Aimil cursed as she awoke. The pain she felt reminded her where she was and what was happening to her. The last thing she wanted was to return to consciousness. There was some measure of safety in unconsciousness only because, if Rory continued to abuse her, she would be unaware. Awake, she would know all too well the pain he dealt her.
A coolness on her body made her frown then gasp in shock. One horrified glance at her body confirmed her suspicion that she was naked. When she instinctively moved to try and cover her nakedness with her hands, she received another shock. She looked up at her hands in stunned disbelief to see that her wrists were securely bound to the bed post at the foot of the bed. A brief frantic struggle to free her wrists was abruptly stopped when she heard a soft chuckle. At that moment, Rory moved to stand before her.
“I wouldnae waste what strength ye have left, my sweet whore. Geordie ties a fine secure knot.”
She forced herself not to look at the small whip he idly slapped against his leg. “Ye will surely die for this, Rory Fergueson.”
“Shall I? And who shall be your avenger? Your dear father? He cannae even bear to look at ye. The gallant Leith mayhaps? He is still a child and, if your father doesnae stop him from taking up a sword against me, I shall cut him down with ease. Your lover, that whoreson the Black Parlan, mayhaps? I think not. He is most likely dead.”
“Nay, t’wasnae a fatal wound.” She tried not to let his words weaken her, refused to listen to the part of her that agreed with him.
“Come, my pretty slut. He had an arrow pierce his thigh. Even a child such as ye has seen enough of war to ken the danger of such a wound. They bleed so freely and, ofttimes, naught can stem the flow.” He shrugged. “And if he lives? What matter? Why should he trouble himself with ye? He has whores aplenty to choose from. He is careful with the lives of his men and willnae risk them simply to return some Lowland slut to his bed. Nay, no matter how good ye were, and ye were good, were ye not? Aye, ye must have been for the Black Parlan to keep ye in his bed for so long. Ye shall have to show me all he taught ye but not yet. Nay, not just yet. As your betrothed and master in the eyes of the law, I have decided to punish ye for your whorish ways.”
He struck so swiftly that she was barely able to stifle her cry. She braced herself for the second bite of the lash, but it did not come. Instead, he stood staring at her back. The way he held the whip, caressed it lovingly, chilled her.
“Ah, so like your mother,” he murmured, touching the mark upon her back. “So like Kirstie. Her skin turned livid at the merest violent touch as weel. It took so verra little to bring forth the colors of pain. She too had to be punished for her whorish ways, but I punished her too virulently. She died. Howbeit, I do learn from my errors. Ye will live for a verra long time.”
His murmured words, the talk of violence and death sounding like idle chatter, made her blood run cold but also confused her. “My mother died from a sickness caught on childbed.”
“Aye, so your father said. He was too weak, too soft of heart to tell ye the truth. I believe ’tis past time that ye kenned it. Aye, t’will aid ye to understand what ye must do, to see the wisdom of bending to my will.”
“Ye will never be my master, Rory Fergueson.”
“Just as stubborn and foolish as Kirstie but ye will learn. She died defying me, but ye will live long enough to bend. She too scorned me. She too refused to wed me, and I was too young to see what I had to do in time to stop her from wedding another.” He grasped her painfully by the chin and brought his face close to hers. “I waited years for ye to finish growing, to finish becoming like your mother, as I kenned ye would from the moment ye came squalling into this world. I have waited years to correct the mistakes I made with Kirstie. Although I have lost the chance to spill your virgin’s blood, I can still make ye crawl to me. I will have ye begging my forgiveness for spreading your thighs for Parlan MacGuin.”
“Nay. I will spread my legs for every pox-ridden beggar in Scotland before I would do that.” She spat in his face.
That enraged him and soon she almost regretted her defiance. It took Geordie’s interference to bring him back under control. From the curses and furious words Rory had spat at her, she realized she was acting so much like her mother that he was becoming confused, his twisted mind blending the past with the present.
So too did she finally believe that he had murdered her mother, that her father had lied to them all. What she wished she knew was whether her father knew who was guilty, if he had knowingly promised her to the man whose hands were stained with her mother’s blood.
She was sure, however, that she did not want to hear any more about how Rory had killed her mother. While a small part of her demanded the truth, a greater part of herself knew that the truth might well be far more than she could bear. Rory, though, seemed intent upon confession. She suspected that he, knowing how hearing the tale would torment her, was using it as yet another means of inflicting pain, one as expedient and successful as his whip. It simply left no marks upon her body.
“Ah, Geordie, she tries to drive me past reason just as Kirstie did.” Again he grasped her by the chin and forced her to look at him, but he did not draw near enough for her to be able to spit upon him again. “Ye think to escape me by dying but ye willnae. Nay, ye willnae die until I am ready to let ye. I did too much too quickly with Kirstie. I shall pace myself with ye. First the punishment then the possession. I think ye should hear about how I possessed your mother, my sweet whore. T’will do ye good to ken what lies ahead. Mayhaps t’will make ye see the wisdom of giving up this defiance, this contrariness, all the sooner. The first thing ye must do is to agree to our marriage.”
“I would rather become the bride of Satan himself and spend my wedding night amongst hell’s tormented souls.”
Aimil began to think that she would make that wish come true if she agreed to wed Rory. If he was not the Devil himself, he was surely one of Satan’s closest minions. With each stroke of the lash, Rory revealed another sickening detail of the murder of her mother. Inwardly, she wept bitter tears. Nothing her mother could have ever done had warranted such a horrible fate. Aimil began to think that even Satan would balk at accepting such an evil, twisted soul as Rory’s.
She struggled against letting her pain, fear, and grief weaken her spirit. Thinking about how she must live to tell the truth about Rory helped. Someone had to see that he paid dearly for the vicious murder of her mother, and she was the only one, besides Geordie, who knew of his guilt, the only one who could see that he was brought to justice. That thought alone kept her spirit strong.
Finally Geordie stopped Rory. Geordie was, Aimil realized, the only rein upon Rory’s madness. Without Geordie, Rory’s evil would undoubtedly have come to light a long time ago. She deemed him as guilty as Rory, his calloused hands as soaked in blood as his master’s. By helping Rory to hide his sickness, Geordie had undoubtedly insured more deaths than she cared to think upon. As she waited for the merciful oblivion of unconsciousness, she listened to the two men talk, their voices distorted as they came to her through ears ringing with pain.
“She will need to rest some before ye set upon her again, or ye will be killing this one too quickly as weel.”
“And that I must never do. I will have from her what I couldnae gain from her mother. I have waited too long for it to lose it now.” Rory grasped Aimil by the chin and shook her head until she opened her eyes a bit to glare at him. “Aye, ye curse me just as she did. She damned me as she lay there dying. She told me that if I hurt ye the Devil would rise up and drag me into hell. Weel? Where is he?”
“He will come for you yet, Rory Fergueson, though I am thinking even he will find ye too foul.” She closed her eyes again, refusing to look into his soulless eyes.
“I dinnae think t’was wise to tell her about her mother. What if she tells someone?”
“She willnae.”
“How can ye be so certain of that?”
“Because soon she willnae have the strength nor the will to betray me. I will break this lass. Soon, aye, soon, she will crawl to me and think only of what she can do to please me.”
“And then what will ye do to her?”
