Chapter 3
Alexander stared up into the quiet darkness, finally aware of all that surrounded him in what felt to be a verra long while. The place, this high-ceilinged room that looked to be the main hall of the keep, hummed with the comforting noises of a safe place in the night. Burning logs popped and crackled. Embers shushed and hissed as the wood settled deeper into the beds of ash. A faint tang of wood smoke filled the air, mingling with the scents of the last meal cooked and the musk of slumbering men on their pallets. Life. The warm air of the room reeked with life.
Snoring. Alexander listened harder. He’d recognize that irritating nasal whistling anywhere. 'Twas cousin Alasdair. He huffed out a silent laugh, regretting the movement as pain shot across his middle. Who wouldha thought the sound of Alasdair’s annoying snores would ever be a source of relief? Worry over his cousin's loss in the massacre had plagued him but thank the Lord above he’d survived and found his way back to them. Good. He hoped Ian, his other cousin, Alasdair’s brother, had made it. The two brothers always fought side by side. Where one went, the other followed just as surely as the rising moon chased the setting sun.
He turned his head to the side and watched the steady rise and fall of his brother’s chest and felt the better for it. He couldna remember the severity of Graham's wounds, but he knew for certain his brother hadna escaped unscathed during their dash to the tunnel.
A muscle spasm wrenched through him with vicious ferocity, interrupting his study of all around him. The cruel twisting burn knotted in his left thigh, seared its way up through his buttock, then ripped across the small of his back. Alexander grit his teeth and lifted his left leg, arching and flexing as much as he could to overcome the wicked cramp. He hurt from the tips of his toenails to the verra last hair on his head. He swallowed hard and did his damnedest not to groan aloud.Lore a’mighty, what I wouldna give for a dram or two to dull the pain.
After what seemed like an eternity, his knotting muscles eased to a bearable level. He tested the bindings around his forearms again. While they appeared to be nothing more than folded strips of linen, the infernal things held strong. A disgruntled snort escaped him. He needed to move about to relieve this damned cramping. He pulled at the ties again, straining against them. Sharp pain, a burning rip, deep and excruciating, radiated from his shoulder down to his middle, convincing him of the error of his ways.
Out of breath as though he’d just run across the glen, he sagged back into his pallet of blankets. “Sons a bitches,” he said in a hissing whisper into the peaceful darkness. She had said lay still. Mayhap, he should heed the lass’s advice.
The lass. Aye, as strong-willed a woman as he'd e’er met. Catriona.
The thought of her brought a smile and somehow lessened the torture of his discomfort. Memories of the last few days flickered broken and dim as a waning candle, but one thing he remembered well was the soothing sound of her voice telling him all would be well.
And then he had set eyes on her. Fair skin all aglow in the candlelight. Saint Bride herself had surely touched those fiery tresses that framed her face and shone like polished copper. The first time he’d opened his eyes, before he’d freed himself of that hellish fevered darkness, he’d thought for certain she was an angel sent to halt his suffering and guide his soul to the everlasting. He looked forward to the morning’s light when he could better see her in all her glory.
He turned his head toward her pallet and listened. The rustling of blankets and uncomfortable shifting had finally stopped. He prayed that meant she’d found her rest. Regret shaded his thoughts. He hated that he’d caused the poor lass so much trouble. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, remembering the tempting scent of her while she had helped him drink. She smelled of fresh linen, lye soap, and vibrant woman. He’d sip water 'til Hell froze over if she’d cradle his head against her that long. She’d been soft and warm, so much more comfortable and easing to his aches than any pallet or pillow.
A high-pitched sob followed by a rattling crash at the head of the hall interrupted his pleasant musing. Alexander shifted, turning his head and squinting to see through the heavy veil of shadows across the room. There were two figures. One slight of frame. A woman. The dim light flickering from the hearths made her white shift shimmer with the glow of a restless ghost. She cowered and pulled away from the larger figure. A man. He held tight to one of her arms.
“If ye had brought the port as I instructed, I wouldna have to punish ye!”
The lass cried out again, sounding piteous and lost. “Please…” Scuffling sounded. Benches overturned and hit the floor with a bang. The woman jerked and pulled away, struggling to free herself from the man. “Forgive me, sir. Please…ye’re hurting me. Please let me go.”
