MacDougall 01 - Laiden's Daughter (44 page)

“You’ve been very good at keeping yourself hidden.”
 
He looked at her with yellowed eyes.
 
“Andrew tells me you have turned yourself over willingly?”

Aishlinn did not answer. Her mind was suddenly racing towards thoughts of escape.
  
It would take very little effort on her part to hold a pillow over his face until he took his last breath.
 
She could very well then shimmy under the walls of the tent and run for safety.

“Did you do that? Turn yourself in willingly?” he demanded to know.
 
Aishlinn nodded her head yes as her eyes looked for an opening, a way out.

“Why?” He tried to shout but could not.
 

“Did you come back to stab me again, you whore?”
 

Aishlinn could only stare as her mind race for a means of escape.

“Would you like to know what I’m going to do to you?” He asked.
 
She really didn’t think there was much he
could
do given his current state of health.

“I’m going to ask Andrew to assist me.
 
He’s not nearly as nice as I would have been to you, had you simply given in to me that night.” He took a ragged breath.
 

“Andrew’s going to come in and strip you bare, you see.
 
Then
he
is going to do all those nasty yet wonderful things to you that I wanted to. And I’m going to watch with great pleasure.
 
Then I’ll have every one of my soldiers come in and do it to you again, and again and again until you bleed from it.”
 

His face lit with a wicked smile. The confidence she felt just moments ago vanished quickly with his threat. The earl might not be able to carry out his wicked desires, but his men were quite capable.
 

Dismay and fear eroded her reserve while her mind raced for a way out of her current predicament.
 
Perhaps if she begged for mercy, pleaded with him. Perhaps if she promised to be a nurse to him then he might change his mind.

“My lord, I beg you, show mercy.
 
I was but a scared and frightened young girl when last you saw me.” She could not believe the words that were coming from her mouth and nearly choked on them.
 

She rushed and knelt before his bed.
 
“I knew not what I was doing, my lord.
 
I knew not what kind of pleasure a man could bring to a woman.”
 
She would most certainly retch all over him, but she had to do something to save herself.

She had been fully prepared to be disemboweled, hung or tortured as a means of death. Being raped repeatedly by countless men had not crossed her mind and
that
she could not and would not abide. Determination set in. There had to be a way out of this.

The earl’s smile broadened.
 
“So. You’ve learned in your time away the pleasures a man can bring to a woman, have you?”
 
He coughed again and his stench was enough to knock a pig over.

“Aye, I have,” she answered, swallowing hard, trying to look pathetic, forlorn, sorry, anything that would get him to change his mind.

“Remove the linen,” he told her.
 
She knew she needed to keep him calm. There was no limit to the pain he would inflict if he was angered enough.

Taking a deep breath, she let the linen fall to the floor. Her filmy shift offered little in the way of hiding her bare skin.
 
A disgusting smile formed on his lips when he caught a glimpse of what lay under the transparent fabric.

“Remove your shift.”

She simply could not bring herself to do it. While she had given herself over to them willingly in order to stave off a battle between her clan and the English, she could not suffer the indignantly of assisting him further.

“Please my lord, do not ask me to do that,” her voice squeaked with fear.

He grabbed her by her hair and pulled her to his face.
 
“You’ll do what I say whore, and you’ll do it now.”
 

Though he was sick and weak, he had enough strength left in him to pull hard on her hair. She had suffered worse, but it was still quite painful.
 
“My lord, you’re hurting me,” she said as she tried to unfold his fingers from her scalp.
 

“Andrew!” he shouted. The wave of panic hit her hard.
 
He would not let go.
 
She should have just grabbed the pillow and held it over his head. It was too late now.

The tent flap flew open and Andrew stood smiling at the entrance.
 
“My lord?” he said, looking quite eager to help. Tears flooded her eyes for she knew it was all over then.
 
The earl would make good on his promise.

“Help me, will you?
 
The whore seems unwilling to remove her shift.”

Aishlinn pleaded with them to stop as Andrew bounded for her.
 
Andrew grabbed her arms and lifted her to her feet.
 
