When a Laird Loves a Lady (Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts Book 1) (36 page)

Graham spit at Archibald, and
Marion’s temper flared, prevailing over her fear. “Traitor! Treacherous, filthy
traitor!”

When Marion took a breath to say
more, Bridgette hissed at Archibald, and he flinched.

“What do you get from Froste in
return for killing my husband?” Marion demanded.

Archibald opened his mouth as if to
answer when Froste roared, “Enough! You Scots try my patience. Put down your
sword and save the woman or you both die.” He grinned maliciously. “Well, I
suppose you die either way so it’s no matter to me.”

Graham looked down at Bridgette,
and Marion’s mind raced. She had no doubt that Graham would give his life to
save Bridgette, but Marion had to try to save them both. If she could provide a
distraction, perchance she could give Graham time to sweep down and grab
Bridgette. Then they could go for help. It was the only chance they had, and
she prayed Graham realized this.

When his gaze met hers, she tried
to tell him what to do by looking from him, to Bridgette, to the road. She
thought she saw him nod but could not be sure.

The moment Graham’s weapon hit the
ground, Marion bolted for Froste and plunged her dagger into his leg. Howling,
he kicked out at her, his foot connecting with her gut and sending her flying
to the ground. All around her, shouting broke out, and she saw Graham’s horse
take off with only Bridgette on it.

“Graham, no!” Marion yelled,
knowing he’d done what Iain would have done. He’d sent Bridgette for help while
staying to defend Marion.

Froste strode toward her, but she
could not scramble backward fast enough. He clutched her in an iron grip and
jerked her about while barking at his men to kill Graham.

Archibald took off after Bridgette
as Froste’s and her father’s men circled Graham. Marion watched in horror as
they closed the circle. For one brief moment, he fought them off, and then one
of her father’s knights plunged his sword downward into Graham’s chest and he
fell to his knees and then onto his back.

Marion was too shocked to scream,
but even if she could have, Froste yanked her up onto his horse and started to
ride away. Marion kicked and screamed then and tried to claw his eyes, and just
as she was attempting to grasp the dagger sheathed to his side, something hard
hit her square in the back of the head and she disappeared into darkness.

She knew instantly by the rocking beneath her and
the smell of salt in the air that she was on a ship. What she didn’t know was
how long she had been unconscious. Surely, it had not been long enough for
Froste to have taken Dunvegan Castle. She also didn’t know if Bridgette had escaped.
Her head pounded as she struggled to sit up, and as she blinked her eyes to
adjust them to the brightness of day, a hand clasped her around the arm and
jerked her all the way up.

Bile rose in her throat, and she
hastily bent over and retched at her feet. When she sat up, a linen was thrust
in her face. She wiped her mouth and met Froste’s gaze. “Where are we going?”
she demanded.

“Where else but home?” He took a
long drink from a cup, then handed it to her.

Her first instinct was to smack it
from his hand, but then she tried to calm herself. She may not get the offer of
drink again. Taking the cup, she drank greedily of the strong spirits, coughing
and sputtering as the liquid burned its way down her throat and to her stomach.

She swiped a hand over her wet
lips. “Why are you taking me back to my father’s?”

“To marry you.”

“I’m already married,” she
screamed.

“Not much longer.” He tweaked her
nose. “I’ve left four of my knights there to help the nasty Scot kill your
filthy husband when he returns from visiting the soon-to-be powerless King
Edward.” Froste paused and looked thoughtful for a moment. Marion’s mind rushed
through the possibilities of escape as her heart filled with worry for Iain.
“Don’t look so glum, Marion. When your father is king, I’ll be a baron or
possibly greater. You will be respected and wealthy. And married to me. Your
status will be far superior to what you hold now.”

Marion pressed her fingers to her
throbbing temples to keep from screaming. Iain would come for her—if he had not
been killed.
No!
Her mind refused to believe the worst. He would come,
but she feared he’d never defeat her father and Froste. Their knights together
slightly outnumbered his clan, and she didn’t think he’d be so foolish as to
bring his entire clan and leave the castle vulnerable. Her father would have
the advantage of his castle to protect him if Iain tried to invade, too. Would
King Edward help Iain? Or would he sit back and let Iain use his own men to
fight what was ultimately King Edward’s battle?

