The Spellbound Bride (29 page)

"You can give your kisses to all of them, but not to me. Is that it?" He grabbed her chin in his hand. "I just saved your life, yet again. I’ve done everything for you. Don’t you love me as I love you?"

Sorcha shook her head in confusion.

"I cared for you as a mother or sister might. There was never anything more."

He released her and stood up from the edge of the bed. He kept talking as though she’d said nothing.

"I gave you the draught to make you drop the brat. Why would I want you carrying his seed? You are mine and always will be. Our children will be royal by blood, and perhaps one day will claim the throne."

"Wh-, what are you saying?" His words were confusing her. She couldn’t believe he harbored these illusions. "Why would you want me to lose Ian’s bairn?"

"I will not share you. Not again, not ever. You are mine!"

A chill threaded through her veins. This was a side of him she had never seen before. Oh she had known him to be passionate, even reckless, when it came to the things he believed in. Even as a young child, he would defend her to her uncle. But this was different, as if his sense of right and wrong had somehow gotten scrambled with desire. Her skin prickled as each hair stood on end.

"You’re not making sense."

"Rob, Harold, Magnus, Hunter. They all wanted what by rights was mine. They tried to take you from me."

She sucked in a breath, fear slicing cleanly through her. A sick certainty threaded through her veins.

"The notes." He stalked slowly toward her. "All of them." He placed a hand on either side of her on the bed, trapping her between his arms. "I had no other way to convince you to stay."

Her heart was beating in her throat. Panic seized her.

"B-but they claimed you were in danger if I left."

He leaned forward his breath fanning her face.

"What better way to test your true love for me?"

Sorcha turned her face away, sickened by what he had become.

He nuzzled her ear and spoke with a soft heat.

"Nay. You are meant to be my lover. I have always known so. Haven’t you?" He kissed along her neck, slowly, passionately. Sorcha’s stomach turned with revulsion.

She pushed him away, hard.

"I have done all I can to care for you. But this is where it stops. I am married to Ian. You must understand that I love him, Archibald. I love him."

He look dumbstruck for a moment, but his face quickly changed, contorted by fury.

"Nay! If I can’t have you, then none shall."

Alone with him in this cottage, she could not defend herself. Though he was still a youth, his body bordered on full manhood, and he had enough strength to overpower her. She was still weak from the effects of the draught and could not run far even if she did escape him.

"You must let me go. You can’t hold me against my will forever."

His shoulders relaxed, but the menacing gleam in his eyes remained.

"You’re right." He came closer, his body touching hers. "But I can keep you here long enough to make sure you never forget me."

She had to think. He pulled aside her gown and began kissing down her collar bone. Sorcha could feel the rock hardness of him pressing against her. If she didn’t stop him and convince him otherwise, he would force himself on her.

She threaded her hand into his hair at the base of his neck and kneaded, then sighed as if delighted by his kisses.

"Love," she breathed softly in his ear. "We cannot go too quickly. The draught has ruined me for a time. I am bleeding just now."

He pulled back, his eyes dark with desire.

"The midwife said that might be a consequence. It is no matter. We have all the time in the world now the babe is gone. All the same, I want you."

He began kissing her again. Sorcha fought the urge to vomit on him. Fury pumped in her blood as she thought of how he had made the curse seem so real to her. He had almost kept her from loving Ian because of the foolishness. He would pay for that, and for this wretched humiliation.

He grasped her hand and moved it toward his groin. Archibald thrust his hips forward.

"Touch me."

She grasped his rigid flesh with one hand and his soft baggage with the other. He groaned with pleasure.

In a split instant, she dug in with her nails, pulled and twisted both handfuls of flesh as hard as she could in opposite directions. He screamed and buckled over clutching one hand to his groin and swinging with the other.

"You bitch!" he shrieked.

He was breathing hard, his face pale white and sweating. Sorcha darted the swinging hand to run past him. But she wasn’t fast enough. The back of Archibald’s fist connected against her cheek with a crack. She fell back against the bed and slumped to the floor, pain radiating from her face and back. She scrambled up, determined to run for the door when he grabbed her leg, sending her tumbling forward.

"You’re not leaving me like this."

Chapter Twenty

In the flickering light of the smoking rushes, Henna could just make out the form of her son coming toward her. Relief washed over her, replacing the absolute panic that had gripped her when she had first awakened in the dank cell.

"Duncan..." she rasped, her throat parched from lack of water.

"I am here, mistress Henna."

She reached to grasp him through the bars.

"You must get me out of this place."

He gently picked her hands off his clothing and stepped back beyond her reach.

"There isn’t a thing I can do."

"Tell them who I am. I am not a convict."

"They think you have lost your mind. There is nothing I can do to convince them otherwise."

Henna narrowed her eyes.

"Nothing you
can’t
, or nothing you
won’t
do, to save your mother."