She saw nothing but sheer evil in the eyes that stared back at her.

“Please! I beg you!” Her cries for mercy fell on deaf ears.

Andrew pulled her hard into his chest as he grabbed the back of her head and forced her mouth to his. Her stomach churned when he stuck his tongue deep inside her mouth.
 
Repulsed and growing more terrified, she tried to fight him off and struggled against the tight hold he had on her.

When she had made the decision to relinquish her freedom and turn herself over to the English, she had prayed for a quick death. She realized now that she should have known better. Now that she was trapped inside the tent with two vile men, her instinct to fight was too strong. They’d have to take that which they wanted and she was not going to let them take it without a fight. She would hold on to her dignity for as long as possible.

Andrew finally broke away from her mouth but maintained his tight grip on her arms. Without taking his eyes from Aishlinn, he said to the earl, “I love it when they fight, don’t you my lord?”
 

Malevolence flashed from his eyes to hers. In that small flash of time, Aishlinn could see what the future held for her.

  
A blood curdling scream came from somewhere beyond just the pit of her stomach. It came from her very depths of her soul.
 
Though she knew it would do no good, for none here cared what might happen to her, she screamed. There was no one here who cared what these men would do to her; they were merely waiting for their turn at her.
 
She began hitting Andrew with her fists but her resistance seemed only to please him.

“Fight? You want a fight, Andrew?” she seethed.
 
“I’ll give you a fight!” she yelled as she tried to lift her knee to thrust it into his groin.
 
He jumped back, just enough to miss it. His smile rapidly turned to an angry glare.
 

As he drew back his hand to hit her, Aishlinn heard an odd sound, like a muffled thump. Andrew’s expression changed in the blink of an eye. He now looked perplexed, as if he were studying some strange and foreign object. A moment later, his grasp on her loosened and he slowly fell to his knees.

F
or a moment it felt as though time had slowed to a crawl.
 
Andrew had collapsed to his knees before landing face down on the ground. Dazed and more than slightly confused, Aishlinn watched as he toppled over.
 
A dirk had somehow become firmly imbedded in the middle of Andrew’s back. Her breath caught in her throat and she could not move, nor could she take her eyes off the dead man who lay at her feet.

It was the earl’s raspy and angry voice that brought her back to the here and now of it. “Who in the hell are you?” The earl shouted as much as his diseased lungs would allow.
 

Aishlinn looked up and saw Duncan as he stood in the entrance of the tent. His jaws were clenched and his face held a fierce look of anger. Relief washed over her at the sight of him. “Duncan!” She cried, unable to say anything else as she rushed to his open arms.
 
He held her tightly, relieved to see that she was alive but still very angry at the situation she had put herself in.
 
He sent a prayer of thanks up to the Heavens when he felt her collapse into his arms.

A loud commotion began outside the tent as Duncan let loose of Aishlinn and walked to the bed.
 
“Who the hell are ye?” Duncan demanded.

“I’m the Earl of Penrith you insolent fool!” his body shook as he was overcome by a coughing fit.
    

Duncan looked down at the man in utter incredulity. This was the monster that had killed his family?
 
This was the bastard who had tried not once, but twice to rape his wife? His mind could not wrap around it. This could not be the same man he had envisioned running his blade through for the last ten and seven years.

“Ye? Ye be the Earl of Penrith?” he asked unable to believe the man before him had been the source of countless nightmares and untold anguish.
 

“Aye, he is Duncan,” Aishlinn said from the tent opening.
 
“Quickly, please take me away from here Duncan,” she pleaded with him as her body began to shiver.

Duncan could not take his eyes from the man who lay before him.
 
“Ye killed my family,” Duncan whispered.
 
“Many years ago, ye slaughtered an entire village. Ya killed innocent people.
 
Ya killed my entire family.” Rage began to creep in.

He could not believe this was the man who had destroyed so many lives.
 
Nay.
 
What lay before him was no man, but a sick, demented monster who derived great pleasure in seeing others suffer at his hands.
 
Duncan shook his head. He could not believe he was this close to him.
 

