by Amy Jarecki
He growled, but Helen continued before he had a chance to spew another rebuttal. “I’d hoped you might see reason after bashing the bed against the wall with Mary half the night. I-I understood when you took a leman upon my confinement. But if you persist—”
“So now you’re threatening me?” He scoffed and sauntered toward her. “My God, you are a foolhardy woman.”
This time, his insult made the hackles at the back of her neck stand on end. “Why is it that every time I confront you, you manage to completely avoid the issue and try to make me out the bumbling idiot?”
“Because—”
“No.” Clenching her fists, Helen took another step toward him. They were finally behind closed doors and she would confront him. “I shall tell you why. Because you have never cared for me. You haven’t given me an iota of respect since the day I came to Mingary. Last eve you couldn’t even pay me a compliment for ensuring the meal was prepared and plentiful for forty unexpected men.”
“You overstep your bounds.” His gravelly voice deepened.
She allowed his threatening tenor to embolden her. “Do I? Am I never allowed my say?”
Aleck’s eyes growing darker, he sauntered forward like a man bent on violence. Her husband had never struck her before—would he now?
Though Helen trembled from head to toe, she refused to flee. “I’ve kept this keep in good order for five years and I’ve never once heard a word of thanks from you. And yet you have the audacity to call me foolhardy.” Her chin ticked up. “I daresay, I’m not the foolish party in this room.”
“Watch yourself—you will push me too far.” He stepped within a hand’s breadth, towering over her small frame.
Her heart hammered so hard her temples throbbed. “There you go, using your size to threaten me. Isn’t that always the way?” Helen met his gaze. “You will not coerce me into submission this day. You claim you want a son? I have healed from birthing Maggie and am again ready to conceive.” The thought of lying with the brute turned her stomach sour.
His hand darted out and clamped on to her shoulder and he regarded her with a menacing glare. “Would you like me to bend you over the table now?”
“Och, aye?” she taunted with a sneer of her own, calling his bluff. “You choose to treat your wife like a whore?” Helen twisted from under his grasp and skittered backward. “You find Mary so much more attractive than I? What is it you prefer about that woman? Her enormous breasts? Her gargantuan backside?”
Aleck’s eyes narrowed. “Curb your vulgar tongue, woman!” Faster than the strike of an asp, he slapped her face.
Reeling back, Helen drew her fingers over the stinging cheek, blinking in rapid succession to clear her vision. “How dare you raise your hand against me?” Gracious, he’d hit her so hard, her teeth wouldn’t meet as if he’d knocked her jaw out of alignment.
He closed the gap. Helen turned to flee, but his arm clamped around her midsection. He tugged up her skirts. “I’ll show you who is lord and master in this castle.”
Shrieking, Helen twisted and fought to flee, but he held her in a viselike grip. The arm around her waist clenched so taut, she could scarcely draw a breath. With a gasp she threw all her weight against him. “You think I am daft?” she screamed.
He grunted against her writhing attempts to burst free. But that did nothing to allay his powerful grip around her waist while he savagely tugged up her skirts.
Regardless of his oafish brutality, her tongue would not be quelled. Helen would speak her mind and damn the consequences. She twisted enough to manage a deep breath. “You would prefer to be whoring with a vindictive, immoral wench?”
Alex dropped her skirt. Fastening his fingers around her jaw, he twisted her head to face him. He pressed his lips to her ear. “Mary was my leman long before you arrived at Mingary.” His tone took on a deadly growl. “You have no right to speak ill of her. The widow went through hell after she lost her husband.”
Hit with the ominous shock of the depth of her plight, Helen stopped struggling. Her head swooned. “You have been intimate with that woman throughout the duration of our marriage?”
He released his arm and spun her around, sinking his fingers in to her shoulders. “That is none of your concern.”
By his deadpan glare, Helen knew he had never been faithful to their marriage bed. He sickened her. Though her face throbbed from his slap and his unyielding fingers dug into her flesh, she could not refrain from her tirade. “Even though I am able to conceive again, you’ve chosen to consort with that whore rather than your wife.” She stamped her foot. “Worse, you openly show your lust for that woman. Do you know how much your actions humiliate me? And yet you refuse my request to retire to a nunnery?”