Marion’s heart thudded with the
fear that he would use Iain to weaken her father and Froste, and then—and only
then—would King Edward help Iain. Her husband would be destroyed. Marion
inhaled a shaky breath. So many in his clan would be killed.

She dug her nails into her palms to
keep from crying out. “What did you offer Archibald in return for his
betrayal?”

“Why do you care?” Froste snarled.

“I would like to know what price it
takes to turn a Scot dishonorable,” she replied, choosing her words with care
to bait Froste into telling her.

Froste shrugged. “A low one. All I
have to do in return is have one of my men kill the MacLean laird and make sure
it cannot be traced to Archibald so he can easily take his cousin’s place.
Quite simple, really.”

“My father is mad! You’re mad!
He’ll never take the throne, and you’ll never become a baron and get the lands
you desire. Iain will triumph,” she shouted, feeling her control slipping away.

Froste whipped his hand out and
jerked her to him by the chin. Her skin stung where he gripped her, and pain
shot through her jaw. “You will call him the MacLeod. Understand?”

She nodded, her heart hammering.

“When he’s dead, I will marry you
and you will lawfully be my wife.”

The idea of being this vile man’s
wife made her want to crawl out of her skin. “I will never be your wife because
you are no match for Iain.”

Froste released her chin and
slapped her. The force of the blow sent her head sideways, and the throbbing in
her cheek now matched the throbbing of her skull. He gave her a mirthless smile.
“You
will
be my wife, and you’ll be pleased to know I find I’m quite
taken with you. So much so that I have dreamed about you every night.” The lust
shining in his eyes sent her skittering to the edge of her seat.

Froste caught her by the elbow and
yanked her over the rough wood until she was firmly against his side. “I will
join with you when we reach London so you will know a
real
man. I don’t
need to be married to you to take you, my dear.”

She had to swallow repeatedly not
to lose her accounts. She prayed to God for an idea of how to escape or how to
put off Froste, because one thing she knew for certain was that Iain would
never reach her in time to save her from Froste’s intentions.

Iain knew something was wrong at Dunvegan when the
castle came into sight, but no one appeared on the seagate stairs—or anywhere,
for that matter—to greet him. He and Neil exchanged a wary look, and as they
stepped off the birlinn, the first thing Iain heard was hundreds of voices
raised in a song for the dying. Fear for Marion rushed through his veins as he
took off across the rocky land and raced up the stairs, Iain close behind him.
When he reached the courtyard he came to a shuddering halt. It appeared that
more than half his clan was gathered there, torches blazing. Spotting Father
Murdoch, Iain shoved his way through the crowd. Lachlan stood beside the
priest, and as Iain scanned the crowd, he saw the faces of those who mattered
most to him—except for Marion and Graham.

By the time he reached Lachlan, icy
fear had twisted around his heart.

“Where’s Marion?” he demanded
without greeting his brother. When Lachlan flinched, Iain’s heart tightened. He
clasped his brother’s forearm. “Where is she?” he growled, refusing to believe
she was dead.

The wariness in Lachlan’s eyes was
unmistakable, but something else flickered there—guilt? “Taken,” Lachlan
finally answered. “Archibald betrayed us and Marion was seized. Graham is
upstairs dying, and all I can do is join the singing prayers that he lives.”

Red filled Iain’s vision. “Froste?”

Lachlan nodded.

“Where is Archibald?” Iain was
going to rip out the man’s heart.

“Dead,” Lachlan replied,
indifferent. “I killed him.”

The momentary shock Iain felt
yielded to black fury. “Ye should have left that to me. It is my right!”

“Graham is dying because I failed
as laird in yer stead. The right to kill Archibald was mine,” Lachlan spat.

Iain’s fury did not ebb but turned,
the tide flowing across the water to England and Froste and, undoubtedly,
Marion’s father. He motioned Lachlan to follow him. “Ye will tell me all as I
see Graham.”

Iain didn’t wait for Lachlan to
reply. He spun around, ignoring his now silent clan, and went into the castle.

