or with her hand—had the need for silence not been so great. For his part, Niall simply carried her to the dry rocks higher up on the shoreline before setting her down.
With a nod to each other, they all drew their
swords, except for Mairin, who left the short sword on her hip in its sheath and instead took up the bow she had slung across her body. Kieran would have marveled at the way the wee lass bristled with weapons if he didn’t need to stay focused on the task at hand.
Dinnae think of Vivienne. He forced himself to concentrate only on the fighting about to take place, else his fears for her would spiral out of control.
He motioned the others forward, and they began creeping toward the beach behind the cover of the large rocks at the base of the island.
As they drew closer, a flicker of light and the rumble of distant voices reached them. They rounded a rock outcropping that opened onto the beach, and Kieran threw up a fist to halt the others.
“…stop us?” a man said, his voice filled with anger.
“Aye, are we to sit on this bloody island forever?” another demanded. “No’ without another payment, we arenae.”
Several others shouted in agreement.
“Silence!”
Kieran’s skin pricked and his hands tightened around his sword. That was William de Soules’s voice.
Cautiously, he leaned out from behind the rock outcropping until he could see the beach. A birlinn rested on the sand nearby, and beyond that, at the base of the sheer rock cliffs, a group of men stood together.
Or rather, a group stood squared off with two men—de Soules and the giant he’d called Bevin.
The mercenaries—Kieran recognized them as the men who’d attacked the cottage—shouted de Soules down, threatening to take the birlinn and leave him stranded unless he produced more coin.
Bloody hell, they’d walked in on an insurrection. Kieran’s mind raced. He hadn’t heard or seen a sign of Vivienne yet, but if de Soules’s men were turning against him, they could use that to their advantage. There was no better time to strike than now.
He turned to the others, and judging from the way their eyes shone with anticipation in the moonlight, they’d come to the same conclusion.
“Ready?” he murmured.
At their nods, he lifted his sword and stepped from the cover of the rocks.
Chapter Thirty-Six
From her spot huddled deep in the belly of the cave, Vivienne could barely make out the men’s shouts, but she could hear enough to know that her attempt to sow discord had taken root.
De Soules had woken late that morning all too eager to begin torturing her in earnest. But after only a few kicks and punches, he’d grown weary again. His time in Scone’s dungeon had clearly sapped him of not only his wits, but also his strength.
When he’d left the cave for fresh air, she’d begun speaking to one of the mercenaries charged with watching her in de Soules’s absence. De Soules no longer trusted Bevin for the task. Yet by setting one of the hired men on her, he’d unwittingly given her another opportunity to plant the seeds of discontent among his men.
In less than an hour and with a few select insinuations about the men’s pay and how long they were expected to stay on the island, the man had been grumbling about this mad mission.
It seemed the men were primed like dry kindling to be resentful. Apparently de Soules was overdue in paying them, and he hadn’t even brought proper supplies to the island for an indefinite stay—yet another sign that the plotting, meticulous man de Soules had once been was no more.
Though de Soules had found the energy to slap and kick her a few more times, most of his day had been spent attempting to rein in his men. And an hour past, the shouting had finally erupted, with the mercenaries threatening to take the birlinn and abandon de Soules on the island. If the matter escalated far enough, Vivienne would offer the mercenaries riches beyond their wildest dreams to take her with them.
But suddenly the shouts outside the cave’s mouth changed from angry to shocked. A heartbeat later, the clang of metal on metal crashed through the air.
Her heart leapt into her throat. Had the mercenaries attacked de Soules and Bevin? If so, they might leave in the birlinn as soon as the giant and the madman were overpowered—without Vivienne.
She strained against the ropes binding her, but they held her wrists and ankles fast. De Soules had retied her feet to her hands to keep her immobile, but he’d left her ungagged, so she screamed at the top of her lungs. “Take me with you! I can pay!” she shouted, praying one of the mercenaries would hear her over the din of battle raging outside.
Suddenly de Soules himself burst into the circle of light cast by the weak fire. He had his sword drawn, his eyes wide and fixed on the mouth of the cave.
“Nay,” he breathed. “Nay, I killed ye.”
Just then, a large form moved in the shadows. For a moment, Vivienne thought it was Bevin, but she could make out a plaid swishing around the man’s legs.
Non. It couldn’t be.
The form took another step forward, and suddenly Kieran stood in the light.
“It seems ye didnae,” he replied.
At the sound of his low, gruff voice, she began shaking. Was this real? A dream? Had de Soules killed her at last and she had been reunited with her love?