His grip clamped tighter. “Must I repeat?” He shook her until her teeth rattled. “You are mine. I will use you as I please and you will be staying at Mingary.”
I hate him.
Helen closed her eyes and forced her mind to go to a place of serenity. “The position you have placed me in has become untenable,” she uttered in a low voice. “If you cannot at least make your advances toward your leman subtle, I’ll have no recourse but to take Maggie and head to the sanctuary of Iona.”
She didn’t even see the next slap coming, it was delivered with such vehement force. Her face instantly hot, pain seared across her face and Helen blinked in rapid succession as tears stung her eyes.
“You will not threaten me. I’ve an alliance to make with the lass,” he growled, giving her another teeth rattling shake. “If you attempt to take my daughter from Mingary, I will hunt you down and kill you.”
Helen’s tongue slipped to the corner of her mouth, met with the iron taste of blood. He had not only broken the code of chivalry, he was the vilest man she could imagine. So now he threatens murder? She shuddered.
He leaned into her with a sickly sneer stretching his lips. “But it won’t be an easy death. I’ll make sure you suffer for a very long time.”
A sense of calm precluded her panic. She looked from his right hand to his left. “Release me.” Her voice was lower than she’d ever heard it. “Lest you give me cause to seek an annulment—”
“A woman, appeal to the Pope?” he bellowed with a hideous laugh, but his grip eased.
Helen jolted from his steely fingers and darted for the door. “Guard! Help!” She flung it wide and hurtled into the passageway.
Grant ran toward her, his sword drawn. “M’lady—”
“Do not let him touch me.” Helen picked up her skirts and dashed past the guard.
“You were brought to Mingary to increase my wealth and to produce my heir! And you’ve woefully failed on the second account.” Aleck’s voice resounded through the stone passageway. Then he bellowed another taunting laugh. “After all this time, do you still have imaginings of love and sailing off into sunsets, like the stories in those ridiculous books you read?”
Helen clapped her hands over her ears to block Aleck’s tirade and ran for the solace of the beach. She ran to the only place in God forsaken Ardnamurchan where she could be alone. Once outside the bailey walls, a brisk wind cut through her gown, but Helen could scarcely feel the cold. The entire time she’d been in Aleck’s solar, she’d maintained her composure, but now, free from his brutality, she couldn’t stop her tears as sobs wracked her body.
Eoin rubbed his hand over the worn timbers of his galley. The boat was in need of a good refit. At the very least, he and his men must patch the joins with pitch to ensure they had no problems when they sailed north. He walked around the outer hull, making a mental note of weak spots that could possibly give them trouble. There was nothing more damning than a bloody leak in the midst of a squall in the North Sea.
He straightened at the sound of a woman’s wail sailing past on the wind—an eerie sound. Most likely it was a seagull, but Eoin stooped and peered beneath the curve of galley’s stern, looking in the direction of the noise. Lady Helen ran across the stony beach with her h
ands clapped to her face. Then she climbed a small outcropping and disappeared behind the rocks.
What the devil?
It didn’t surprise him that she was upset. Any man would have challenged Sir Aleck to a brawl had they been insulted in the way Lady Helen had endured last eve. Eoin straightened and swiped a hand across his mouth. He had no business meddling. The lady had made her decision long ago. She’d broken his heart once and seeing her again only served to open the old wound.
Her wail howled on the wind.
Eoin’s heart twisted. They had been good friends once. His memory returned with clarity. Of the four sisters, Helen had always been the most well-mannered—not that any of Duncan’s sisters were audacious. But why had Lady Helen married a rogue?
Pushing aside his unfounded concern, he continued with his inspection of the hull.
The wail came again. This time the agony in the lady’s tone cut through to his gut.
Before he allowed himself another thought, he strode toward Lady Helen’s hiding place. The rocks were sharp and slick with mist. She could have fallen.
