Never Love a Highlander (McCabe Trilogy #3)(35)

She trudged down the hill toward the bubbling brook that connected the two lochs on McDonald land. ’Twas a pretty sight with ice crusted on the banks, reaching toward the middle where water still rushed over rock. Snow drifted on either side, framing the icy-cold water and blanketing the land in white.

She stopped at the water’s edge and hugged her arms to her chest. She closed her eyes and breathed deep of the crisp winter air. The faint smell of smoke from the keep’s chimney wafted through her nostrils, and for the first time in a long while, the smell of meat over a spit.

For how long she stared over the water she wasn’t sure, but shivering with cold she had the realization that what she hated wasn’t the loss of her freedom. It was the fear of the unknown.

She was acting like a petulant child whose favorite toy had been taken away. She could be part of the rebuilding of her clan. Perhaps not in the way she had the most knowledge, but everyone else was having to cope with change. She wasn’t the only one who didn’t like it.

If her husband wanted the perfect lady, a well-kept manor, the epitome of feminine grace, she could give him all of that even if it killed her.

She’d give him no reason to be shamed by her.

Her chin notched upward and her gaze settled across the brook. To her shock, men on horses bolted from the trees and charged toward her.

She turned and let out a yell just as the horses splashed into the water. She ran along the shore, knowing she had no chance trying to run up the hill to the keep. She’d never outrun the horses.

She opened her mouth to yell another alarm, praying the men would hear from such a distance, but a boot slammed into her back, knocking her to the ground.

She landed in the snow with such force, it knocked the wind from her chest.

Ignoring the pain, she planted her palms down and got her feet under her once more to flee.

A hand twisted in her hair and her attacker yanked her backward and then flipped her onto her back. She stared up at a group of five men. The taste of fear was vile on her tongue. She faced them down, unwilling to show them just how terrified she was.

“What do you want?” she demanded.

The man holding her backhanded her across the face, shocking her into silence. Furious, she attacked, her fingers flying into his eyes. He howled in pain and stumbled back, giving her just a moment to make a break for it.

She didn’t get far before another of the men tackled her, driving her face into the snow. It filled her nose and mouth, numbing the throbbing ache from the vicious slap a moment ago.

Again she was turned and this time the second attacker clipped her with his fist on the cheek. His hand closed around her neck, squeezing with enough force to prevent her from drawing breath.

He held her there until she went slack. The other men gathered near and then the first attacker staggered up, blood dripping from one of the scratches she’d inflicted.

“Little bitch,” he spat.

He grabbed the neckline of her tunic and ripped downward until her br**sts were bared. Once more she began to struggle but the man holding her neck squeezed again until she was forced to quit.

She tried to scream but no sound came out. Tears of rage blurred her vision as one of the men fondled her br**sts and then tweaked one nipple.

Just before she blacked out, the hand relaxed at her throat and she sucked in deep breaths. As soon as she had enough air, she opened her mouth to scream just as her face exploded in pain again.

He administered methodical, forceful slaps to her face, alternating sides until a haze of pain enveloped her. The other hands continued their lewd groping, twisting, and pawing her like an animal.

Hot tears slipped over her battered cheeks. Never had she felt so helpless in her life. Where was her sword? How was she expected to defend herself?

She would be raped here on her own land, helpless to do anything but lay there and cry.

When she was barely conscious, her attacker leaned in close until his hot, fetid breath blew over her face.

“You’re going to deliver a message to the new laird,” he hissed. “Tell him no McCabe is safe from Duncan Cameron. Not Mairin McCabe or her new daughter. Nor anyone the McCabes call dear. Cameron will destroy all who ally themselves with Ewan McCabe. He won’t rest until Neamh Álainn is his. You can tell him that your pretty face is a token of Duncan Cameron’s esteem.”

He climbed over her, kicking snow on her face as he walked back to his horse.

The sounds of horses crossing the stream filtered through her muddled mind. She tried to raise her head but pain swamped her. Her stomach revolted and nausea boiled up into her throat.

She closed her eyes and took small, steadying breaths until the nausea abated. Then she slowly rolled to her side and lay there for a long moment collecting her strength.

When she tried to get to her knees, she pitched forward. Tears of frustration bit angrily at her eyes. By all that was holy, she had to make it back to the keep even if she had to crawl.

She nearly passed out again when she pushed herself upward. She glanced up the hill and sighed wearily at the seemingly interminable distance.

And then she began to crawl.

CHAPTER 15

“My lady! My lady!”

It took all Rionna’s effort to raise her head and stare ahead, though she couldn’t make out who was yelling. Her right eye was nearly swollen shut and her vision was blurry out of the other one. Her ears still rung from the blows she’d received.