A Highlander’s Terror_A Medieval Scottish Romance Story Page 29

  “Sorry for disturbing your work, like,” Ainsley said quickly, also peculiarly nervously. “But I'm to deliver a message.”

  “Yes?” Glenna frowned.

  “You're to go down to the courtyard. At once. You're needed there.”

  “I am?” That was odd. Lady Amabel hadn't come back from riding yet. Who could need her? “Who needed me, Ainsley?”

  “I...best if you come down – hard to explain.”

  Glenna stood, feeling her heart thumping in her chest. What was this all about? “Why?” she asked. “Why is it so hard to explain?”

  Ainsley just grimaced. “Best if I don't, Glenna.”

  They went down the stairs together. In the hallway, Glenna paused. She put her hand on her heart, feeling an uneasy thudding there deep in her chest. “I'll go alone, Ainsley,” she said softly.

  “Thanks, Glenna.” Ainsley curtsied uneasily and hurried off without a backward glance.

  Glenna crossed the hallway had exited. The courtyard was cooling off under an afternoon sun. She frowned, feeling a little dazzled by the daylight. “Hello?” she called. Who was waiting here, and why was it so urgent?

  No answer. She went over to the gate near the stable, feeling foolish. Who had summoned her here?

  “Hello?”

  That was when someone stepped out from behind the stable and covered her mouth with their hand. She screamed in alarm. No sound came out. Then she kicked backward. Whoever it was swore and she had a flash of realization as she heard the grating voice.

  Alexander.

  Then something hit her hard on the head and the last thing she saw was white stars, flaring into darkness.

  The light came back, albeit slowly. In addition, with it came pain. Glenna groaned and tried to open her eyes. It felt as if a heavy weight pressed on her eyelids. She blinked, groaning. Where am I?

  She stretched her hands forward. Her fingers worked, and she opened her eyes, trying hard to focus. Pain lanced through into her brain and she groaned again.

  “Ah. You're awake, aye?”

  The voice was the grating, cruel voice of her nightmares. Glenna shivered and rolled into a ball. She felt despair clutch her heart. What can I do?

  She was here in Alexander's clutches. She lay there, trying to think of a plan. She was cold, hungry, and tired. What could she do?

  She tried to sit up. Her head pounded and she felt the urge to vomit. She doubled over, stomach cramping painfully.

  “You don't like me much, eh?” the voice chuckled. Glenna shook her head.

  She heard the man stand then – the sound of a chair being drawn back across the floor. Then boots, heavy, crossing a flagstone floor. She felt a hand descend on her and draw back her head. She groaned and closed her eyes. The fingers dug into her scalp and she shivered, pain and fear flowing through her body like tendrils of ice.

  “You'll start liking me soon enough,” he said with a smile.

  This close, she could see the stained teeth, the hard gray eyes. She closed her eyes, wanting to cry. He would not see her tears. “No,” she whispered. “I will never like you.”

  He chuckled. The blow, when it came, stung the side of her head. She gasped and rolled in on herself instinctively, hiding from the pain.

  “Please,” she whispered. “Why am I here? Where am I?”

  “You're in a barn,” he said reluctantly. “Somewhere near Edinburgh. As to why? Well, simply because you're his. One way to fix his poxy ways.”

  What? That made no sense. “He doesn't like me,” she said in a small voice.

  “You try telling me that,” he chuckled harshly. “Ye think I'll believe it? No. I know a fellow pinin' for a lass. Seen it often. And he's pinin' sore.”

  Glenna shook her head. “Must be...some other lass.” She felt a tear trickle, unbidden, down her cheek.

  “Try that one too,” Alexander said. “I'll no' believe it either.” He grabbed her shoulder and jerked it back, painfully twisting her around to face him. “Ye can hauld yer whist on yer lies.”

  “I'm not...lying,” Glenna whispered hoarsely. Her heart was racing with panic and she felt the need to run from here, if only her body would carry her. She was paralyzed with fear though, unable to move even should she wish it.