Arriving at the outcropping where she’d disappeared, Eoin looked down. The hem of her blue kirtle peeked from under the stony shelf.
As he descended, Helen’s stuttered breaths swelled up to him. Her voice filled with incredible agony, the woefulness of it wrapped tendrils around his heart.
Jumping down, Eoin landed upon smooth sand.
With another gasp, her hem disappeared further into the cavern.
“Lady Helen?”
“Leave me.” Her voice trembled.
I really ought to take her advice. Eoin crouched down and peered inside. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he realized she had a bruise forming under her eye.
I could kill the bastard.
He crawled beside her and kneeled. “You’ve been hit.” She had another, larger bruise on the right side of her jaw. “More than once.”
“I am fine.” She snapped a hand to her chest, sucking in sharp inhales as if she were trying to regain control.
Reaching out, he brushed the bruise near her eye with the back of his finger.
She flinched.
“Did Sir Aleck do this?” Honestly, he needn’t ask.
She pursed her lips and nodded, the anguish in her eyes unmistakable. Eoin wished he’d been the one on the receiving end of that strike. Aleck MacIain would think twice before he lashed out at a woman again.
“I-I-I…” Drawing the corners of her mouth into a tortured frown, she turned as red as a ripe apple. She hid her face in her hands, breathing like she’d just run a footrace.
Eoin slid onto his haunches and smoothed his arm over her shoulders. “Easy, lass. There’s no need to say a word.”
She leaned into him as if craving compassion. “I’m sorry.”
Wishing to give her comfort, to do anything to take away her agony, he rubbed his palm on her shoulder in a circular motion. “There’s nothing to forgive. Just have a good cry and everything will feel better.”
Gently he rocked her, realizing Helen wore no veil covering her hair. Her locks were the color of burnt honey and smelled of lilies and rain. How anyone could raise a hand against such perfection, Eoin would never know.
Her breaths grew short—like hiccups. Eoin encircled her with his free hand and continued to sway, back and forth in a hypnotic rhythm. “It will be all right,” he whispered into her temple. He hoped to God it would. Why did she marry that brutish maggot of a husband?
“It will never be all right.” Her voice was as bitter as bile.
Not once had Eoin ever heard such defeat come from another living soul. His tongue twisted—spewing curses about Aleck MacIain wouldn’t help the lady. If he hadn’t witnessed the bastard’s behavior last eve, he never would have believed a woman as genteel as Helen could be so openly scorned by a man who had taken a solemn marriage vow to love and protect his wife. But to see the lady battered made Eoin want to march into the keep and show Aleck MacIain exactly what it was like to take a beating.
He bowed his chin to Helen’s silken tresses and kissed the top of her head. “I do not take kindly to any man who strikes a woman, no matter the cause.”
She sighed deeply and shook her head. “I suppose I deserved his ire.”
He blinked. “Why on earth would you say that?”
“I tried to confront him about Mary and asked…”
When she stopped herself, curiosity needled at the back of his neck. “What did you ask?”
“It doesn’t matter. He’ll never allow me to leave Mingary. And I cannot flee without my daughter.”
Eoin pursed his lips. He’d want to run too—had he been in Helen’s position. “Aye, you’ve a bairn who needs you.”
She leaned into him, her hands clutched under her chin. “I fear more for Maggie than for myself.”
Eoin’s gut roiled. “Don’t tell me he’s turned his hand against the wee lass.”
“Nay, but he plans to make an alliance with her marriage—far before she’s ready.” Helen tensed in his arms. “I swear on my father’s grave, I’ll not see her in a miserable marriage. ’Tis no life without happiness.”
Heaven help him, the woefulness in her voice tore his heart to shreds. “No, lass. It is not.”
Helen’s breathing grew steadier, but she remained nestled into him as if afraid to let go. Eoin’s heart swelled. Lady Helen needed someone to care for her—to stand up for her. Whom could he appoint? By the end of summer he would return to his clan and then he’d be of no use to her at all. But holy Mother Mary, it had been a long time since he’d wrapped his arms around a woman—even longer since he’d embraced a lass without seeking a kiss.
