Highlander Untamed (21 page)

The warrior laughed unpleasantly. “Don’t you worry about him. He won’t need you where he is going.” Cruelly, he kicked Alex’s unmoving body.

Isabel was relieved to hear the pained groan. Alex had been lying so still, she’d been afraid he was already dead. The blow had probably just knocked him out, but they would not let him live. She had to do something. If she hadn’t begged Alex to leave Dunvegan, none of this would have happened. Anguished guilt mingled with helplessness. “Who are you? What do you want with me?”

“I’ve already told you what we want from you, a wee bit of sport.” He smiled, revealing the stumps of his crooked brown teeth. “As for the other, who do
you
think we are? Who would be bold enough to raid MacLeod lands in the middle of the day?” The arrogance spewing from the swarthy clansman was great.

“Mackenzies,” Isabel hissed.

“Ah, so our reputation precedes us. And who might you be, my beauty?” He considered her appearance, noting the quality of her garments. “Obviously a lady.” He reached out to stroke her breast with his rough, dirty fingers. “A lady with the body of a whore.”

Instinctively, Isabel swatted his hand away. He retaliated swiftly, cuffing her brutally on the chin. Her head whipped backward with the power of the blow, knocking her hair loose from its ribbons. If possible, the lewd stares of the men became even more filled with lust.

Although dazed from the blow, she swore, “If you touch me again, I’ll kill you.”

A deadly silence followed her pronouncement, as the rest of the men waited for the reaction of their leader. His bawdy laughter rang out at her threat. “Ah, we have found ourselves a wee firebrand. You’ll be a pleasure to tame, my sweet, but heed this warning. Do not anger me, or I may begin your lessons right here. I ask you again, what is your name and who will claim you? The truth, gel, or you will know my wrath.”

Isabel debated her answer, quickly weighing whether the truth would help or hinder her in this situation. Apparently, she was taking more time than he had allotted, because she found herself yanked back by her hair, pulled against his sweaty body as his hand ripped open the bodice of her riding habit. His grimy fingers reached under her sark and clawed roughly at her breast, jagged nails scratching the delicate skin. Isabel felt sickened by his touch; nausea spread up her throat, and she knew she was near to retching.

“Enough. Your name, or do you require more persuasion?”

“Isabel.”

“Well, Isabel, who will claim you?”

“Rory MacLeod. I am wife to the MacLeod.” She lifted her chin as if to challenge him. Her voice sounded small but held a touch of defiance.

Astonished by her claim, the man abruptly released her. He was obviously displeased and appeared uncertain as to whether she should be believed. Isabel could see the thoughts running through his mind. Rory MacLeod was a powerful adversary. Relieving him of a few head of cattle was one thing, relieving him of his wife…Well, he would be a hunted man. Taking his wife would make him an enemy for a lifetime—likely a short lifetime.

The Mackenzie clansman crossed his arms and stared at her for a moment before coming to his decision. “You lie. The wife of the MacLeod would never be left to roam the forests with such a paltry escort. He would be a foolish man to leave such a tempting treat behind while he dallies with Argyll. More likely is that you are his leman.” He reached out and twisted a clump of her unbound hair painfully in his fist. His eyes filled with lust and excitement as he said with a chilling leer, “I did warn you to speak the truth.”

Isabel tried to talk, tried to explain that she was speaking true, but his fetid mouth pressed against hers, crushing her lips violently as she was thrown roughly to the ground. His huge body landed in a harsh thud on top of hers. The weight of his limbs crushed her, pushing her deep into the unforgiving ground. His beard tore at her face as he kissed her.

For a moment she wanted to die, before the fight for life took over.

She fought like a tiger, scratching and clawing at his face, but he clasped her hands above her head and tossed up her skirt, tearing quickly through the layers of undergarments to reach bare skin. Panic rose in her throat and threatened to spill. She felt his fingers grabbing at the soft skin of her bottom, lifting her hips toward his. Through a tunnel of disbelief, she heard his lusty groans mixed with the laughter of his men as he raised his plaid and pushed his hard member against her closed legs, trying to force them open. She felt his coarse hair against her legs as one hand reached down to try to separate her clamped legs.

