Lewd voices urged him on.
When she realized what he was about to do, horror unlike any she’d ever experienced chilled her soul. For a paralyzing moment, she couldn’t move. She was suffocating, spiraling downward in a helpless free fall toward hell.
She heard Alex curse and then moan as her screams roused him. But his efforts to help her were thwarted by the fists of the Mackenzies.
Her body gave one last surge—a reflexive fight for survival. She kicked and wiggled against the unyielding weight of his body. But her movements seemed only to excite him. She bit the snakelike tongue that crawled down her throat, tasting blood.
He yelped in pain. “Damn bitch!”
Her head flipped to the side with the first blow. His fist slammed into her face again. And again. The pain was unbearable.
She was powerless.
Oh God, no,she prayed.Please, no.
“No!” She heard her muffled scream from the distance of her descent into hell. A hell that smelled like a sweaty swine.
Time stood still as she waited for the release of death.
But nothing happened.
Suddenly, amid the terror, she recognized the distant whiz of an arrow in flight, and the ruffian collapsed hard on her chest, nearly smothering her with the dead weight of his body. His herring eyes fixed in eternity with a startled stare. Confused and in terrible pain from the blows to her face, she barely registered the sound of steel clashing against steel. She looked away from the eyes of the dead man. A lightning flash of steel formed before her eyes like a silver cross. Was she in heaven, then? No, the crosses were swords. A battle, she realized slowly. Perhaps it was hell. The sound of the slash of a blade as it slid through a man mingled with the gurgling cries of death.
Moments later, the Mackenzie’s body was pulled from her. Her first thought was that she could breathe. She was alive. Cool air accosted her bare legs.
Still stunned by what had nearly happened and that it was apparently over, Isabel was unable to focus on her rescuer. For a moment she was confused, until strong arms pulled her into a fierce embrace.
Rory.
His mouth was against her head, buried in her hair. She could feel the furious hammering of his heart against her cheek. She could smell the distinctive scent of heather and sun. Her eyes locked with his, holding his gaze. He looked at her as if he wanted to memorize her features. And she recognized an emotion she had never thought to see on his face. He looked scared. For her.
Rory knew a long moment of gut-checking fear. Fear that he’d arrived too late. The race of his heart had not yet begun to slow. He stroked the side of her ravaged face with his thumb. “Thank God. When I realized who it was beneath that devil’s spawn…” He tipped her chin and looked deep into her eyes. “Isabel, are you all right?”
His eyes practically gorged on the face that had haunted his dreams over the last two months, taking in the cuts and bruises and trying to convince himself that she would not die. Blood streaked her face. Dark shadows surrounded her sunken eyes. An unhealthy gray pallor marred the creamy ivory perfection of her soft skin. There was an angry bruise along her jaw, flecked with spots of black and red, and the area had already swelled. Her glorious hair was tangled and matted, and her riding habit was in shreds. Rory thought she had never looked more beautiful. She was safe.
Tumultuous violet eyes flickered across his face. Disbelief clouded her vision. She reached up to touch the side of his unshaven cheek as if willing him to be real.
“Rory, is it really you? But how?” She clutched at him as if terrified that he might disappear.
“Later. I’ll explain everything later. First we must get you back to the castle.”
She seemed to calm as he carried her to his horse, but in the next instant, the horror returned. “Oh God, Rory. Alex. We must help Alex.” She let go of her death grip on his arms and looked about, searching frantically for Alex.
Rory buried her face in his shoulder, trying to prevent her from seeing the bloody carnage that surrounded them. The proof of his rage. Dead Mackenzies littered the forest floor, their bodies twisted in unnatural positions, riddled with arrows and sword gashes. Blood had turned the orange brown autumn leaves scattering the forest floor a deep burnished red.
“It’s all right, Isabel, Alex will be fine.” He’d suffered a severe knock on the head and some other cuts and bruises from the beating, but he would recover. “Douglas is already carrying him back to the landing.” The very landing where Rory had been surprised to come across a group of his warriors waiting for the return of a small hunting party.
Blood surged through his body at the memory of Colin and Margaret bursting through the trees, telling him of the attack. Praying he would arrive in time, the fury and helplessness he’d felt when he’d seen his brother lying lifeless on the forest floor and Isabel wedged under the vile Mackenzie. Rory’s mind had gone black. The primal thirst for blood penetrated every fiber of his being. Half-crazed, he’d attacked like the Berserker warriors from whom he was descended.
“Rory, I’m sorry. It’s all my fault, please…I never meant…” She wept softly on his shoulder, small tremors wracking her body.
“Shhhh, shush. We’ll not speak of it now. Later, Isabel,” Rory crooned, stroking her silky hair. His first instinct was to put his mouth on hers and kiss away her memories. Selfishly, he wanted to stamp the proof of his possession all over her, wiping away the taint of another. But after what she’d just been through, he knew it was too soon. She was too fragile.
But once again, Isabel surprised him.
Her hands clasped his shoulders. She lifted her mouth to his. “Please.” She shivered. “That man.” Rory could see the horror in her eyes. “Please, Rory, kiss me?”
His heart lurched. ’Twas an offer he was only too willing to accept. “Aye, lass, with pleasure.”