She seemed content to remain in his arms for a time. Oddly, Eoin could think of no other place he should be presently. There were probably a host of things requiring his attention, but his mind blanked. Only Lady Helen filled his senses as his rocking motion brought on a peacefulness he hadn’t a mind to end.
He thought back to the years he’d spent as a squire at Kilchurn Castle. Helen had been such a darling child, but he was older—seven years was a great deal to a young lad. He’d never thought of her romantically until…hmm…she must have been about ten and five the first time I realized she was stunning. Though I wanted to, I couldn’t do much about my desires at the time. Even at two and twenty I was still trying to earn my place as a knight.
He smiled at the memories his thoughts rekindled. Helen wasn’t as tall as Gyllis, her elder sister by one year. She was fairer and more fine-boned—quieter, but by the intelligence reflected in her eyes, Helen was aware of everything that happened around her. He chuckled.
Helen pulled away a little. “Why are you laughing?”
Eoin didn’t want to release her yet. He smoothed his hand along her outer arm, akin to comforting a fond pet, and she eased back against him. “Do you remember the time your mother blamed you and your sisters for pinching the Yule log?”
She tapped her fingers to her mouth and blew out a burst of air—not a laugh, but almost. “Aye—why on earth would you remember that?”
“Duncan and I used it the night before for a bonfire—sort of a rite of passage ceremony we dreamed up.” He inclined his cheek against her hair. “We didn’t realize what we’d done until the next day. Holy Moses, your mother was furious.”
“And you allowed her to believe we girls took it?”
Eoin absently smoothed his hand over her tresses. “Duncan made me swear a vow of silence—said we’d not eat a decent meal in a month if Lady Margaret discovered we’d used her masterpiece.”
“Do you realize that without a guard, Ma took us into the forest—whilst it was snowing, mind you—and each of us chopped until blisters formed. Then she made us drag the heavy thing all the way back to the keep.”
Eoin grimaced. He hadn’t been aware of the severity of their punishment. “I’m sorry we made you go to so much trouble. I never should have kept mum.”
> Helen turned her face up to him. “And go against your vow to my brother?”
God in heaven, he’d never realized her eyes were so incredibly blue. “That would have caused some consternation,” Eoin said, his voice husky.
“I’ll say.” Helen smiled, ever so innocently. “Knowing Duncan, he still wouldn’t have forgiven you to this day.”
6
Aleck trudged toward Mary’s cottage, a trek he’d made many times before. He’d done a good job of keeping his affair with Mary a secret up until Helen gave birth to a bloody bitch. Christ, he’d waited so goddamned long for Campbell’s sister to bear his son, the birth of a daughter pushed him over the edge of his tolerance. Any reasonable man would feel the same.
If only Mary had been the daughter of a knight, he would have been able to marry the widow. He’d been in love with her even before her husband passed. But she was the daughter of a common crofter. An alliance with her would bring no riches. Lady Helen Campbell had come with an impressive bloodline as well as a healthy dowry, not to mention the alliance with her family served him well at court.
The problem was the lady herself. How on earth Colin Campbell, the great Black Knight of Rome could have sired a mouse like Lady Helen was beyond Aleck’s comprehension. He’d expected and preferred a robust woman who brazenly spoke her mind and presided over the keep with a firm hand. Helen was too bloody nice for a noblewoman. Aleck couldn’t imagine Lord Campbell ever allowing servants to be friendly. They were provided by God to serve the gentry and perform a duty for their maintenance.
Aye, bringing Helen to Mingary had been a mistake. She was so demure—hadn’t a backbone in her body. Aleck stopped and scratched his chin. Her behavior in the solar this morn had been quite out of character for her. She’d never confronted him with such passion. He’d wanted to take his dagger and slit that slender neck of hers. Seek an annulment? Take Maggie away? The bitch finally gives me a bairn and she’s suddenly found her grit? Well, she will not leave me until I’ve interred her rotting corpse into the family crypt.
