The Devil in Plaid(24)

Fiona moved to the thin casement and opened the shutter, letting in light through the glazed window. She swallowed hard when she remembered Jamie’s response to her fear and outrage over the poor woman being tortured.

‘Tis the will of God that women suffer.

Did he really think it was the will of God that men beat their women like they might a stubborn mule? Aye, that was what Jamie had also said…Must be a stubborn one.

Fiona slammed the casement shut as fear and anger battled for dominance in her mind.

Dear God above, why had she surrendered to such a fate?

She had wanted to do what was right for her people. It was not just her duty but her desire to put her clan first; however, the reality her choice came crashing in around her. She would be like that poor woman today. He would beat her. She would scream in agony and not a soul would defend her. Abby was right—there must be another way to save her people.

A sob tore from her throat as she rushed to the door and beat upon the wood.

“Open the door. Please, open this door.”

The door swung wide, and a young warrior with wide green eyes met her gaze. “What is it, my lady? Are ye hurt? Are ye bleeding?” he said quickly while his gaze darted over her.

“Nay,” she answered.

His perusal of her body stopped, and once more they locked eyes. “Then why are ye screaming like there’s not going to be a tomorrow?”

Panicking, she seized his plaid and tunic in her fists. “But there isn’t going to be a tomorrow, not for me. Please,” she begged. “Ye must let me go. Ye cannot keep me locked away, waiting for him to return.”

The lad shook his head slowly, his eyes turning ice cold. “Ye want me to help ye run away?” He pushed her hands away. “For the sake of both our peoples, I’m glad my laird is better at keeping his word, than ye are at keeping yers. But as a MacDonnell woman, we could hardly expect more. I pity my laird. He deserves better than ye. We all do.” He started to shut the door. “I will go now and tell him what went on here. Be prepared for punishment, although what ye receive from him will be merciful compared to what I would do to ye, if ye were mine.” He slammed the door.

Shaking, she dropped to her knees and brought her hands to her face. What cruel punishment awaited her now? Would he take a lash to her back? Fear consumed her. Her breaths came in short, shallow heaves. Gripping her head with her hands, she tried to steady the room that was spinning around and around. Her hand flew to her mouth just as the rush of bile spilled from her lips. She ran to the chamber pot, giving over to the sick, which twisted her from the inside out. Then she heard steps thundering down the hall.

He was coming for her

She looked for a place to hide, but then, she stood straight and wiped her sleeve across her mouth. Nay, she would not cower. If she had married the devil, then she would rail against the flames of hell. She rushed to the hearth and took hold of the poker, turning with it, raised at the ready, just as the door swung wide.

“Ye viper,” he snarled. “Is the word of the MacDonnell so invaluable—or is it just the women of yer clan that lack honor?” He thundered toward her, his brow heavy, his eyes glinting with anger.

“Stay away from me,” she shrieked. Her heart pounded in her ears. “Do not touch me!”

Though her hands shook, she did not lower her weapon, even when he stood in front of her, so tall, so massive. She pulled back to strike him, swinging with all her might, but he caught her wrist in his fist. She winced, the poker dropping from her limp fingers. He released her. She darted away. Then he whirled around. Now, she was a hare and he a wolf. Her eyes flitted to the window, then to the bed. There was no place to hide, no place to run. But that did not stop her feet. He stepped toward her, and she turned on her heel and darted around him. Racing to the door, she pounded once again on the slatted wood.

“Help me,” she cried, although she knew her pleas fell on deaf ears.

She cried out as he cruelly seized her wrists. He pinned her hands behind her back, his fingers biting into her flesh. Still, she thrashed and fought, struggling to break free.

“Ye’re mad,” he exclaimed as his grip on her wrists tightened still.

“Ye’re a monster,” she cried, pain shooting up her arms.

He thrust her face close to his. His tangled, dirty hair fell in front of his eyes that blazed bright amber. Through his beard, he gritted his teeth at her. “Remember this,” he sneered. “As much as ye may not want to marry me, I resent this wedding more. Ye’re nothing to me.” Then he released her arms and seized her hands and dragged her toward a door near the hearth. He swung it open, revealing a small room with two pallets on the floor but nothing else. He released her wrists and shoved her inside.

He leaned down, once more bringing his face a breath from hers. “I will not have ye driving my men crazy with yer cries and pleas for undeserved mercy. If ye haven’t the worth in ye to honor yer word and the word of yer father, then I will protect both our clans from ye. Cry all ye want. No one will hear ye in here.”

Tears stung her eyes, his words slicing to her core.

As he straightened to his full height, she squeezed her eyes shut, readying her body for the blow that would surely follow. But a moment later, she heard the door slam. She opened her eyes. She was alone. Her wrists throbbed. Finally, the walls of her resolve crumbled, and she choked out bitter sobs.