“Of course, he lives.” Ciaran’s tone left no doubt about his irritation with the question.
“The boy lives.” Olaf’s voice was intimately quiet, and he glanced down the length of her, pausing at her bare legs. His anger was shifting back to desire. He dropped to his knees beside her this time, sliding his hands along her thighs. Gritting her teeth, she did not resist when he put his hand between her legs again, more gently this time. “I will admit I prefer my women willing.”
Ethne was not prepared for him to drop his mouth to hers, crushing her lips. She dug her fingers into the earth to stop from hitting him. The sensation of his beard burning her skin where it scraped against her face sent her already racing heart into a full gallop, but she dared not turn away.
Instead, she opened her mouth to his forceful tongue and fought against the urge to clamp down on it. He made a pleased sound, but his cruel fingers were relentless, sliding and stroking, as if looking for something. She knew one thing for certain. If he saw through her lies, drunk or not, he would not hesitate to rape her.
She searched her thoughts for anything that would calm her fear, slow her beating heart, allow her to seem to submit so he would let down his guard. Surely with how drunk he was, it would only take one unexpected heave to get him off her.
The memory of the tall man with the long black hair came to her. With his kind eyes and welcoming smile, he would have a gentle touch. Careful of her. Careful not to give her any pain. Protecting her. In her mind, she was with the tall stranger, and he was the one kissing her. She kissed him back, lifting her head in urgency.
Olaf pulled back, withdrawing his hand. His expression full of smugness, he sucked at one finger and then the next. “So, ye speak the truth.”
He stood to refasten his trews, leaving her struggling to get up on her own. Ciaran came through the bushes with a crash.
“What is amiss? Why is she covering herself?” He took a step closer, his eyes hooded with lust, but Olaf yanked him away from her.
“Not now. We have a more profitable alliance with this one.”
“No!” Ciaran’s disappointment was great, and he moved closer, yanking his slim shoulder from the bigger man’s grip.
Olaf shoved him to the ground where he landed face first. “I said, we have an alliance. Ye will not touch her”—he leered at her and winked—“yet.”
The squire pulled himself together enough to stand and brush off the dirt from his threadbare knees and elbows. With a thoughtful expression, he said, “And what is this alliance?”
“Do ye question me? Ye insolent little pup.” Olaf’s anger was even more fierce directed at the other warrior.
Ethne shrank back in fear.
“I ask because I fear she has tricked ye.”
Olaf guffawed. “And how could this girl trickme?”
“By convincing ye of something that is not true.”
The larger man turned a gimlet eye on her, but quickly smiled instead. Broadly. “I had the proof. She does not lie.” Olaf moved to hold her flush against him while his large hand grasped her bottom. “Besides…I will have her one way or another, but I am willing to wait for now. I believe she will care for a more gentle taking, mayhap even a soft pallet beneath her. Is that not right, Ethne?”
“Ethne!” Malcolm was calling her. She took a breath to respond, but Ciaran’s smug smile was like a slap. If she called to Malcolm, Ciaran would be proven correct. Besides, what could Malcolm do to protect her from these men? He could end up hurt or even dead.
She clamped her jaw and turned wide, innocent eyes on Olaf. She asked, “Should I respond? Or do ye wish me to remain quiet?”
He beamed at her, sliding his hand up her back to the nape of her neck. A gentle caress. His eyes staring deeply into hers, he said, “Ye need to find the silver. Ye have a fortnight before I return for it…and ye.” The unexpected yanking of her hair made her cry out. “If ye do not, I have many men who will have a taste of ye when I am through, and ye will not need to worry about escaping. Ye will probably be dead.”
Olaf called to the other man, and the three of them left her standing there. The distant sound of their laughter carried to her, and then horses pounding the hard earth as they rode deeper into the darkened woods back toward the fair. She took a deep breath, her knees trembling, straining to support her.
“Finn?” she called.
“Ethne?” The little boy stumbled as he ran toward her, tears staining his dirty face.
She took him in her arms. “Did they hurt ye?”
Finn shook his head against her bosom.
“Ethne!” Malcolm called again from much closer.
“I am here, Malcolm. We’ve had an accident.” She looked into Finn’s eyes and continued calling to her brother. “Finn has fallen.”
She nodded to him, an expectant expression. When he returned her nod, she clasped him to her breast again, his hot tears dampening her clothes.
