Alex headed across the sea of bodies and around the keep, looking for any sign of a lass, but they were all men. His father called to him a few minutes later.
“Inside the keep, Alex.”
Chapter Three
Why did he hate the English so?
Alex rushed to his sire’s side. “I was told by a dying man that there is a hidden chamber near the tower room,” his da explained. Once inside, he pointed down a passageway, indicating that Alex should go first. “You did a fine job during your first battle, so you may lead here, though I don’t expect many to be down this way. They would have joined the four men who attacked us before. I suspect they came from the hidden chamber and I fear what we’ll find.”
As they moved closer, the voice of a sobbing lass reached them. Alex stopped at the door, drew his weapon, then glanced at his sire. The Grant chieftain nodded for him to open the door.
A beautiful red-haired lass lay in the middle of a bed, sobbing and covered in blood. The bedcovers were pulled up to her chin, but blood soaked through the coverlet, making it a dark red color.
Alex couldn’t believe the lass could still be alive after bleeding so heavily.
“Go to her, Alex. ’Tis the laird’s daughter.”
Her sobbing stopped, though her breathing hitched as she stared at him, her gaze unwavering, much like a deer who’d been shot by an arrow but wasn’t yet dead. He strode toward her and asked, “Where are you hurt?”
She squealed and pulled away from him, clearly afraid.
He set his weapon on the floor and said, “I’ll not hurt you. I’ll put my weapon down.”
Somehow he knew she would die soon. There was too much blood, her coloring was eerily pale and dusky, her skin dry. But he would not look away from her. He would not let her die alone.
“I’ll fix the pillows behind you to make you more comfortable.” He made a move toward her, but she screamed and pulled back.
Alex didn’t understand her fear. Couldn’t she see he wanted to help her? He stood back, glancing at his father for guidance.
The look on his father’s face was a sadness he didn’t often see. “She’s afraid of you, Alex.”
“But why? I’m trying to be helpful.”
“She’s afraid ofallmen, not just you.”
She made an attempt to push herself out of the other side of the bed, nearly tumbling off the side. Alex rushed over to catch her, but she screamed, an odd sound because her voice was so weak. Her body trembled with fear.
“Your name?” Alex asked, desperate to comfort her. “What’s your name?”
“Sarah,” she whispered.
“Your sire is laird of Clan Gordon?” Alex’s sire whispered from the door.
She nodded, still looking at Alex in fear, her knuckles gripping the coverlet so hard that her skin was white.
“He’ll not rape you, lass. ’Twas the English who mistreated you. We’re from Clan Grant.”
“Rape? I’d never…” The meaning of his sire’s comment finally dawned on him, clarifying the poor girl’s actions.
The poor lass expected to be beaten and brutalized again.
He peered at his sire, who said nothing, but Alex did not require further instruction. He would do whatever he could to ease her suffering. Perhaps she sensed it in his touch because her grip on him relaxed and her head fell back, her eyelids closing.
The Grant chieftain came closer to the bed and quietly said, “She’ll not last more than a few hours. She’s lost too much blood. There’s naught we can do for her. Those men brutalized her.”
“I’m not leaving,” Alex said, his tone definite. He knew from his sire’s arched brow that he’d surprised him. “I mean, if I have your approval, I’d like to stay with her. No one should die…”
Her eyes flew open again, but only for a moment.
