Chapter Twenty-three
"MacLennon."
Iain felt as if all his worst nightmares had come true. Both the horn to signal for aid and his sword were in reach. Because of Islaen's struggles MacLennon's sword was not so steady against his throat. He felt he had a chance but, just as he tensed to move, deciding to grab for his sword, MacLennon's sword suddenly left his throat. Iain watched in horror as MacLennon's sword came to rest against Islaen's throat, pricking her smooth skin enough to cause blood to well up and slowly trail down her slim neck.
"Move and she dies now, MacLagan."
Islaen froze when the chill of the blade touched her throat. When Iain also froze she realized they could well be in a trap there was no escape from.
"Now, toss the sword and the horn into the trees."
"Nay, Iain,” Islaen cried, then gasped when MacLennon's sword pressed more firmly against her throat, pricking her skin yet again.
"Let her go, MacLennon,” Iain said as he tossed away his sword and the horn. “'Tis me ye want."
"Aye, ‘tis ye I want but I want you to suffer and I think I hold the rack to stretch you upon, MacLagan. Such a wee, pretty rack she is too.” Abruptly shoving Islaen onto Iain, MacLennon took a coil of rope off of his shoulder and tossed it at them. “Tie him up."
"Nay, I cannae. I willnae,” Islaen protested even as MacLennon's sword drew nearer to her.
"Do it, Islaen,” Iain ordered, praying that, if he could just keep them alive for a while, someone would come.
"Aye, do it, Islaen,” MacLennon mocked. “Be a good wee wife and do as your husband commands. Kneel, Iain, and put your hands behind you. Now, wee Islaen, ye will tie him exactly as I tell ye to."
"Iain, I cannae."
"Do it, Islaen. Do just as he says."
Shaking with the fear that she was only preparing her husband for the slaughter, Islaen began to tie him up, following MacLennon's instructions exactly. The way Iain had looked at her made her think he tried to tell her something, tried to relay some message. She could only assume that he meant for her to go carefully, to garner as much time as she could. As she continued to tie him up she got the horrified feeling that time was something they had little of. The way she was tying Iain would mean that he could not move without strangling to death. She gasped and immediately stopped.
"Nay, I cannae. T'will be a torture."
"Now, m'lady, do ye mean to be disobediant?” MacLennon drawled as he moved to stand facing Iain. “Shall I cut him to make ye obey? Mayhaps a scar upon the other cheek. Ah, then there is this proud fellow."
Paling when he prodded Iain's loins with his sword, Islaen finished tying Iain up. “'Tis done. Ye may cease your tormenting now."
"Ah, but me dear lady, I have but begun.” He stood up and smiled coldly at Iain. “I shall let ye keep the wee fellow a while longer."
He laughed and pushed Iain over causing a strain to be put on the rope. Islaen gasped, then rushed at the man, infuriated by his cruelty. She did not even land one blow. Almost casually he swung at her sending her sprawling. She stared up at him and knew that, although they may have gained some time, that time would be a torture filled with whatever horror MacLennon's twisted mind could conceive. Somehow he knew that the chance of anyone coming to their rescue was slim and he intended to play with them.
"Come now, m'lady, I believe ye were about to remove your clothes. Dinnae let me stop you."
For one brief panicked moment Iain thought of shouting for help but he ruthlessly quelled the urge. The chances that anyone would hear were small. So too would it insure a quick death for himself and Islaen. What rescuers might arrive would only find their dead bodies. He had to try to be strong, to let MacLennon play his mad games, for there was always the chance that someone would see signs that MacLennon was near or simply worry that he and Islaen had been gone too long and come looking for them. Knowing what MacLennon planned for Islaen, however, made Iain fear he would lack that strength. He really did not think he could silently watch her raped even for the chance to save their lives.
As he faced the very real prospect of their deaths, Alexander's words haunted him. God had given him the joy of Islaen and he had wasted every day of their short time together. Beside his fear for her and his helpless anger was a grief for time lost.
"Islaen, I am sorry,” he said, the taut rope around his neck making his voice raspy.
"For what? Because this mad fool thinks our pain can end his? Because he thinks our deaths can resurrect the long-dead Catalina?"
"Be quiet and undress,” MacLennon hissed. “Catalina's death must be paid for."
"Then speak to God, fool. He is the one who took her. She died on childbed."
"Bearing his child,” MacLennon screamed.
"Aye, just as she would have died had ye wed her and got her with bairn. What would ye have done then? Taken revenge upon yourself?” she sneered. “Fallen upon your sword at her graveside, mayhaps?” She cried out when he struck her sending her sprawling.
He hesitated as he stood over her, his sword raised to strike. “Nay, nay, ye willnae make me kill you. Nay, not yet. Get up."