Duncan battled with his conscience. No matter how desperately he wanted to simply run his broadsword through the man’s heart, he could not kill an unarmed man.
 
In the battles that he had played out in his mind over the years, never had he imagined that he would find the whoreson sick and unarmed.
 

Duncan would leave the man to suffer with his disease. It appeared that death was not too far off into the future for the earl. He’d let the man suffer in agony and waste away into nothing.

Duncan turned away from the earl and bent down to retrieve his dirk from Andrew’s back. He wiped the dead man’s blood on the earl’s blankets.
 

“Ye’ll burn in hell soon enough,” Duncan told him.
 
The earl remained silent as he watched Duncan closely.

Duncan went to Aishlinn then and held her for a moment.
 
“Dunna leave me side!” he told her.
 
“Follow me and stay right next to me!”

Aishlinn nodded her head and took hold of his arm. This had not turned out as she had intended. She was supposed to have saved her clan, but instead, it turned out they were saving her.
 

As she turned back to take one final look at the earl, she saw a dagger in the decrepit man’s hands.
 
She shouted a warning to Duncan who had begun to step from the tent. “Dagger!”
 

The earl’s knife barely missed Duncan’s head as it bounced off the walls of the tent and landed on the floor. Duncan spun quickly around and flung his dirk across the room. It landed dead center of the earl’s chest as it made a revolting sound when it tore through flesh, muscle and bone.
 

Aishlinn gasped as she saw the blood begin to ooze and drench his nightshirt.
 
An odd expression had come over the earl’s face.
 
It wasn’t the sweet release of death but something rather wicked and repulsive.
 

Duncan shook his head and retrieved his dirk from the dead man’s chest.
 
When he returned to Aishlinn’s side he noticed then that she was standing in just her shift and for a brief moment, he wondered if he had not arrived in time to save her from these sick bastards. “Did they hurt ye?” he asked.

Aishlinn shook her head vigorously. “Nay!”

Duncan quickly removed his tunic, and placed it over Aishlinn’s body.
 
He donned his broadsword again and kissed her on her forehead, relieved to find her alive and for the most part unharmed.
 

“Stay beside me at all times.
 
We’ve men fightin’ out there and I dunna want ye getting’ in the way. Do ya understand?” he said.
 
For once, he hoped she would listen.

“Aye.
 
I do,” she answered as she grabbed his arm and clung to him with both hands. She wasn’t about to let go of him.
 
Not now, not ever.

Complete mayhem was taking place in the clearing outside the earl’s tent.
 
Dozens of dead English soldiers lay sprawled across the ground. More stood fighting the countless clansmen who had come to rescue her.
 
She could hear the clash of metal as sword met sword.
 
The sound of skulls cracking and dirks driving deep into bodies made her sick, but she felt terribly relieved that they were there.
 
She prayed that God would protect her clansmen.

Duncan lifted his shield from the ground where he had left it before entering the tent and crouched low.
 
Aishlinn followed suit. They had to climb over dead bodies as they headed towards the line of trees to their right.
 
Duncan had horses and men waiting for her there.
 

As she crouched behind her husband, the sounds of battle thundered on. As they started for the line of trees an arrow shot through the air and landed in Duncan’s left shoulder.
 
Aishlinn screamed as he fell to the ground face first.
 
He rolled over to his side, reached up and pulled her down then threw his body on top of hers, shielding her from the barrage of arrows. Aishlinn heard several distinct whooshes followed by thumps as arrows pierced the ground around them.

“Tis my fault! I knew this would happen!” she cried.
 
“Tis all my fault!”

“Haud yer wheest, lass!”
 
Duncan scolded.
 
“I’m not hurt that badly!
 
Lay still and pretend yer dead,” he told her. She might not have to pretend if the onslaught of flying arrows did not cease.

They lay on the ground, unmoving for several long moments before the flying arrows finally stopped.
 
Duncan winced from the pain of the arrow sticking from his shoulder and his face began to pale. It was not long after before she felt him go limp as he lay on top of her.
 