"My mother?" Duncan sneered. "Surely you did not think I’d have feelings for you—the woman who ruined my leg when she birthed me then abandoned me until she found me useful."

"I always knew you had the best of care. I did not abandon you in the woods like a deformed thing should have been."

He lunged at the bars, spittle flying as he shrieked at her.

"You are the reason for this!" He punched his twisted leg. "This life of hell I have endured for your selfish whims! Well you can rot or die, I care not which."

Henna’s jaw went slack at the vehemence of his words. Dear God, he blamed her for his deformity. True she had not mothered him, but she had fostered him as best she could among her kin. She had not asked anything of him until he was older. It was a mother’s due. But this anger was unanticipated.

He stepped back, his eyes venomous and dripping with hatred.

"Goodbye, mother." He turned and began to limp away.

"Duncan! Duncan! You can’t leave me here! I gave birth to you."

He glanced back over his shoulder, a thin smile touching his lips.

"Oh, I can, leave you in their care mother, just as you left me in the odious care of people who treated me as a vile servant. And I will."

* * *

Ian heard the screams coming from the nearby dungeon and tried not to think about what was happening to cause such a soul-wrenching sound.

The door to his cell row opened and behind the guard appeared the last face he ever though to be glad to see—his brother.

The hint of joy in Lord Hunterston’s face faded quickly as Ian watched him approach the cell. They stood silently, looking at each other through the bars as they waited for the guard to open the cell door.

His brother was agitated. To anyone else he may have looked calm and collected, but the set of his shoulders and the hardened determination in his eyes were a dead giveaway to Ian. This was more than a familial visitation. Malcolm slipped the guard several coins.

Ian stood up, his hands holding the bars that had caged him for the past few days.

The guard swung the door open for Malcolm to enter the cell, but his brother stopped at the threshold.

"I trust I am welcome?" Malcolm asked. His mouth tilted into a grin.

Ian remained sober and solemn.

"What are you doing here?"

Malcolm’s grin faltered and crumbled into a grim line.

"I’m here to save your hide. Do you mind?" He nodded to the guard and the man shuffled away, as Malcolm stepped into the cell.

Ian stopped his brother short with a firm hand on his chest.

"It depends. Do you plan to use it against me?"

Malcolm shook his head, shoving Ian’s hand away.

"You still don’t understand, do you?"

Ian stepped forward, blocking Malcolm’s path, his feet spread wide apart.

"I understand that you take every advantage and that you took Sorcha away from me as well the day you called the kirk to fetch her."

"Back away, Ian." Malcolm pushed against Ian.

Ian didn’t budge.

"You were always the rash one," Malcolm jeered, thumping him on the chest with a pointed finger. "Someone has to temper things for you."

Ian grabbed his brother’s hand and gave it vicious twist.

"Which only proves you didn’t know me at all. Admit it, you did it to humiliate me because I had something you wanted."

Malcolm jerked his hand away, his eyes blazing.

"Enough! I have borne your resentment and insults too long. You need some manners, little brother." His fist connected with a solid thunk on Ian’s jaw.

Ian’s head snapped back. He grunted, then launched himself at his brother’s midsection, knocking the breath from Malcolm and sending them both sprawling to the floor. Malcolm flipped to his stomach and lifted to his knees. Ian quickly wrapped his arms beneath Malcolm’s, pinning his brother’s shoulders back, his hands pushing against the back of Malcolm’s head.

"Eternity is not too long to wait for what you’ve done to me," he hissed in Malcolm’s ear.

Malcolm pulled forcefully down and threw his weight back against Ian, his arms and shoulders sliding free of Ian’s hold as he crushed his brother to the floor. He threw back his elbow into Ian’s stomach, causing Ian to huff. Malcolm got to his feet.

"What I did? You mean protect you yet again?" Malcolm quickly turned, forcing his knee down onto Ian’s chest. "I only called the kirk because I was told she was trying to poison you."

"You were her death sentence!"

"I never meant to be!"

"And what of Mary? Couldn’t stand me to have her either?"

"I took Mary because of what you did to her," he said as his fist connected again with Ian’s jaw.

Ian growled, his tongue licking at the coppery trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth,

"What I did? I did nothing!" He threw a heavy punch that snapped Malcolm’s head to the side, then sat forward and shoved hard, throwing Malcolm backward in one fluid motion. Malcolm’s head cracked against the stone floor.

Malcolm shook his head, rubbing the back of his skull. Ian sprang forward as Malcolm moved to sit up, pinning his shoulders to the floor.

"Don’t you think I know what kind of harlot she is now?" Malcolm blurted out. "She came to me crying about how you had ruined her and her prospects for a respectable marriage. That you had taken what you wanted and possibly left her with child. I believed I was cleaning up your infidelities, protecting you and our family."