He’d seen death too many times, and
he knew the pain to come if his brother died. When he saw Graham lying in the
middle of his bed, Iain had to grip the side not to fall to his knees and
scream his rage and grief. Pale, Graham’s brown hair was slicked back from
fever sweats, his cheeks were hollow, and bloody linens were wrapped around his
abdomen. But Iain was laird and leaders did not fall apart, not even when death
came to his family.

He put his hand on Bridgette’s
shoulder as she sat by Graham’s side, and she flinched before gazing dazedly up
at him. Her red, swollen eyes told him she’d been crying for some time.

“What happened?” he asked her.

Bridgette swiped at her tears. “He
sacrificed himself to save my life,” she said, her voice full of sadness. “If
he dies, I’m accountable.” She started crying so hard that Fiona, who Iain
blinked to realize was there and hovering in a corner, came rushing out of the
shadows. Without a word, Fiona enfolded Bridgette in her arms, helped her to
stand, and then led her out of the room.

For a moment, stark silence engulfed
the room, then Lachlan spoke. He told Iain of Archibald’s betrayal; of Marion,
Graham, and Bridgette going to help an ailing bairn; their being ambushed; and
Bridgette escaping back to the castle to get help.

Lachlan tugged a hand through his
hair. “By the time we reached Graham, he was like this, but I killed Archibald
and two of Froste’s men, and Rory Mac killed the other two knights.”

Iain stared down at his youngest
brother, who would likely die having been shot by an arrow near his heart and
gutted with an English sword. He curled his hands into fists, blood roaring
through his veins with such force his body throbbed.

“I will bring Marion home. Nothing
will stop me.”

“
We
will bring her home,”
Lachlan replied and clasped Iain’s forearm. “We will have vengeance.”

“Aye,” Iain said in a voice of
steel. “Vengeance will be ours. Put out the call for the clan to ready for
battle.”

Lachlan’s eyes widened. “Think,
brother. They have greater numbers in their forces.”

“Aye. We will send word to the
MacLeans and the MacDonalds to join us.”

Lachlan nodded. “Iain,” he started,
his voice hesitant, “what if…what if Marion has been ravished? What if she has
a bairn in her belly come a month from now? Would ye want her back nae knowing
if the bairn was yers?”

Unblinking, Iain stared at Lachlan.
“I’d want her back blind, disfigured, mute, and with a belly heavy with a bairn
that I could nae be sure was mine. I will want her back always. I will want her
back nay matter what. She is my life. Do ye ken?”

Lachlan’s eyes sharpened with
understanding. “Aye, I do. We need to determine our course carefully.”

“I ken,” Iain replied. As much as
he wanted to charge directly to Marion, none of them would return alive if he
did that. He needed time to gather his allies, who he prayed truly included
King Edward now that the terms of David’s release had been set to scroll and
made official. The king would never get the money he was demanding for David’s
release if Iain was killed and unable to sway the other clans to pay to see him
freed, so Iain felt confident that King Edward would help. It made sense.
Together, they could fell de Lacy and Froste. Yet Edward would need time to
summon his knights and ride toward de Lacy’s home to attack.

“Gather the council in the great
hall. I’ll be there in a moment.”

Lachlan nodded and hastily left the
room. Iain kneeled by Graham’s bed and said a prayer for his brother’s
recovery, then made his way down to the great hall where the council sat
waiting. He strode up to the dais and stood facing Lachlan, Rory Mac, Angus,
and the rest of the council. “Rory Mac, ye will go to the MacLeans and gain
their agreement to help us, so they will have time to prepare to depart before
we arrive.” Iain had no doubt that Alex would join him. “We will join ye at the
MacLean hold before departing for England. Angus, go to the MacDonalds to do
the same. When ye return, ye will join me. I will be training the men and
readying our ships.”

Rory Mac and Angus nodded, fierce
determination blazing in their eyes.

Iain stared hard at Lachlan. “And
ye, Lachlan…ye will journey to England to see King Edward. Go with King Edward
to de Lacy’s home. We will meet ye there.”

“Aye, brother.”

