Chapter 18 #2
Her eyes, of course, did not linger on them long. How could they, when Aiden was there?
He surveyed the crowd disinterestedly. If it weren’t for his tense shoulders, poised stance, and the hand gripping his sword hilt, one might have thought that he couldn’t care less about the mob gathered in front of him.
Angus bristled, taking a step forward. He pointed a fat finger in his direction. “Ye are nay Laird of ours.”
Aiden eyed him dispassionately. “Oh, but I am, lad. Ye are wasting yer time, Hannah, as I said. Let them be. It’s hardly the first time they’ve shown me what ungrateful bastards they are, and I imagine it willnae be the last.”
Angus tensed. Opening his mouth, he spewed a torrent of insults and curses at Aiden and all those around him. Aiden stared back, as responsive as a man turned to stone. His lack of reaction seemed to infuriate Angus further.
After a few moments of foul language, Angus turned and yanked a bottle out of another man’s pocket. Hannah barely had time to spot the familiar seal on the bottle before it was hurled at Aiden.
That’s one of mine, she thought miserably.
The bottle sailed over his head in a smooth arc and smashed against the wall. Amber liquid ran down the stone, puddling at the bottom.
Aiden snorted. “Missed me.”
Angus gave a wail of fury. He snatched another bottle—this one too went wide—and a third one, before they apparently ran out of whiskey, or people stopped offering up their bottles to be wasted.
A sort of stalemate seemed to have been reached.
The guards at the gate had mostly been driven off by the mob, but the rest of the men seemed unwilling to actually enter the keep.
Angus and his accomplices were here, but made no move to attack.
The guards stood still as statues. They wouldn’t move without a nod from Aiden, and nobody wanted to strike first.
Nobody wanted to start up what would doubtless be a bloody and nonsensical battle.
“The man seems intent on using up all the whiskey in the Highlands,” Aiden taunted, leaning forward. “Ye are supposed to drink that stuff, man.”
“It’s true what they say about ye,” Angus snarled, eyes darkening. “Ye really are cursed.”
“He’s nae cursed!” Hannah heard herself shout, her outrage making her voice tremble.
It was a mistake to speak. She knew that. She knew that she should keep her mouth shut and step back. But she had never been good at either of those things.
Angus rounded on her. “Ye,” he hissed, eyes narrowing. He took a step forward, and she took an instinctive step back.
Her back bumped against the stone wall.
Uh oh.
“Ye are his whore, arenae ye?” Angus spat, still advancing. “Ye are the Laird’s wench.”
“Aye, she is!” somebody shouted.
Some men shuffled closer, eyes glinting with delight.
Cold dread swept through Hannah, and she pressed her hands against the cold, rough stone as if she could disappear through it.
“It’s disgraceful, her carrying on like that,” somebody else added, a weasel-faced man who leered at her even while his lips curled with contempt. “Sets a bad example for virtuous women. For our wives and daughters.”
“Best teach her a lesson,” Angus murmured, almost thoughtfully.
He was less than two feet away from her now. She could smell the stench of his sweat mixed with the rank, earthy smell of an unwashed body.
Some of the other men shifted uneasily, throwing glances at each other. One man turned, shaking his head angrily, and strode away. But most of them stayed.
“After all, if she’s a hussy for the Laird, she’ll be glad to bestow her favors on anybody. Best to remove such a woman from society. She’ll make the whiskey sour,” Angus muttered, reaching out and seizing a handful of her hair in one lightning-quick move.
She hadn’t expected it and didn’t duck in time. His fingers dug into her braid, yanking her forward and away from the wall. The other men inched toward her, circling her, cutting off any escape.
Hannah cried out in pain, grabbing at his wrist and trying to twist it. But his arm was thickly muscled, so it was like trying to wring a fence post.
“Let go of her!” Aiden shouted, but his voice was drowned out by the muttered threats of the men closing in on her. “The next man that lays a hand on her loses that hand.”
Nobody paid him any mind.
Angus yanked her toward him, unbalancing her.
Another hand curled around her bicep, and when she pulled her arm free, the sleeve tore.
Somebody grabbed her chin. Angus tugged on her braid harder, and pain splintered across her scalp.
He was laughing, a wide grin splitting his face to reveal irregular, yellowed teeth.
He pulled harder again, and this time she cried out and—
Something silver flashed through the air, so quick she thought she had imagined it.
The hand dropped from her hair. Angus stumbled back, eyes wide. The others backed away too, all gawping at him in horror. He held up his arm, staring at the stump where his hand had been, blood gushing from the wound.
“I told ye,” Aiden hissed, holding down his bloody sword, “nae to touch her.”