Chapter 6 #3
“Let me be,” he demanded. “Ye have nay right to do this, or to speak of my wife.”
“I have every right. I’m the healer her son came to for help after she fell and he couldna wake her.
I’m the man who’s going to kill ye… slowly…
if ye dinna care for her as a husband ought.
If I hear any word at all that she’s hungry, or that ye have hit her or the lad, I’ll be behind ye so fast ye’ll never ken the first blow is coming.
But ye’ll feel the rest, and ye’ll die begging me to finish with ye.
” Jamie applied more pressure across Rory’s back, then dug his thumb into a point on the man’s shoulder he knew would cause excruciating pain.
“That’s just a taste of what I can do to ye with no effort at all,” he promised, as Rory bit down on a cry.
“I ken many more places just like that on a man’s body.
And unlike ye, I never leave a mark—until I want to.
Ye’ll be sobbing like a wean before I start cutting parts off of ye. Long before ye breathe yer last.”
He let up suddenly and stepped back, gratified to see Rory’s knees buckle.
The man clung to the wall for a moment, then straightened and rounded on Jamie with his fist. Jamie blocked the punch with his forearm before he realized Rory held a blade in his other hand.
Jamie danced away as the point caught in his léine.
He twisted clear and grabbed Rory’s wrist, intending to force him to drop the blade.
Rory swung with his fist and missed Jamie but managed to stab himself in the arm.
Jamie had enough. He hit Rory on the point of his chin, snapping his head back.
Rory went down like a tossed bale of hay.
Jamie rolled his shoulder and rubbed his chin with the inside of his arm where echoes of Rory’s pain pulsed.
Some men had no sense. Then he knelt to check Rory’s wound which was bleeding freely.
His sleeve was sliced and he had a deep score down his forearm.
Jamie grimaced, looked around to make sure he didn’t have an audience, then bent to close Rory’s wound.
In moments, the bleeding stopped. Jamie stopped knitting the tissue back together just below the surface, leaving a long scratch to explain the blood.
Then he stood and rubbed the soreness from his own forearm.
Rory didn’t move.
Jamie opened the door and peered into the dim interior. “Are ye lasses all right in here?” His eyes adjusted quickly from the fading sunlight outside and he spotted the two women sitting at the table.
“What’s been going on out there?” Aftyn demanded. “I thought I heard a thud.”
“Just a moment.” Jamie slung Rory over his shoulder and carried him inside, glad to see Mhairi drinking from a clay mug. Crumbs littered the table’s surface. So Aftyn had found food and convinced her to eat. Good.
“What…” Mhairi’s shocked expression, eyes wide and mouth open, didn’t surprise Jamie. But then she narrowed her eyes and pressed her lips together. “Ye can leave him to sleep it off outside,” she stated firmly. “Preferably behind the cottage.”
Aftyn grinned and patted her on the shoulder.
Jamie’s feet wouldn’t move. He was transfixed by the expression on Aftyn’s face. He’d seen her sad, scared, and angry, but this grin was new. He liked it—a lot. It revealed a certain spirit the lass had kept hidden. She released him from thrall by glancing down at Mhairi.
Jamie had been headed for the wee cot he spied at the back of the room, but he nodded and hid a grin, pleased that Aftyn had revealed more of herself. And had made such a difference in Mhairi’s spirit, too. “As ye wish, milady. Ye can see we’ve exchanged a few words.”
“Wait. He’s bleeding,” Aftyn exclaimed. “Let me look at him.”
“’Tis just a scratch,” Jamie told her. Then he turned his gaze to Mhairi.
“I expect ye’ll have nay more trouble from this man.
But if ye do, and I hear of it, he kens what will happen to him.
” With that, Jamie did as she bade and dumped Rory behind their home, not surprised to find that area as tidy and well-kept as the front. Mhairi did not deserve a man like Rory.
Aftyn repeated that she wanted to stay with Mhairi until Rory woke up, but Jamie dismissed that idea and took her arm to encourage her out. Aftyn objected, but Mhairi told her to go, which might be the only reason Jamie wasn’t doubled over from a punch to his privates.
In apology, he escorted her to the public room for an ale. “I didna want ye there when he wakes, in case he blames ye. Let him try anything and I’ll be nearby. All she has to do is scream, or send her lad running to the keep.”
“I dinna think she’ll need to send the lad,” Aftyn said. She’d seemed nervous when he led her to the public room, but was calmer now that they were settled at a table, ales in hand. “Alastair.”
“Who is Alastair?”
“The lad’s name. Rory would not let either of them speak it.”
Jamie shook his head. “I’ve never heard of such.”
“Nor I, but he terrorized them into complying. Alasdair has been ‘the lad’ so long, I wonder if he recalls his own name.”