Lewd voices urged him on.

When she realized what he was about to do, horror unlike any she’d ever experienced chilled her soul. For a paralyzing moment, she couldn’t move. She was suffocating, spiraling downward in a helpless free fall toward hell.

She heard Alex curse and then moan as her screams roused him. But his efforts to help her were thwarted by the fists of the Mackenzies.

Her body gave one last surge—a reflexive fight for survival. She kicked and wiggled against the unyielding weight of his body. But her movements seemed only to excite him. She bit the snakelike tongue that crawled down her throat, tasting blood.

He yelped in pain. “Damn bitch!”

Her head flipped to the side with the first blow. His fist slammed into her face again. And again. The pain was unbearable.

She was powerless.

Oh God, no,
she prayed.
Please, no.

“No!” She heard her muffled scream from the distance of her descent into hell. A hell that smelled like a sweaty swine.

Time stood still as she waited for the release of death.

But nothing happened.

Suddenly, amid the terror, she recognized the distant whiz of an arrow in flight, and the ruffian collapsed hard on her chest, nearly smothering her with the dead weight of his body. His herring eyes fixed in eternity with a startled stare. Confused and in terrible pain from the blows to her face, she barely registered the sound of steel clashing against steel. She looked away from the eyes of the dead man. A lightning flash of steel formed before her eyes like a silver cross. Was she in heaven, then? No, the crosses were swords. A battle, she realized slowly. Perhaps it was hell. The sound of the slash of a blade as it slid through a man mingled with the gurgling cries of death.

Moments later, the Mackenzie’s body was pulled from her. Her first thought was that she could breathe. She was alive. Cool air accosted her bare legs.

Still stunned by what had nearly happened and that it was apparently over, Isabel was unable to focus on her rescuer. For a moment she was confused, until strong arms pulled her into a fierce embrace.

Rory.

His mouth was against her head, buried in her hair. She could feel the furious hammering of his heart against her cheek. She could smell the distinctive scent of heather and sun. Her eyes locked with his, holding his gaze. He looked at her as if he wanted to memorize her features. And she recognized an emotion she had never thought to see on his face. He looked scared. For her.

Rory knew a long moment of gut-checking fear. Fear that he’d arrived too late. The race of his heart had not yet begun to slow. He stroked the side of her ravaged face with his thumb. “Thank God. When I realized who it was beneath that devil’s spawn…” He tipped her chin and looked deep into her eyes. “Isabel, are you all right?”

His eyes practically gorged on the face that had haunted his dreams over the last two months, taking in the cuts and bruises and trying to convince himself that she would not die. Blood streaked her face. Dark shadows surrounded her sunken eyes. An unhealthy gray pallor marred the creamy ivory perfection of her soft skin. There was an angry bruise along her jaw, flecked with spots of black and red, and the area had already swelled. Her glorious hair was tangled and matted, and her riding habit was in shreds. Rory thought she had never looked more beautiful. She was safe.

Tumultuous violet eyes flickered across his face. Disbelief clouded her vision. She reached up to touch the side of his unshaven cheek as if willing him to be real.

“Rory, is it really you? But how?” She clutched at him as if terrified that he might disappear.

“Later. I’ll explain everything later. First we must get you back to the castle.”

She seemed to calm as he carried her to his horse, but in the next instant, the horror returned. “Oh God, Rory. Alex. We must help Alex.” She let go of her death grip on his arms and looked about, searching frantically for Alex.

Rory buried her face in his shoulder, trying to prevent her from seeing the bloody carnage that surrounded them. The proof of his rage. Dead Mackenzies littered the forest floor, their bodies twisted in unnatural positions, riddled with arrows and sword gashes. Blood had turned the orange brown autumn leaves scattering the forest floor a deep burnished red.