Ian snorted, releasing Malcolm, and pushing away from him.

"You lie. You wanted her for yourself." A flicker of movement caught Ian’s eye. He blocked Malcolm’s fist with his left hand and hooked a right into his brother’s stomach. His brother doubled. Ian moved quickly behind him and wrapped his arm around his brother’s throat.

Malcolm struggled in the crook of his arm, his fingers tearing at Ian’s skin.

"At first," he rasped. "What man with red blood in his veins wouldn’t? But it didn’t take long to see beneath the beautiful veneer." Ian shifted his weight, and let Malcolm to fall to the floor. He stood up, offering his hand to Malcolm.

Malcolm stared at the hand for a moment, swatted at it, then staggered to his feet. Both of them were panting.

"You married her, you could have just sent her away," Ian stated plainly, between wheezing breaths.

Malcolm bent over, resting his hands on his knees, his sides heaving like a bellows. He shook his head, wiping the blood away from the cut on his cheek, and looked up at Ian, locking his gaze on his eyes.

"You vanished. I could only assume she was being truthful."

Ian brushed the rushes from his clothing.

"But I saw you in bed with her before we were to be wed."

Malcolm coughed. "Aye. An indiscretion. She came to me. I was too blinded by her beauty to deny her. I’m human, brother, not a damned saint."

Ian couldn’t help grinning.

"Aye. True enough, but your well-meant intentions were something I couldn’t accept." He sobered, looking Malcolm in the eye. "You were wrong to take her from me, Malcolm."

Malcolm nodded.

"Aye. I see that, now. But what’s done is done. I cannot change it, Ian. Wish to God that I could, but I can’t."

"As glad as I am you’ve come to make peace with me, things have changed. I’ve changed. I don’t need you to save me anymore, Malcolm. I can take care of myself."

Malcolm stood, rotating his arm. "Fine. No more saving. Can we now get back to the business at hand?"

Ian stiffened.

"What business? Isn’t this an obligatory family visit to the condemned?"

Malcolm shoved him in the chest.

"You ass. Of course not. I’m come to get you out of here, unless, of course, you prefer the accommodations."

A dense cloud of confusion muddled Ian’s brain.

"I’m getting out?"

Malcolm swiped again at the persistent trickle of blood.

"Aye. And it cost me a fortune and more than a few favors." Ian leaned his back against the stone wall and crossed his arms. "Who sent you?"

"No one, you dolt. I came because you’re my brother. And the sooner you get your sorry self out of here, the sooner we can attend to your wife. I found out where the Earl of Argyll has taken her."

Ian strode past his brother.

"Well, ye gads, man, what are you waiting for? Let’s go."

Ian pushed his horse as fast as he dared. Knowing Argyll’s obsession with Sorcha and his determination to have her, he had a sickening feeling in his gut that he would hurt her if she didn’t acquiesce to his demands. Just how far the he would go, he didn’t know. And that was what scared him.

Malcolm veered off the main road toward the shire of Urfildon and Ian followed. Ian glanced into the sky to see a billowing plume of black smoke. It was too much smoke to be a mere hearth fire. His heart lurched.

Dear God.

Argyll couldn’t be that cruel.

They splashed through a creek, following the black pillar in the sky until they could hear the crackling of the fire and feel the breeze created by it. Behind a copse of trees, the leaping orange and yellow flames ate at the cottage, only the stone walls unaffected by the onslaught. The blackened roof popped and fizzled as bits of the burning straw floated up into the air on the heat of the blaze.

The smoke stung and burned, making Ian’s eyes water. He dismounted, intending to rush into the house.

A firm grip held him fast.

"Hold, brother."

He nearly turned to punch Malcolm in the face. Then he felt the slap of wet wool over him.

"Now you can go near it."

He stopped only long enough to grab an axe from beside the woodpile.

* * *

She couldn’t breathe. Sorcha opened her eyes enough to see the thick gray haze hanging in the air above her. The smoke was overpowering, making her lungs ache and burn. Overhead orange flames licked and ate away at the roof thatch.
Dear God, he was going to burn her alive!

Panic seized her. The screams of her mother, sisters and brother echoed in her head. Sorcha pushed them away, forcing herself to think of the here and now. With a pop and sizzle, sparks showered down in a hellish rain. She tore her sleeve off her gown and wrapped the cloth about her mouth and nose. The heat increased as the fire overtook the roof on the outside and worked its way in.

Sorcha scrambled on her knees to the door, her mind a crazed mix of hope and fear. She pulled at it. He’d blocked it from the outside. The points of fresh nails pierced the wooden door at regular intervals. A violent coughing fit overtook her. She whirled about, searching for an exit. The windows were shuttered tightly and probably nailed as well. Her eyes stung and watered as much from the smoke as from sheer panic. Her hair was singeing in the heat, and the putrid smell of it assailed her.