  “Ha,” he said. He was standing a few inches from her and Glenna felt herself flinch away as he made a fist again. She could feel the trembling of the muscles in his arm, mere inches from her face – she knew he was holding in his rage.

  “What will you do?” she whispered.

  He laughed, grimly. “No idea yet,” he said. “I know what I want to do,” he added.

  She heard the lust in his voice and trembled as he reached down and stroked her hair. She curled up tighter, wanting to be as small as possible. If she could just disappear, she'd be safe. “Please,” she whispered.

  He laughed. “I have no pity,” he said.

  She realized with some horror that was nothing besides the truth. “If I don't do as I will with you, it is through no fault of my own.”

  The man is mad – he must be. Glenna shuddered. What did one do with someone who had lost their grip on their sanity? The best thing – the only thing – she could think of was to threaten them with some consequence for their action. “You will be punished if I am harmed,” she said.

  The blow almost stunned her. She felt blood trickle down her chin from her nose and sobbed in shock. She covered her face with her hand, feeling the warm viscous fluid of blood on her fingers.

  “You think to threaten. You'd threaten me?” He laughed again. “I fear no one.”

  “You fear yourself,” Glenna whispered. The realization had hit her suddenly as she lay there. “You fear you're a coward.”

  She heard the hiss of indrawn breath. The next blow knocked her unconscious.

  When she woke again, it was to darkness. Glenna opened her eyes, the drowsiness of concussion filling her head like down-feathers filled a pillow. She tried to sit up. Her mouth was dry. She coughed.

  “Water,” she murmured.

  She breathed in through her nose as best as possible. She could smell the scent of logs burning. Someone had made a fire. She noticed the light flickering through the slit of her eyelids. A shadow fell across her as he moved.

  “In the bucket over there,” he said. “You'll have to stand to get it – I'll no serve it to ye.”

  Glenna sighed. She felt too scared to move. However, what could she do? Her thirst was going to choke her if she did not slake it soon. She stood and stumbled forward, heading toward the fire. She found the bucket and made a cup of her hands, scooping the frosty-cold liquid into her mouth. It trickled down her throat, making her tongue – which ached of dryness – suddenly moistened again. She swallowed and gasped.

  She heard him shift by the fire, lying on fresh kindling. The flames flared higher and she turned toward it, stumbling back to her place. That was when she fell.

  Crying out with desperate fear, she tried to scramble up, but terror and hunger had left her impossibly weak. She got to her knees and stayed there. She felt a hand stroke her hair. She closed her eyes.

  He pushed her down on the floor and his hand traced her face, stroking down toward her breasts. When he slid his thumb into the collar of her dress, she froze.

  “Please,” she said.

  He laughed. The hand worked lower, then back. He tore open the buttons down the back of her dress and she felt a tear run down her face as he stripped her.

  That was when she heard what she had never thought she would. The sound of hoof-beats. Heading up the path…toward them.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  A FIGHT

  A FIGHT

  Conn held his horse's reins and leaned forward, pushing for more speed. His heart was thumping in his chest and his whole body shook.

  Glenna? Where are you? Glenna! I wish I had told you so many things. I wish I had said I love you. Glenna...

  He thought about the information he had pieced togeth
er. An inquiry from the guards who worked at the castle years before he had arrived had revealed that Alexander had a secret place, a bothy in the woods that he went to when he needed time away. It had belonged to an uncle of his, apparently.

  I never knew he came from a family of herders and verderers. No wonder he hates us all!

  Like most of the knights, Conn came from a noble family, the fourth son of a landed baron who needed no more sons to take over his landholdings. No wonder Alexander hates us all!

  None of that mattered now though. All that mattered was finding Glenna. Before it was too late.

  “Yah!”

  He shouted aloud, encouraging his horse as they raced crazily through the woodlands. It was dusk and the path was treacherous. He knew any stumble from his horse could mean his death by sailing over forward, breaking his spine. However, he had to get there! He didn't even think about it.

  The bothy is in the woodlands. Find the charcoal-burners' settlement and head east for half a mile, then turn left into the forest's midst. You can't miss it.

  He recalled the description from Hamish, one of the oldest Guardsmen. He had known of the place from when Alexander arrived, remembering his uncle the woodsman.