“Let ye go?” The man barked out a low, malicious laugh. “Not until I’ve corrected ye and ye’ve serviced me proper.” A loud smack echoed through the room followed by the woman’s heartbreaking cries. “My belt awaits ye in my room, now get the port and we’ll carry on with the night’s entertainment.”
Alexander yanked against the bindings imprisoning his forearms. A sense of urgency and rising fury made him roar. “MacCoinnichs!” By damn, if he couldna help the women, his brethren could. “MacCoinnichs to arms!”
“Sweet Jesu!” Catriona shouted. She sprang up from her pallet and stormed up the length of the room toward the raging man and the sobbing woman. “Calum! Let her go this instant!”
Alexander wished the hearths cast more light. He struggled to make out the figures at the end of the room. One of them he knew to be Catriona. The one she’d called Calum was taller, towering over both the women, but the man’s lanky form was narrow. Ignoring the ripping pain across his stomach, Alexander lifted his head and scanned the entire room, searching for someone able to assist the women. “Duncan, Sutherland, Magnus—get that bastard!”
“What the hell do ye think we’re doing?” Duncan said with an irritated growl from somewhere deeper in the shadows behind Calum and the women.
Who the hell was this Calum? He prayed to God Almighty that he wasna Catriona’s husband. A jealous twitch of possessiveness flashed through Alexander, increasing his frustration not only with his bindings but even more so with his weakened condition. He wished he was at Catriona’s side rather than strapped to this damned table, Alexander flexed his fists as he watched the two in their heated back and forth. He couldna make out everything said, but he heard enough to make him wish he could step in and bring Calum to his knees.
With a frustrated shift from side to side, he yanked against the bindings with renewed fury. Damn the pain. He had to get free. “Dammit all to Hell and back!”
Catriona appeared to be holding Duncan and the rest of his men back to keep them from seizing the bastard. Why the hell was the lass protecting the vile devil?I’d no' be kept from snapping that whoreson’s neck.
“Take your hands off me, bitch!” The hard crack of another slap echoed across the hall and Catriona stumbled back a few steps, the light from the hearth highlighting her form.
“Kill that bastard!” Alexander roared, adrenaline and rage fueling his strength so his loud bellow risked shaking the foundations of the keep.
“She’ll no' let them kill him,” Graham said from his sickbed where he had shifted to an upright seated position. “'Tis doubtful she'll even allow them to thrash him. The man’s her twin brother, ye ken?”
“Aye, but mayhap they’ll have the chance to make him wish he was dead afore she's able to stop them.” The knowledge that Calum was Catriona’s brother and no' her husband gave Alexander a small bit of comfort. He strained to see, craning his neck to look around Graham. “Move your arse! I canna see.”
Graham huffed out an amused snort as he slid out of Alexander’s line of sight. “'Tis good to see ye awake and back to your pleasant self, brother. I’m glad ye’re alive.” He turned and studied the scuffle at the head of the hall. “Looks to be ended and appears that Magnus and Duncan are escorting the next chieftain of Clan Neal to his chambers.”
Alexander strained to verify Graham's observation. The poor lighting in the room made it difficult to discern that the two hulking forms on either side of Catriona’s brother were in fact Magnus and Duncan. He could, however, tell that the men were no’ struggling o’er much to drag Calum's thrashing and cursing arse from the room.
A brighter flickering light in his peripheral vision pulled his attention back to the head of the room. Catriona stood consoling the young maid keening out uncontrollable sobs. A heavyset woman, holding a candlestick high, stood with a hand under Catriona’s chin. She drew near to Catriona’s face and angled her jaw toward the light. The old woman jerked her head back and forth with such fervor that her silver-gray braid whipped back and forth across her broad back. Alexander wished he could join them to see for himself how Catriona fared. The blow had popped hard like the shot of gunfire and when Catriona had stumbled back from the impact, she’d almost gone to the floor.
Straining against the damn straps binding his arms, Alexander made an oath to himself. An oath he looked forward to keeping.By Heaven above and Hell below, Catriona’s brother will rue the day he was born.
