Page 53 of A Rogue and a Noble Lass

Warnock curled his head. Beady eyes flashed with enmity.

“Then ye shall crawl.”

The guards let go of her arms but drew their swords. The tip of two blades pressed into her back, nudging her forward. The pain was sharp and startling enough to force her steps.

“Ye hae nae idea how much pain a person can endure. Dae ye ken where it hurts tae cut the most? Right in between the fingers and toes. I ken ye think yerself skilled with the bow. I can make sure ye never wield one again. I will take yer fingers one by one and toss them tae the dogs. Ye can watch as they gobble yer fingers up. I’ll cut the back of yer ankles tae make sure ye cannae run.” Warnock’s voice lowered to a menacing growl as fear curdled in Beitris’ stomach.

The aversion to pain was an instinct rooted deep in her blood and she found herself wanting to do anything to avoid it. However, the only way was to marry him, and that was a humiliation greater than anything else.

“I would rather lose all my limbs, hae my hair shorn off and my eyes gouged out before I become yer wife,” she spat.

The swords were insistent at her back, continuing to press her forward. To her dismay she was getting closer and closer to Warnock. He did not move. He simply waited, knowing that eventually she would come to him. She tried to resist. Swords pricked her back. Blood bloomed. Tears welled in her eyes. She fought against them, but soon she was standing before him.

“Ye will suffer all those fates and more after ye bear my child,” Warnock said, then struck her across the face with a blow so hard that she almost fainted.

This wasn’t how she expected her life to end, and somewhere deep inside her heart she had assumed that she would see Logan one final time. So be it, she thought, and glanced over her shoulder. The guards were still holding their swords aloft, pointed straight at her back. Beitris took a deep breath and prepared to throw herself onto them, to feel the steel carving into her flesh and the life slipping from her eyes.

Her last act would be a defiant one.

And then the smile fell from Warnock’s eyes.

“Nae,” he gasped.

Heavy bells tolled. Beyond the walls of the Great Hall Beitris heard rapid footsteps as warriors took their defensive positions. Hope flared in her heart. Had they come for her?

Was Logan with them?

20

Warnock’s Keep was an ugly place.

Logan had almost forgotten how ominous it seemed with its jagged walls melting into the mountain, its looming towers brittle and unforgiving. Now that he had seen more of the Highlands he could better tell how gruesome this place was.

“Forward!” Allan cried.

The army was buoyed by the sight of the Keep, their final destination. As they approached, burning oil was poured from barrels atop the wall and then flames were tossed. The oil erupted with heat and orange flames created an impassable barrier. Arrows were fired from the turrets.

“This way,” Logan cried, veering to the right.

This time, nobody hesitated to follow him. He led them around the walls to a hidden part that was loose. It had been the same when he was a boy and nobody had ever thought to reinforce it, probably because they believed nobody would ever get this close. Men threw themselves against the wall and it soon crumbled into dust. They poured in, roaring as guards turned, but there were only a scattering of them in this location. The others were at the gates and had to sprint to fend off the invading army.

Logan’s steel became soaked with blood again. They passed the pit and he shuddered. His strength wavered. With every step he took he felt as though something was being sapped from him. For so many years he had been a boy here, helpless and weak. The weight of trauma threatened to collapse his mind and Logan’s pace slowed, hating that he could still feel so small.

What a grand warrior he was, stilled by something as elusive as a memory.

“Logan, ye ken this place better than us. Get tae Beitris. We will keep these men occupied and join ye when we can,” Allan cried out, jolting Logan from his reverie.

Logan nodded and deflected a blow that came his way. He lashed his sword against the stomach of the man who attacked him but didn’t pause to watch his guts spill out.

Beitris. He had to keep thinking of Beitris.

He pushed the memories as far back and deep down as he could, vowing to remain strong enough for her.

Logan ducked into the Keep, using his knowledge to cling to the shadows and take a path that carried him away from the fighting. All around him the sounds of battle thundered. They crashed in the air from every angle, and it felt strange to be so far removed from the action. His footsteps echoed, lonely in the hollow Keep. His heartbeat pounded in his ears and his breath came out in rapid bursts.

He slowed for a moment as he reached the Great Hall. The doors were closed. Logan mustered his strength and then roared as he threw himself against them. They crashed open and he staggered through, immediately met with two blades. One of them nicked his arm, the other his leg. Logan ignored the pain and the blood, raising his sword to fight them back. He made animalistic sounds as he drove them back and then—

Beitris.