  There! Conn saw a place, just obscured by misted dark. He rode up. There was smoke drifting from the chimney. Someone was there. Without thinking about it, he threw himself from horseback and ran to the door. That was when he heard the scream.

  “Glenna!” he roared.

  He ran at the door. It didn't budge. He ran again. It buckled a little, but the hinges were still too strong for him. He was sobbing with frustration, desperate to get in to his love. The scream came again and then stopped, abruptly, in silence. He ran at the door again and then drew his sword.

  “Glenna...”

  He ran to a window. It was a stupid risk to take, climbing in through a window – he could easily be met at sword-point on the other side and be utterly defenseless against it. Still. He slithered in over the sill. And stopped.

  Glenna was on the floor in her petticoat. Alexander was over her, on his knees, wrestling with the fastening of the garment.

  “You bastard!” He roared it, falling on the man, sword drawn.

  Alexander rolled sideways and came up on his feet. Conn fell forward, and felt a moment's desperation as he heard Alexander reach for his own blade. He struggled to his feet. Glenna scrambled backward, and then put her back against the wall, knees drawn up tightly to her chest.

  “No!” she whispered. “Conn! Don't!”

  Conn looked round to face her. He felt his heart ache, seeing her so afraid. Her oval face was pale, marked with tears and the tracks of blood across her lip. A purple bruise, livid and angry, splashed her right temple. That was when the red haze splashed across Conn's vision, obscuring everything.

  “Alexander!” He roared at the man and ran forward, sword brandished high above his head. With a yell, he brought the sword down with a mighty stroke. It clashed into Alexander's blade, the force rippling up Conn's arm and into his injured elbow, making him inhale sharply.

  Then he raised his blade, hurriedly, as Alexander raised his own. Circling, eyes narrow and focused, his opponent studied him a moment. Then he feinted left, moved right and brought the blade down in a whistling cut that raced for Conn's head.

  “No!” Glenna's scream tore through him as he raked his own blade upward. Her alertness saved his life as he blocked the blow and the blades rang together, striking sparks.

  Alexander struggled with him, eyes wide and furious as he pushed his blade down and then sprang back, breaking out of the lock. He thrust forward then, striking like a snake. Conn whistled with surprise as the blade raked across his chest.

  “Conn...” He heard Glenna whisper his name, an agonized whisper, and he couldn't risk looking at her, losing focus. He stepped sideways and back and then he had his back to her, facing Alexander, who had circled round, putting the window at his back.

  Conn stepped back again, moving to stand before the fire. His heart thumped and he could barely stand, so tired was he from the ride, the tension and the fight. Nevertheless, he had not a moment to rest. He surged forward and struck, then moved back as Alexander ran at him.

  Blows rained down, the great sword swinging in a scything arc that could have cut Conn in two if he hadn't been desperately blocking the blows himself, meeting strike for strike and parry for parry in a fight that was taxing him to the end of his resources and demanding every ounce of his strength.

  He heard Alexander let out a roar as he raised the sword in a huge arc and Conn reached up to block it. That was when he slipped.

  He felt his right leg go out when he stepped into a hole in the earthen floor. He fell, amazement turning to horror inside him as the blade arced down, aiming for his head...

  Then went left, and sideways as, with a look of utter horror, Alexander fell forward and sprawled full-length onto the packed earth of the floor.

  Conn scrambled back, unsure of what had just happened. Alexander grunted and got to his feet. It was then that Conn saw Glenna. Her face white, she brandished a warming-pan in both hands. Her tear-streaked cheeks were pale under enormous gray eyes as she looked down at the floor. As Alexander rose and swayed on his feet, Glenna dropped the pan.

  Conn heard her sob and then he was focused all on Alexander as he swayed again and then turned, hissing, sword lifted high.

  Conn raised his and Alexander fell to one knee, stumbling with a dazed air.

  “Finish it, boy!” he said dully. “Go on! You man enough to kill, eh?”

  Conn sighed. “I'm man enough not to have to,” he said quietly. “Put down your blade.”

