But she wasn’t dressed as a lady.
And he wasn’t a knight.
She would have to set him aright. “How dare you!” she said in her haughtiest voice. “Let go of me.” She tried to pull away, but his hand on her arm gripped her like a vise.
Her attitude didn’t discourage him; rather it only served to anger him. “Ye’re an uppity bitch, aren’t you?” He jerked her a little closer, close enough for her to see the spittle at the corner of his mouth, dampening his beard. Her stomach turned. “I’ve not seen you before. You must be with those Scot ladies,” he sneered.
She didn’t think it was the time to point out that the Isles were part of Scotland, too.
He was drunk, really drunk. Panic bubbled up inside her, but she fought to tamp it down. It was clear this man was not to be reasoned with, not in his current state.
There was nothing left to do. Even if it meant trying to explain to her father what she was doing out alone dressed like a servant, she had to reveal her identity. Once this ruffian knew the truth, he would let her go.
She tossed back her hood dramatically. “I’m not with the Scots ladies, IamLady Christina Fraser, Sir Andrew Fraser’s daughter.”
As she was expecting him to let go of her arm, what he did next took her by complete surprise. He grabbed a pile of her hair in his fist and turned her face into the soft glow of torchlight beaming from the entry above.
She cried out at the burst of pain in the back of her head.
His eyes were glassy and unfocused as he examined her face, but it was clear from the way he smiled that he liked what he was able to see. “A real lady, are you? And I’m the King of England, ol’ Longshanks himself.” He laughed at his own joke. “God, would ye look at that mouth. I hope you know how to use it.”
Blood drained from her face as fear and outrage turned to icy panic.He doesn’t believe me. The possibility had never occurred to her. Christina had a sinking feeling that her naïveté and inexperience had just caught up with her. Suddenly, her short outing seemed ill conceived, foolhardy, and dangerous—very dangerous.
She looked around for help, but the place appeared deserted. Where was the guard? Would anyone hear her cries? Would anyone care?
The way he was leering at her made her skin crawl. She could guess his intentions. “Let go of me, you filthy beast!” she shouted. She tried to reach up and claw at him, but he sensed her movement and pinned her arms against her body by wrapping her tighter against his.
She fought to break free, but her struggles seemed to only make him angrier.
“You little hellcat!” he said furiously. “Like it rough, do you?” He dragged her toward the keep, deeper into the shadows, and slammed her back onto the wall of the castle, knocking the breath from her. He had one hand on her head, one around her waist holding her arms, and his body pinning her to the wall, making it barely possible for her to breathe, let alone move.
The sound of men’s voices gave her a renewed burst of energy. “Help!” she managed breathlessly, before he clamped a hand down over her mouth.
But they’d heard her. “You over there.”
Her attacker stilled.
It had to be the castle guard. Tears streamed down her cheeks, relieved that this nightmare would soon be over.
“Hurry up, will you?” one of the men said. “The lass is making a lot of noise and there are ladies about.”
Her attacker chuckled. “Aye, she’s a real screamer.”
The other men laughed and moved off, leaving her stunned. How could they just leave her? They didn’t care. She was nothing to them.
It was up to her. No one would help her.
Releasing his hand from her mouth, his grip on her hair tightened and he forced her face to his, resuming where he’d left off before the interruption. His mouth lowered and she cried out, “No!” She tried to evade him, twisting her head until tears came, not caring if he ripped out all her hair. But the harder she struggled, the harder his grip on her grew.
Their teeth knocked, sending a blast of pain to her nose, as his mouth came down on hers with crushing force. The pungent scent of putrid ale assailed her senses. She gagged, revulsion rising up in the back of her throat as her stomach threatened to empty. He tried to force his tongue between her lips, but she clamped her jaw tightly closed.
He grunted in frustration, his body grinding harder against hers, as he pressed his slobbery lips against her jaw. When he released her head she thought she’d won, but the victory was short-lived.
She felt his hands tugging at her neck, felt his ragged nails against her bare skin as he held the edge of the neck of her gown and pulled.
She heard the ripping sound of fabric an instant before the cold air blasted her bare breast. He groaned as his hand covered her and squeezed—hard. Horrified, she cried out at the brutal invasion.
“God, would you look at these tits!” He sounded like a man who’d just found a bag of gold. “Big and round, just the way I like them.”
