As she slowly got to her feet, Islaen wondered if that was what she was doing, trying to make him kill her. With an inner shake of her head she rejected that idea. She had no wish at all to die, not even knowing what he planned to do to her. Anger born of fear and frustration prompted her words. She was simply enraged that this madman could play his vengeful games, threaten Iain's life and her own, and she seemed helpless to stop him. Inside she raged at the injustice of it all and that spilled out in bitter, stinging words. She did wonder, however, if she could make him angry enough to make that one error in judgment that would give her and Iain a chance.
"Get undressed,” he hissed. “Ye cannae stop me in this. I mean to make him watch me take his woman as he took mine."
Although her heart seemed to be in her throat, Islaen shrugged and began to unlace her gown. “Are ye sure ye can? Are ye sure ye didnae bury your manhood with Catalina as weel as your mind?” She inwardly tensed for the blow when he raised his fist but, with a visible effort, he controlled himself.
"Ye have a sharp tongue, m'lady. Ye best be wary that someone doesnae cut it off."
"Ye do seem to have a taste for chopping off bits of people."
Out of the corner of her eye she saw a stout piece of wood and, as she held out her tunic and let it drop, she began to make a plan. She ceased taunting him and began to concentrate on removing her clothing as slowly as possible, deliberately holding each piece out to let it drop. When she bent to roll down her hose she saw the look upon his face that she had been waiting for. MacLennon might be mad but he still suffered a man's lusts. She could use that against him if she was both careful and clever.
Gasping for air, his compulsive move to aid Islaen tightening the rope about his neck, Iain lay still. For a moment he feared MacLennon was right, that Islaen tried to drive the man to kill her quickly. He discarded that idea although he was not sure why, only sensed that Islaen would not do that.
Then he grew confused for her anger seemed to fade. As he watched her undress it seemed as if she were trying to seduce MacLnon and, by the look upon the man's face, it was working. He could not understand why she should do such a thing. When her plan revealed itself he was both proud of her because of her courage and terrified that her risk would bring her further pain, enraging the madman so that he increased whatever torment he dealt her.
Slipping off her petticoat, Islaen held it out as if to drop it as she had all her other clothes. When MacLennon's gaze briefly flickered to her bared legs, she flung her petticoat at him. It covered his head and, as he struggled to pull it free, she grabbed up the wood she had spotted. He was just tossing aside the petticoat when she swung her rough club with all her might and hit him in the stomach. When he doubled over she swung again hitting him on the head. He sprawled on the ground and she stared at him in amazement for a moment, surprised that she had done what she had and that it had worked.
Hurriedly shaking free of that shock she briefly thought of taking his sword to cut Iain free but discarded the idea as she rushed to Iain's side. She could never wield a sword well enough to cut Iain's bonds without cutting him. Trying to stay calm so that she did not fumble too long over the knots, she began to loosen Iain's bonds.
Once the rope loosened around his neck, Iain rasped, “Ye could have gotten killed, lass."
"Seeing as he was planning on murdering me anyhow I cannae see what your complaint is. Dead is dead."
"Get the horn and call for the others."
"I will get ye free first so that ye can at least move out of the way of his sword.” She undid the last knot and heard Iain groan. “Are you hurt?"
"My muscles have knotted ‘tis all."
"I will get his sword. I should have done that but only thought of getting ye free and I coudnae use it for that."
"Look out, Islaen,” Iain tried to shout but his voice was little more than a hoarse cry and he could not move to save her.
Islaen had taken one step towards MacLennon when suddenly the man was on his feet and racing towards her. She turned to flee but he caught her by the hair, using it to pull her around to face him. He backhanded her across the face sending her sprawling on the ground, then leapt upon her. For one brief moment Islaen feared he was still intending to rape her and Iain would not recover from being so painfully trussed up in time to save her. Then she experienced real terror as his hands closed around her throat and no amount of tearing at his hands could loosen his grip for he was too enraged, too crazed to even feel the pain she was inflicting.
She tried to buck him off but he only laughed. Her body did not have the strength to throw his weight over even when strengthened by the fear of death. Then, suddenly, an arm snaked around MacLennon's neck and he was the one fighting for air. For just a moment he kept his grip upon her throat and Islaen felt near to blacking out. Then he let go to turn all his efforts to breaking Iain's hold upon his neck. Islaen turned on her side, her hand to her abused throat, and gasped for air. For a short while getting air back into her body was all important.
Iain felt relief fill him when he saw Islaen move. He had feared that it had taken him too long to make his cramped muscles move. All he had been able to think of as he had struggled to save her was how small Islaen's neck was, its slenderness encircled by the strong hands of a madman who tried to kill her.
"Islaen, get to the horses,” he yelled hoarsely, then cried out as MacLennon broke free and sent him sprawling.
Nodding, Islaen stumbled to her feet. She felt weak and light-headed but fought it. Thinking a little hysterically that Iain was going to be exceedingly cross, she headed not for the horses but towards where he had thrown the horn. She had no intention of running for her life at the cost of his, knew she would never be able to live with herself if she did.
With his attention torn between his wife and MacLennon, Iain was able to do little more than keep out of MacLennon's reach. “Islaen, I told ye to go to the horses! Get out of here!"
"In a moment,” she replied but doubted he could hear her for her voice was little more than a raspy whisper.
When he realized where she was headed he managed to turn his full attention upon MacLennon. He knew she looked for the horn and did not think it would be too hard to find. Once she blew upon that help would arrive in minutes.
Desperately, on her hands and knees, Islaen searched for the horn. She almost wept when she found it for it meant rescue from the nightmare they were caught in. Her relief turned to despair when her first attempt to blow it brought forth a sickly tone that would fail to travel a yard. Praying for strength, she took several deep breaths though they hurt her and tried again. The sound was louder, clearer, but it stole what strength she had. Collapsing upon the ground, she prayed it had been enough to bring the help they so desperately needed.
Alexander looked up from the dice game he played with Robert when Phelan rode into Muircraig. “Where have ye been?"
"About."
"Verra informative. Ye just missed Lady Mary. She rode out of here but moments ago in no good a temper, I might add."
"No need. I saw the slattern. Where is Iain?” Phelan asked as he dismounted. “I think ye are losing, Robert. ‘Tis best not to play with Alexander."
