Page 24 of Highlander’s Devious Ally

The thought made him squirm with unabated lust. He would watch her helpless and terrified face as he made her his, and hear her agonized scream as he took her maidenhead. The more he thought about the idea the more he liked it, and he was grinning from ear to ear as he reached the cottage.

The priest was a young handsome man called Iain Baxter. He had been ordained at the age of twenty-three and defrocked at the age of twenty-five after numerous complaints had been received about his overfamiliarity with young girls. He was tall, fair-haired, and quite handsome except for a prominent jagged scar that ran up from the corner of his mouth almost to his left cheekbone. It had been caused by the eating knife of the girl whose testimony had led to his expulsion from the church.

He had kept the secret of his disgrace private, except for a select few acquaintances so that he could perform clandestine functions like this one for corrupt lairds like Jock McCauley, for which he was well-compensated. He made a good living this way, and had all the women he wanted. Jock and everyone else despised him, but they tolerated him out of necessity.

Jock and “Father” Baxter dismounted as they came to the door of the cottage, then the guard with the key opened it for them. Jock screwed up his eyes at the smell, and the so-called priest did likewise.

“Ailith! My love!” Jock called, smiling at her in a way that was more of a gloat than an expression of joy. “Have you decided to marry me yet? Please say yes, because I have brought Father Baxter with me and I will bring in two of my men to be witnesses.”

Ailith felt sick. She was filthy, hungry, her hands were excruciatingly painful, and her spirit had been worn down by this cruel man’s treatment of her. “Do I have a choice?” she asked heavily. “Do what you like, Jock, I no longer care. Only let me wash, please.”

Jock smiled triumphantly. “Of course!” he replied. “I will have some water brought for you.”

He called out to one of his men, who conveniently happened to have soap, water, and a towel with him. Ailith’s lip curled with disgust as she looked at Jock.

“You knew I was being kept dirty, Jock,” she said scornfully, then stepped up to him and thrust her face into his. “I am not a fool, and I would appreciate it if you would not treat me like one. You will have to put up with me the way I am, since this is the way you wanted me.”

“You cannot be serious!,” Jock said his jaw dropping in amazement and disgust. “Wash yourself at once. I cannot marry you looking like this!”

“Then do not marry me,” she replied lightly. “Your choice, Jock. Marry me as I am, filthy as you want me to be, or do not marry me at all.”

“I could hold you down and make you wash,” he threatened, frowning ferociously.

“Do so, then,” she shrugged. “I cannot stop you. I do not want to marry you, but I cannot stop you doing that either. Do whatever you have to, Jock. I do not care.”

“I have had a beautiful dress made for you,” he wheedled, and beckoned one of his men to bring it in. It was indeed lovely, made of buttercream-colored satin and trimmed with white lace, but to Ailith it was a symbol of oppression, of slavery, because it meant the end of her ability to have any say in her own life.

“Beautiful,” she said, with a sigh of misery. “I am tired of this Jock. Do what you like with me. Force me to wash if it pleases you. I will obey you in everything henceforth, but you will never own me. All you will have is a walking corpse—a piece of dead flesh.”

Jock was just about to order one of his men to strip Ailith naked when Father Baxter tapped him on the shoulder. “M'Laird, I have another appointment in Kinlochan in two hours,” he said urgently. “Please let us make haste.”

Jock hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Go and bring in two men to be witnesses,” he ordered. “Anyone will do.” Then he took Ailith’s hand and they knelt down in the straw.

14

The Ambush

That was when all hell broke loose. Earlier that morning Lyall and his men had approached the cottage on horseback at first light, then Lyall had led an advance party to disable and tie up the guards.

They were all lying sleeping by the stone wall at the side of the house where the horse trough was. Lyall filled up his water bottle and gave them a rude awakening, pouring copious amounts of ice cold water over them.

Lyall and some of his men stood over them with a sword pointed at each of their necks as they spluttered and wiped their eyes. They were still drunk from the night before, and were looking up at the seven men standing in front of them with naked fear in their wide eyes.

“If any of you gives us away,” Lyall hissed, “I will kill you, then I will go after your families, and make no mistake, gentlemen, I mean what I say. I will be listening, and if either of you say one word to betray us you will be to die. Do you understand?”

The men nodded, their eyes wide with fear, and as Lyall looked into their terrified eyes he felt only contempt. These cowards had held the woman he loved captive, most likely in dreadful conditions, and now they were going to suffer for it, as well as their loathsome master. He would never have touched their families of course, but he had always found that in battle terrified men were cooperative men, and though he hated to use such tactics, he would have done that and much more for Ailith.

They crept around to the back of the cottage and concealed themselves amongst the trees, then waited in dead silence. Lyall was looking forward to seeing his sweetheart again, but at the same time dreading it, because he knew that he would find that she had been kept in deplorable conditions, although how bad he did not yet know.

Presently, Findlay joined them, and Lyall could see that his eyes were glittering with hate and anger, his jaw clenched, and his gaze fixed on the house as if he could break the stones with his stare. “You have no idea how much I am looking forward to this,” he whispered savagely. “I have thought of nothing else for six years.”

“I think I do,” Lyall replied grimly. “But I all I want to know is if Ailie is well. If she is dead I will slit Jock McCauley’s throat.”

“Here they come,” Lyall hissed as he watched the party of horsemen and the Laird McCauley approaching. Jock, resplendent in his best clan finery, looked gleeful and delighted with himself. Beside him was a young, handsome man who wore the costly garments of a priest underneath his cloak. Findlay was sure that he had seen him before somewhere, but could not quite place him for the moment. There were six armed guards around him, but they were laughing and joking amongst themselves instead of keeping an eye on their surroundings.

In his eagerness to reach his bride, Jock spurred Sheba faster and reached the cottage before his guards. He took the key from one of the ones who were there already and went in, closely followed by the priest.

Suddenly Jock’s men were surrounded by iron and leather-clad men, all armed to the teeth with swords, daggers, and spears. The surprise was so unexpected that Jock’s horsemen had no time to react, and for a few moments there was chaos as swords clashed with swords, horses neighed and reared up in panic, knocking their riders from their saddles in their blind panic. Other soldiers were wounded by Lyall’s swordsmen, and those who got away were picked off by eagle-eyed archers. It was a rout, and what Jock had expected to be a triumphant encounter with his submissive, broken bride had become an utter nightmare.