  Alexander looked up at him, jaw working. Then he snarled and threw the blade down on the straw-covered floor. “You've humiliated me, you and your witch,” he said with a hard, cold voice. “Just finish me off now. It'd be a mercy in the face of this.”

  Conn sighed. “I don't kill except in war or self-defense,” he said. He kicked Alexander's blade out of the way, and then sheathed his own. “Stand up, man.”

  Alexander sat down heavily instead. He looked up at the ceiling. “Go,” he said quietly.

  Conn frowned.

  “Just go!” the man shouted. “Go on! Out! Leave me.”

  Conn nodded. He kicked the sword across the floor, trying to move it far enough back for the retrieving of it to take time. Then he turned to Glenna. “Come on,” he said. “Let's go.”

  Glenna seemed frozen to the spot. She stared at Conn dully. “But...” she whispered. “But...”

  “Come on, dearest,” he said gently. “Let's go home now.”

  He took her wrist and she flinched as his fingers closed around it. Seeing fear in her eyes made Conn almost turn and finish Alexander off, the black rage swelling within him again. Then he sighed and, keeping his hold on her wrist, led her out. “Quickly, my dearest,” he whispered. “Let's go.”

  He led her to his horse and bent, making a stirrup of his hands. “Step up,” he said gently. “I know you can ride well.”

  Glenna shook her head, but did as he suggested, stepping up onto his hands and throwing her leg over the saddle. She moved slowly, like someone frozen in a winter's snowfall might. He heard the door to the bothy fly open, the sudden snap as the handle hit the wall. Then he was swinging up onto the saddle and riding away hastily.

  “Oh...” Glenna was murmuring. He held her as she sobbed, his arms around her waist as he held the reins before her, the warmth of her body conforming to his own. He could feel her pressing against him, warm, smooth and soft, and wished that these were other circumstances. However, he had to accept that they were as they were. She was likely afraid of him now.

  Damn Alexander! He wanted to spit.

  However, it was enough. He had Glenna in his arms. He could smell the sweet floral odor of her hair, pressed against his nostrils. Her body conformed to his as they rode, pressed tight together. She was here, safe, with him. He was
content with his lot.

  They rode on through the woods in silence. To his surprise, they heard no sound of pursuit. If Alexander planned any revenge, he was not intent on taking it today. They rode unmolested along the paths into the night.

  Glenna was sobbing as they rode. He felt her body trembling in his arms and fought the urge to hold her close.

  As they followed the path out and the first view of the castle came into sight, its great gray walls just visible against the dusk blue sky, she stopped crying.

  “My dearest,” he murmured into the silence. “You saved my life,” he added. She had. He might have rescued her, but she had certainly returned the favor. “If you had not stopped him, I would be dead now.”

  “No...” Glenna whispered. “Not...I don't want to think of it.”

  Conn nodded. He kept silent as they followed the long road toward the city gates.

  As they reached them, traveling at a walk, Conn realized with some alarm that Glenna had on only her under-dress. He could feel every inch of her pressed against him, from the slight bumps of her spine to the roundness of her hips. He sighed, gritting his teeth to stop himself from wanting her.

  “My dearest?” he whispered.

  “Yes?”

  “Should we stop at an inn this night?” He knew of at least one beyond the direct precincts of Edinburgh. If they rode into town dressed as they were, they would likely attract all measure of the worse kind of attention. If they stayed the night at an inn, they had the chance of procuring some proper dress.

  Glenna nodded. He felt, rather than saw, the motion of her head as she moved in his arms. “Yes,” she whispered softly. “Let us go.”

  Conn racked his brain, trying to recall the direction to the inn. It couldn't be too far from there, he believed. He remembered and turned right, heading along the winding roadway that led through the town and linked, eventually, the city center and the hilltop fortress together.

  “Yes, my dearest,” he whispered soothingly. “Let's go.”

  At the inn, he held the horse while Glenna slid wearily from the saddle. She stood against the horse's flank, shivering as she sobbed softly. Conn reached out to her, the sound twisting in his soul. “Let me carry you,” he whispered.