Aishlinn shook with terror and great waves of guilt began to build in her heart.
 
Had she never left, this would not have happened! She had meant to save her people, not throw them into a battle.
  

She heard Duncan’s voice as he lay on top of her and it sounded weak. “Yer cold,” he said.
 
“Try not to shake so, lass.
 
When we get home, we’ll warm ourselves by the fire, I promise.”
 
He closed his eyes and his breathing slowed.
 
“I love ye, Aishlinn,” he whispered in her ear.
 

He was dying; she knew it.
 
He was dying just as he promised he would. Dying for her, fighting for her honor, for her life.
 
She whispered to him how sorry she was that she had gotten them all into this mess.
 
She choked on tears as she repeatedly apologized and professed her love for him.

Duncan did not respond. He lay on top of her, limp and lifeless and she had no one to blame but herself.
 
An anger, unlike anything she had ever experienced before began to consume her. It built in the pit of her stomach and grew quickly, spreading to every part of her body like a fire that had grown out of control.
 
She wanted to slay every last English soldier who might remain standing, like the woman in the book Bree had read to her.

She was angry with herself and with the English bastard that now lay dead in his tent.
 
No matter how hard she tried, she could not tamp the anger down and it kept growing until she felt her skin might glow white hot, like the iron in a blacksmith’s forge.
 

As she lay there with Duncan’s lifeless body on top of her, soaked from the rain, mud and her husband’s blood, an Englishman fell dead at their side.
 
Not far from where they lay, she heard Angus shouting something in Gaelic and she thought she heard Wee William’s voice too.
 

A violent determination came over her and she decided to act. She would rather die fighting than be slain while she lay on the ground hidden under her dead husband.
 
Vengeance would be hers this day.
 
Vengeance for the lies Broc had told that kept her from knowing her real family and vengeance for her husband’s death.

She squirmed and managed to wriggle herself from under Duncan’s body.
 
A dead English soldier was an arm’s length away. She rolled over to her stomach, reached out and grabbed the dead man’s sword and stood. A bloodlust rose in her as she began violently swinging at any soldier who came near her.
 

Months ago, she would not have been able to act in such a manner.
 
Now she swung and thrust her sword at anyone who dared come near her.
 
Three came at her from different directions and she took hold of her weapon with both hands as she swung full circle. She sliced each of her enemies at their waists, all the while letting loose with another blood curdling scream.
 
Blood spattered across her face and chest but it mattered not.
 
She was avenging the death of her husband.

She crouched low to get a better grasp of her surroundings.
 
Angus was to her left, fighting off two Englishmen, Wee William had three not far from Angus.
 
Rowan was to her right, Tall Gowan ahead of her, both busy with their own battles.

Not far from where she stood was a mounted soldier. A flash of a very determined smile came to his lips as he dashed towards her.
 
She stood, waiting until the last possible moment before thrusting her sword into the soldier’s steed. The horse cried and whinnied before it fell, trapping its rider beneath it.
 
Begging God’s mercy for killing such a beautiful animal, she took her sword and thrust downward into the man’s chest.
 

The sword began to grow quite heavy in her hands and she started to tire.
 
She would not however, give up in her pursuit to avenge her husband’s death.
 
Nor would she give in to the weight of the sword.

Her clansman surrounded her as they fought the English.
 
There was much grunting and moaning mixed in with the clanging of metal. Blood flowed from dead or dying soldiers.
 
The rain had increased and in the distance she could hear the roar of thunder.

She saw Caelen McDunnah across the clearing fighting sword against sword with an English soldier. For a moment she pondered his presence. Why was he here?

Her eyes searched for a better weapon, for she knew she could not hold the sword much longer.
 
Catching sight of a fallen archer, she raced towards him at a full run, grabbed his quiver and bow and surveyed her surroundings.
 
Her legs felt heavy but she would not give in. She stood and began to take aim at the English soldiers. Within a minute’s time she had killed seven of them, emptying the contents of the quiver.
 
Seeing no more arrows within reach, she returned to the sword and began hacking her way through the crowd of battling men.