Chapter Four #3
"Come quietly and no one will be harmed." MacBain glanced over his shoulder, toward the castle. "Bring her to the horses," he told the man restraining her.
MacBain led them between the sand dunes, the high grasses providing extra cover from anyone who might be watching from the castle's battlements.
She screamed again as loud as possible. "Help! Help me!"
"Be quiet," MacBain said through clenched teeth. "You leave me no choice." He dragged a handkerchief from inside his doublet.
"Nay!" She shoved her knee upward into his groin.
"Umph!" He doubled over clutching at his stones, which she had hopefully smashed into dust.
She tried to twist from the other man's grip, but his hands only tightened on her wrists.
Raising up, MacBain slapped her hard across the face. "You witch! Don't you ever do that to me again."
Pain sliced through her cheek. One thing he could be certain of—if he forced her to marry him, she would soon be a widow, for she would kill him.
"Edward! Help him hold her," he commanded.
MacBain's two men held her firmly in place while MacBain tied the gag through her mouth. Ugh! It tasted salty with his sweat. Gagging and coughing, she bent forward, hoping she didn't actually vomit.
"Bring her this way," MacBain said.
She pretended to comply for a couple of minutes.
When she felt her captor's hands loosen a tiny bit around her wrists, she elbowed him in the stomach and yanked her arms. One of her wrists slipped from his grip.
She wrenched away from him and ran through the dunes, her feet digging into the soft sand.
"Capture her!" MacBain ordered.
Tugging off the disgusting gag and throwing it, she raced through the grasses and gorse bushes, thorns tearing at her clothing and skin, leaving burning scratches. Her right foot sank deep into the sand. She stumbled and fell to her knees.
Blast!
"Ha!" One of the men on her heels grasped her arisaid from the back. "Got you, lass."
She slid her hand to her ankle and pulled the small sgian dubh hidden there from the sheath. She turned and stabbed his shoulder.
"Ow! Bitch!"
Two more men joined him, tackling her to the ground, almost crushing her beneath their combined weight. One yanked the knife from her hand.
"Get off me!"
"Don't force us to hurt you," MacBain warned, standing somewhere over her while the others held her face-down, the sand cutting into her cheek. She wanted to hurt him. Badly.
"Release me! I refuse to marry you. You cannot force me."
"Aye, indeed, I can." He chuckled. "I only need tell the minister we were in a trial marriage which was consummated. You ken how they hate those trial marriages and want them made legal and binding in the eyes of God as soon as possible."
"That makes no difference." She kicked at one of the men. "No minister would agree that this sort of abuse is allowed."
"I'm not abusing you. Only disciplining my disobedient wife. You're the one hurting yourself by fighting us. Tie her hands and her ankles and carry her to the horses."
"What the hell are you doing?" a deep and forceful male voice demanded.
Who was that? From her position on the ground, Jessie turned her head and looked up at Torrin, standing among the grasses, sword drawn, Iain Stewart beside him.
Two of the MacBain men drew swords. Considering how well-armed they were, all of them had clearly obtained their swords as they'd exited the portcullis at Dunnakeil.
"You stay out of this, MacLeod!" MacBain ordered.
"Nay," he said with deadly calm. "Release her or suffer the consequences."
MacBain laughed. "You only brought Stewart with you. You're outnumbered."
"I knew you were a whoreson the moment I saw you," Iain said.
Two of MacBain's men launched into action, engaging Torrin and Iain in swordplay.
When both of MacBain's men fell, her captors fled.
"Where the devil are you going?" MacBain yelled.
"I'll get them!" Iain chased after the two cowards.
With her hands and feet tied, Jessie could do naught but roll upon the ground like a worm.
Torrin charged MacBain and their swords clanged, sparks popping in the gloaming. MacBain yelped, but she couldn't see if he'd been cut. Torrin was the aggressor, driving MacBain back, but he ran to her other side.
How she wished she could get her wrists untied, or the bindings cut.
Blades clanged multiple times. Someone cried out.
A sword flew over her head, and she glanced back to see what had happened.
MacBain fell to the sand and Torrin stood over him, the tip of the sword at his throat.
A sudden fear seized her and she felt transported eight years into the past. 'Twas like seeing Torrin's sword just before he'd slit the throat of her foster brother.
"Don't murder him!" Jessie yelled.
Torrin sent a quick, dark glance her way then focused on MacBain again. "Should I listen to the lady? Or rid the world of some vermin?"
MacBain held his hands over his head. "I'll go and… and leave Lady Jessie alone," he proclaimed in a desperate voice.
"In truth?" Torrin asked. "Or is this just another lie?"
"I speak the truth. If you let me live, you nor Lady Jessie will ever see me again."
"If we do see you again, I'll take that as leave to kill you. Get up. We're going back to the castle."
"What about my men?" He motioned to the two lying on the ground.
"You'll have to tell the rest of your cowardly men to come back and fetch them… if Iain let them live."
More of the MacLeods burst through the bushes and grasses, their breathing elevated. "Sorry we didn't arrive sooner, Chief."
"'Tis all under control," Torrin said. "Gordon and Sim, go find Iain and MacBain's two men. They went that way. Luag, see to those lying on the ground."
They did their chief's bidding. One of the MacBain men lying on the ground stirred and groaned. Luag announced that the other was dead.
"Struan, tie MacBain's hands behind his back and take him to the dungeon." Torrin motioned to Gregor, then cut the strips of cloth binding Jessie's wrists and ankles.
"I thank you," she said, sitting up. She was so grateful for his help, she wanted to embrace him, but she controlled the urge.
"Are you hurt?" He took her hands and drew her to her feet.
"Naught but a few bruises and scratches."
"Aye, you have a dark bruise. Did someone hit you?" He surprised her by touching her face.
She started to draw away, but the hot, tingly feel of his fingers sliding over her cheek halted her action. "'Tis naught." She feared if she told him MacBain had struck her, Torrin would kill the man before they reached the castle. "I'll survive."
When he lowered his hand, she was shocked at how much she missed the warmth of his touch.
Even in the dimness of gloaming, she found it difficult to meet his intense and intimate gaze. She so appreciated his help at this moment she couldn't express it or even comprehend it.
"I was on the ramparts when I heard you scream," he said. "I was praying it wasn't you, but I suspected MacBain was up to no good."
She nodded. "I was merely taking a walk on the beach when his men grabbed me."
"'Tis not safe for you to walk on the beach or anywhere alone now."