Iain paced in front of the dais
continuing to speak. “I will depart in seven days for the MacLean hold.” He
loathed the thought of waiting so long, but they had to have all the clans and
King Edward to ensure the defeat of their enemies.

“Godspeed,” he said. “Now go!”

For once Froste was true to his word, Marion
thought, distraught, as she eyed the man who stood at the opposite side of her
bed. The moment they’d arrived at her father’s castle, Froste had dragged her
upstairs to a bedchamber. He’d not spoken yet, but she had no doubt what he
intended.

“Unclothe,” Froste commanded.

Marion scanned the room for any
object she could use to dispatch him, and her gaze fastened on the dagger he
had just removed and laid on the floor in front of the bed. She quickly looked
away so he would not realize her intent. When he curled his finger in a command
for her to come to him, she complied, walking toward the bed and stopping in
front of him, her foot brushing the dagger. Her heart increased its pace
tenfold.

When he stared at her expectantly,
she raised her trembling hands to her gown and struggled to unlace it. When she
feared he would try to help her, she tugged until the material ripped and the
gown loosened. She then kneeled in the pretense of lowering her gown to the
ground. The material fell over the dagger, and she grasped it, keeping her eyes
on him.
He
had his gaze on her breasts,
the fool
. She smiled,
brushing the material aside just enough to grasp the dagger, and she scrambled
back a step to unsheathe it.

But he was quick—much quicker than
she had expected—and with an angry roar, he knocked the dagger out of her hand
and gripped her neck.

“I grow weary of you trying to kill
me, Marion.” He flung her onto the bed and started to lower himself atop her.

“Wait!” she cried, her mind
searching for a way to stall him. She could think of only one possibility. She
brought her hand to her belly. “I may be with Iain’s child. If you take me now,
and then I begin to quicken, you will never know if the child is his or yours.
Would you truly take that risk?”

She could see the fury in his
burning eyes and twisted mouth. He stared down at her, hovering over her for a
long silent moment. Her pulse hammered a fearful beat until he finally pushed
away from her and off the bed. He strode toward his dagger, retrieved it, and
then stormed toward the door. “I will wait until your flux has come and gone
but not a day longer.”

The door slammed on his ominous
words, and Marion was left alone. She quickly dressed in the ripped gown and
then sat in the middle of her bed, hugging her knees to her chest. Tears
pricked her eyes, but when the door flew open, she dashed them away.

Her father stood at the door as
several servants filed into the room. He looked at her dispassionately, as if
he didn’t know her at all. “Clear the room of anything she can use as a
weapon.”

She watched in stony silence as
they stripped the room bare, and Marion’s heart clenched. She’d never seen love
from her father and never would. When they were done, they filed back out of
the chamber, and the lock clicked in the door. She was left alone once more
with her fervent prayer that Iain would come soon, that he would prevail
without flying the Fairy Flag.

Five days after Iain had sent Angus to the
MacDonalds, he returned while Iain was training with the men. “The MacDonald
will join ye, and he says he presumes the favor will be returned when he needs
it.”

“Aye,” Iain replied. “I supposed as
much.” He didn’t like owing the man a favor, but he would sell his soul to get
Marion back.

In the days that followed, Iain and
his men trained constantly, honing themselves into weapons of destruction. When
they were not training, they were continuing to stock the ships and fortify the
castle’s defenses for those who would stay behind.

Marion occupied his thoughts every moment.
During the day, the need for vengeance drove him, and at night, the stabbing
yearning for her in his bed, pressed so close he could feel her heat and smell
the heather that surrounded her, tortured him. He spent more time pacing the
ramparts than sleeping.

When the time came for them to
depart, he said farewell to Graham, who was much improved, and bid him how to
proceed as laird in Iain’s absence, with Angus as his guide. Angus had wanted
to come to England, but Iain had to know that if he died, or God forbid, he,
Lachlan, or Cameron—who was still on his journey to take Elspeth away—didn’t
return, that Graham would have a strong, trusted advisor by his side to rebuild
the MacLeod legacy.

Iain walked down the seagate stairs
and beheld the line of his and the MacDonald’s men waiting to set sail, hope
filling his chest.