A sob broke from her throat. His clear blue eyes darted to where she lay on the cave floor.
“Vivienne.”
He turned back to de Soules, his lips drawing back from his teeth in a snarl. “Ye’ll pay dearly for hurting her.”
De Soules held up his sword as if he were warding off a ghost. “Nay, nay,” he kept repeating, backing up until he bumped into one of the cave’s walls.
With a roar, Kieran lunged forward. De Soules barely managed to deflect Kieran’s sword, scuttling off to the side. Blade raised, Kieran advanced like a wraith come to drag de Soules to hell where he belonged.
“I should take yer head for being a spineless traitor,” Kieran rasped, swinging at de Soules again. De Soules blocked the blow but was thrown backward several feet by the force of it. “But I willnae.”
De Soules’s brown eyes widened as he continued to back away.
“Nay,” Kieran went on. “Instead I’ll take it for laying a finger on Vivienne.”
With another bellow, he charged forward. De Soules tried to parry Kieran’s blade, but Kieran drove forward with such power that de Soules couldn’t deflect his attack. Their blades hissed against each other, then suddenly de Soules jerked and shrieked.
He looked down with stunned eyes to find Kieran’s sword lodged in his chest. Air whistled past his lips in a slow rasp. His legs buckled beneath him and he crumpled to the cave floor.
Kieran yanked his blade free, but he stood over de Soules until the last of the man’s breath wheezed away. De Soules went still, his eyes wide and glassy as they stared at nothing in death.
As if waking from a dream, Kieran lifted his head and his eyes locked with hers. Suddenly he was by her side, sliding onto his knees next to her. He dropped his sword and yanked his dagger from his boot, then began sawing frantically at her bindings.
“My God,” he breathed. “Vivienne. Are ye all right? Did he hurt ye?”
No doubt she was a frightful sight. De Soules had indeed relished slapping her face and kicking the rest of her. She was certain bruises covered her skin beneath her dress, and her cheeks and lips ached where he’d struck her. But she was alive. And so was Kieran.
“Naught that won’t heal soon,” she replied in a daze. “You…you are here. Alive.”
Her hands and feet suddenly popped free as the ropes fell away. Kieran drew back, eyeing her as if he didn’t believe she was real either.
She reached out tentatively and laid her palm against his bristled jawline. He closed his eyes, leaning into her hand.
“I thought you were dead,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
“Nay, lass. I could never leave ye. I love ye too much.”
Suddenly she launched herself into his arms, hard sobs racking her. He held her close, murmuring in her ear that she was safe now, that he would never let her go, that he loved her, over and over.
After a long whil
e, she became aware that there were others in the cave with them. She lifted her head from Kieran’s chest to find Will, Niall, and Mairin standing respectfully at the edge of the circle of light cast by the fire.
“How…how did you find me?” she mumbled, looking up at Kieran.
“I’ll explain later,” he said. He glanced at Will, a wordless question in his eyes.
“The rest of de Soules’s men have been dispatched,” Will said in response with a curt nod. “It was damn good timing to come upon them feuding amongst themselves.”
“It worked,” Vivienne breathed. Not in the way she’d planned, but her efforts hadn’t been for naught.
Kieran searched her with his gaze, his brows drawn. “Are ye saying…that ye had a hand in that business outside, lass?”
She ducked her head. “I thought to plant the seeds of discontent between de Soules and his hired men in the hopes that the mercenaries might take me with them if they abandoned de Soules.”
Across the cave, Niall whistled softly, and Will’s eye widened. Mairin gave her a nod, a rare smile tipping up one side of her mouth.
“Ye are so damn brave and clever, lass,” Kieran murmured, respect filling his voice.
He helped her to her feet slowly and guided her toward the cave’s opening. They were forced to pass de Soules’s lifeless body on the way.
She made herself look at him, to seal the image of him in her mind so that she would never forget he was dead. She wouldn’t allow him to haunt her from beyond the grave.
Some small, angry part of her wanted to spit on his body, but she resisted. Just because he’d treated her cruelly, as if she were an animal, didn’t mean she would stoop to his level by acting like one.
When they reached the others, Kieran halted.
“Take her to the birlinn,” he said grimly.
Her gaze snapped to him. “Aren’t you coming?”
His big hand made gentle, reassuring circles on her back. “Aye, in a moment.” Yet his hand fell away and his features hardened. “But first, I have a promise to keep.”
