The Devil in Plaid(51)

He sneered at her. “Ye seem surprised, my dear. Did ye think an army could sneak up on me and take me by surprise. I have eyes and ears everywhere. My men are spread throughout the region. Fergus, here, has been living with yer clan since the very day I killed my brother, gleaning all manner of delicious secrets from yer sweet, wee maid.”

Fiona’s eyes widened. “That is how ye knew the secret route we took from my home.”

“Indeed. My plan was to take ye for myself. Had my men not failed me, ye would now be my wife.” He thrust her against him. “I would have been the man to break your maidenhead.” A leery smile curved his lips. “No matter. After yer husband is dead, and ye become my leman, I will have a lifetime to punish ye for letting another man touch ye.” Again, he squeezed her breast, causing her to wince. “Ye will forget his gentle touch, and ye will come to know the way a woman was meant to be taken, hard and rough. I will make yer virgin blood flow again, that is my vow.”

She cried out as he grabbed her by the hair. “On yer knees,” he spat, shoving her to the ground. “Ye can watch me train,” he said. “Bastard, bring me my sword.”

Fergus crossed the room and took up a broad sword from a long trencher table and handed it to his father.

“This is the sword with which I shall slay yer husband, from stem to stern. He is a fool to march against me. My keep is strong and my supplies limitless. He and his men will grow weary of their fruitless siege, and I will cut them down.” Ranulf passed his sword back to his son.

Fiona trembled as she watched him push the top part of his plaid off his shoulder before whisking his shirt over his head. Scars decorated his chiseled muscles. “I was not born to title like my poor, dead brother. I knew that if I wanted anything of value in life, I would have to fight for it. And I have—every treasure I possess, all my gold, the loyalty of my men—I have bled to possess them all. I do not fight for honor. I do not fight for love. I fight to win, and I give no quarter.”

She steeled her shoulders. “I would never ask for mercy.”

He grazed the back of his fingers down her cheek. Then his hand dropped to her throat. He squeezed. “Nay, ye will beg for it.”

“Never,” she strained to say.

Grabbing back his sword, he pressed the edge to her neck. “Beg me for yer life.”

She swallowed hard, but her eyes narrowed on him. “Never,” she rasped.

A wicked glint shone in his eye. “Kenric, bring me the good captain,” he called. One of Ranulf’s warriors crossed the room and grabbed the arm of the man lying near the hearth, dragging him toward them. Fiona gasped. Blood covered one side of the man’s face, dripping from an angry gash on his temple. His eyes were nigh swollen shut, and his lips were cracked and bloody.

Her heart sank when she recognized Captain Tormod.

“Get the captain up on his knees, Fergus.”

Fiona watched in horror as the young man known to her as Thomas took hold of the tortured captain and moved him closer to his father.

Ranulf circled around the hurt man. “When Fergus arrived today and told me how ye were taken prisoner by one of my warriors, it took me some time to flush out which one. It was not until I threatened the lives of the village children that Captain Tormod came forward and told me he’d taken ye. When I asked why he did not bring ye to me right away, he refused to answer. Ye can see how hard I’ve pressed him. I’ve beaten him to within an inch of his life. Still, he tells me nothing.” Then he turned to look at her. “Why is that, do ye think, my lady?”

Fiona’s gaze darted to the captain who struggled even to draw breath. Her mind raced. She realized then that Ranulf still did not know their ultimate plan to unite the clans. Her gaze darted to Thomas. His eyes dropped to the ground.

Did Thomas know?

Ranulf’s fist shot out, striking the captain’s temple. “Tell me,” he snarled at her.

“He wanted me for himself,” she blurted. “He said his desire for me began when I would come here and visit Adam. He intended to hand me over to ye, but first, he wanted to have his way with me.”

“And did he take ye?” Ranulf asked greedily.

She shook her head. “Nay, I told him that he invited yer wrath, and he ceased his advances.”

A sickening smile curved Ranulf’s lips. “I can’t blame him. Ye’re too fine for any man not to want.” He turned and kicked the captain in the gut. Tormod groaned and fell onto his back. Ranulf stood above him with the tip of his blade hovering over his heart. “Do ye think he deserves to die for his treatment of ye?”

Fiona shook her head. “As I said, he never actually touched me.”

Ranulf looked up and locked eyes with her. “Then beg me for his life.”

She looked down at the captain, then back at Ranulf. “Spare him.”

“Beg me,” Ranulf shouted, raising his blade, ready to drive it back down into the captain’s heart.

“Spare him, please,” she pleaded. “I beg ye. Spare his life!”

A slow smile stretched his lips wide. He stepped over the captain, back to her side and cupped her cheek. “I look forward to breaking ye.” His grip on her jaw tightened. She winced as he squeezed. Then he dropped his hand. Backing away, he called to Kenric, “Tie the lady up, and throw the captain in the dungeon.”