Page 12 of Warrior’s Lady

Chapter Four

"What do you mean, a Ruthven?" Lord Lockhart erupted.

Bertie's eyes narrowed as he pointed at Rhiannon. "The lass is a Ruthven. Although she is fair where her kin are mostly dark, you can see it in her eyes, and in her chin. A Ruthven stands before us, by all that is holy."

Lord Lockhart's light, penetrating gaze shifted to her. "Correct the man if he is wrong," he demanded, striding toward her. He unceremoniously gripped her ankle and yanked her from her horse, imprisoning her in the hook of his arms before she could tumble to the ground.

Rhiannon caught her breath and stared up at him.

"Explain yourself." He pulled her against the hard contours of his body. His eyes demanded her full attention, insisted on the truth. She was only dimly aware that the others had closed in around them as though protecting their master from a threat. Her heartbeat thrummed in her ears. He held her too close, demanded too much.

"Are you suddenly mute? Or does your silence damn you?" he asked, his voice cracking with anger.

Rhiannon jerked out of his grasp. She took several halting steps back, creating some distance from him, but she still felt penned in by the others.

"I am Rhiannon Ruthven."

Lord Lockhart stared at her for a long, taut moment. Bewilderment flared in the depth of his gaze. "A female Ruthven?"

Rhiannon straightened beneath his regard. "The last."

"But a Ruthven nevertheless."

She tightened her jaw, prepared for the onslaught of insults certain to follow.

"The abbess knew who you were, and still she entrusted you with Lady Violet's care?" His voice was low and deceptively silky.

"Not all people judge others by their name alone."

He seized her arm and pulled her tight against him once more.

She gasped and tried to break free, but to no avail.

"Some people deserve such judgment." He yanked her across the courtyard. His people scattered as he approached, then fell in behind him, their curiosity evident.

They came to a halt in the churchyard, before several freshly turned graves. He released her for a moment and drew the sword from his back.

Rhiannon flinched back as he drove the blade not into her, but into the ground at her feet. "Is that your family's crest upon that sword?"

She swallowed roughly as she recognized her father's sword. "Aye."

"Dougall Ruthven. Who is he to you?"

"My oldest brother."

"All of these men died at the hands of your kin." Before the horrific image could sink into her soul, he grasped her arm and jerked her to the right, to stand before the freshly turned soil of another grave. Beside that grave lay a body, wrapped in sheets of linen.

He pulled her down to her knees beside the concealed body. "I have every right to judge you, and any Ruthven, by name alone when it is your family who has murdered my own." Kneeling beside her, he grasped her chin, forcing her gaze to the fresh grave. "My brother was disemboweled by your kin."

Hot tears sprang to Rhiannon's eyes.

"And this," he said, forcing her chin toward the wrapped body. With his free hand, he pulled back the white cloth to reveal the even whiter face of a female whose face was frozen as though in a mask of pain bored into her own, accusing her, damning her, as Lord Lockhart did. "This is my sister-in-law, Lady Violet's mother, who was left unprotected because of your kin's actions. In the absence of anyone to defend her, she was charged with witchcraft and hanged."

Rhiannon squeezed her eyes shut, blocking the sight of such horror from her vision, but the images would stay with her always. The pain and desperation she could hear in Lord Lockhart's words would haunt her all of her days.

And his treatment of her… A sob escaped her. Would she never be free of abuse? Her father? Her brothers? This man? "Milord, I am sorry for your loss." She brought her gaze back to his. His face hardened to a mask of freezing rage.

Beneath the chill of his scrutiny, Rhiannon continued. "That my kin had any part in either of their deaths grieves me most desperately." On limbs that trembled violently she stood, praying her legs would support her. "But I am not my family, milord." She nearly crumpled to the ground once more at the hatred mirrored in his eyes.