“It’s all right, Isabel, Alex will be fine.” He’d suffered a severe knock on the head and some other cuts and bruises from the beating, but he would recover. “Douglas is already carrying him back to the landing.” The very landing where Rory had been surprised to come across a group of his warriors waiting for the return of a small hunting party.

Blood surged through his body at the memory of Colin and Margaret bursting through the trees, telling him of the attack. Praying he would arrive in time, the fury and helplessness he’d felt when he’d seen his brother lying lifeless on the forest floor and Isabel wedged under the vile Mackenzie. Rory’s mind had gone black. The primal thirst for blood penetrated every fiber of his being. Half-crazed, he’d attacked like the Berserker warriors from whom he was descended.

“Rory, I’m sorry. It’s all my fault, please…I never meant…” She wept softly on his shoulder, small tremors wracking her body.

“Shhhh, shush. We’ll not speak of it now. Later, Isabel,” Rory crooned, stroking her silky hair. His first instinct was to put his mouth on hers and kiss away her memories. Selfishly, he wanted to stamp the proof of his possession all over her, wiping away the taint of another. But after what she’d just been through, he knew it was too soon. She was too fragile.

But once again, Isabel surprised him.

Her hands clasped his shoulders. She lifted her mouth to his. “Please.” She shivered. “That man.” Rory could see the horror in her eyes. “Please, Rory, kiss me?”

His heart lurched. ’Twas an offer he was only too willing to accept. “Aye, lass, with pleasure.”

He knew what she needed. Gently, he covered her lips with his.

Isabel couldn’t believe her boldness. But she needed to know that she was alive and safe. To erase the horror with pleasure.

The first brush of his lips was like a feather. The second was achingly tender. Never had she imagined this fierce warrior could be capable of such heart-stopping gentleness. His lips were so soft and yet so strong. And healing. The taste of him was every bit as warm as she remembered. He cradled her in his arms and kissed her with a raw emotion that took her breath away.

And when it was done, Isabel did not trust herself to speak. For fear that the emotion squeezing her chest would break free.

He lifted her onto his horse. Scant seconds later, Isabel felt his strong arms encircling her waist and his hard body behind her. He wrapped his plaid around her torn bodice as lovingly as if she were a newborn bairn. Isabel was too overcome with emotion to feel any modesty for her disheveled appearance.
Dear God, she had nearly been raped.
If Rory had not arrived when he had…

His destrier pounded through the forest, heedless of the added weight of its extra rider. The wind ripped through her hair as it had only hours before—a lifetime ago. Isabel felt herself relax against his habergeon-clad chest, felt her body slipping deeper into the lulling sway of the horse and the warm, protective enclosure of her handfast husband’s strength.

Almost asleep and somewhat disoriented, she inexplicably remembered what she wanted to tell him when she saw him next. “Thank you for the book, it was wonderful.” Her voice sounded soft and drowsy.

She felt the warmth of his breath by her ear. “You’re welcome.”

Safe at last, she collapsed into an exhausted sleep.

Chapter 13

Five days later, he found her at Alex’s bedside. The same spot she’d been stationed at day and night since he’d rescued her from rape at the hands of Murdock Mackenzie. Despite the pandemonium surrounding the attack, Rory had recognized the Mackenzie’s youngest son immediately—and had not hesitated to put an end to his foul life. The man was the worst sort, the type who took immense pleasure in the pain of another; but even so, Rory knew there would be a reckoning with the Mackenzie chief over the life of his son. But it did not matter. Standing in the doorway watching Isabel as she bent over the unmoving figure of his brother, wiping his brow repeatedly with a damp, cool cloth, Rory knew he would happily kill the fiend again and again for what he had nearly done.

The knock on Alex’s head had been more severe than they’d initially realized. He had a knot on his head the size of an egg and had remained unconscious for almost two days. Even now, when he woke, it was not for long and was usually accompanied by dizziness and strong bouts of nausea.