Chapter 18
There were fifteen Grant men in total including Eamon, and Elin had nothing but contempt in her heart for each and every one of them.
Some walked, carrying packs with them, while others rode.
They had a prisoner with them, no doubt some unfortunate man from the village who Eamon had decided had spoken out of turn, but Elin knew better than to ask about him.
Showing interest would only encourage Eamon’s spite.
“How are ye enjoyin’ bein’ back with yer master now that ye’ve crawled back tae him?” one of the men jeered. Elin ignored him and kept walking beside Eamon’s horse, her feet blistered and sore but her head held high.
He wasn’t looking down at her now, but she’d never forget the cruel victory on Eamon’s face when she had given herself up to him.
He’d taunted her, mocked her, then told her that her punishment would be that she would walk all the way back with them.
Only then would she have redeemed herself enough to please him as she was meant to.
Disgust riled up in her at the thought of ever touching or being touched by him again, but if that was what it took to save that village, to save the Blades…
to save Keir… then she’d do whatever it took.
“It’s rude tae ignore me men, Ella,” Eamon taunted from the horse. “Answer him.”
Elin clenched her jaw. “And if I dinnae? What can ye do tae me that’s worse than what ye already have planned? Just kill me if ye wish. It would save us all the trouble.”
Eamon laughed darkly. “Ye’ve nae idea what I have planned, sweetness.
Ye’ll please me in ways ye never even kent were possible, whenever and wherever I wish it.
Of course I’ll nae kill ye. But never forget that ye have nae power here.
One toe out of line and we return tae burn down the remnants of that pathetic village ye gave yerself up for. ”
She sucked in a breath and tried to ignore the fury that clogged her throat. “Forgive me,” she said through gritted teeth. She turned to face the soldier who had spoken and said, “I am, of course, grateful tae have returned tae me laird’s side.”
They kept walking, painfully slowly, until they reached a valley in the middle of four hills.
Elin recognized it immediately; they were only a half day’s ride from Grant Castle.
But the men were putting down their packs and binding their prisoner by hood and hand and feet, obviously preparing to settle for a rest. Some even went to the little burn and stripped off their shirts for a quick wash.
“What is this?” Elin asked Eamon as he dismounted. “Why are we goin’ so slowly? Surely ye wish tae return tae the keep at speed. Surely—”
Eamon cut her off by wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close. He pressed his lips against hers, and Elin went still, trying desperately not to recoil. When he released her, she felt sick. He winked at her and walked away to address one of his men.
“They’re in nae rush because it’s a trap,” a familiar voice said in a tone that was thick and heavy with pain but still somehow cheerful. “They’re baiting the others, hopin’ they come for me.”
Elin rushed to the prisoner’s side and tore off his hood.
A few of the soldiers noticed, but nobody tried to stop her, and it was soon apparent why.
Graeme was nearly unrecognizable, a huge bleeding wound carved from his cheek to jaw, his lips and eyes swollen with bruising.
Blood decorated his torn shirt from other wounds, and his usually sun-browned skin was pale and greying.
This was a man who, if he did not see a healer, did not have long to live. She gasped, covering her mouth with her hands to prevent herself from crying out.
“Och, it’s nae that bad, is it?” he asked. The words were accompanied by flecks of blood on his lips. “I’m still handsome, never fear. But ye’re a fool, givin’ yerself up like that. What were ye thinkin’? How could Keir allow it?”
Elin closed her eyes. She did not want to think about Keir or about what she had done.
She did not know if she could remain upright if she did.
But Graeme deserved to know the truth. So she told him everything—meeting Eamon in the village, how Keir had initially thought himself at fault, their remaining argument, Keir leaving her, the village, and how giving herself up had really been the only option open to her if she wanted those people to remain alive.
“I couldnae just leave them,” she whispered. “I couldnae.”
Graeme regarded her through his swollen eye then huffed out a laugh despite the way it made his whole body shudder. “Och, Elin. Keir’s a daft lad yet.”
She blinked. “What? Nay, I—”
But her words were cut off as the soldiers started chattering and the sounds of distant voices indicated a new presence joining them.
A group of soldiers crested the nearest hill and made their way down toward them.
The Grant men moved quickly, pulling themselves together and making themselves presentable, while Eamon stood up straighter.
Elin vaguely recognized the colors the newcomers were wearing, but she could not place the name of the clan.
That ceased to matter a few moments later, though, when the lead rider got close enough to be fully within her view.
“Well, well. Iain Cameron,” Graeme said.
He needn’t have bothered. Elin had never seen the man before, but he looked so much like Briana that it was impossible that he could be anyone else.
As he drew closer, she saw that he even had the same fire in his eyes as his sister did, though none of the warmth.
Iain spared her a glance on the way past filled with nothing but cold curiosity, then headed straight for Eamon.
They were too far away to hear what was being said, but Elin shivered.
She knew a bad omen when she saw it. She turned and saw the Cameron men mingling with the Grants, the enemies around her having doubled in number in barely the blink of an eye, and her hopelessness surged.
“Let’s just pray the others stay away,” Graeme whispered.
Elin placed a hand on his bound fist and squeezed.
It hit her now that there was truly no escape.
But a new resolve flared within her, inspired by Eamon’s forced kiss and Graeme’s dedication to protecting his brothers.
She would not yield. She would not be Eamon’s slave again.
When the time came that they killed Graeme, she would fight back, leaving them with no option but to kill her too.
Her heart raced with fear. She had no desire to die, none at all.
But at least this way she could wound them, at least a little, and Eamon would never have her again.
Perhaps that was all the victory there was left.
Keir and Noah stood on a ridge, looking down into the smoldering village of Caldershore in grim silence.
They’d seen and smelled the smoke from a distance away and headed right for it, both solemnly aware of what they’d find there.
It was less terrible than Keir had expected; only about half of the buildings were destroyed, and people were moving about amongst the ashes.
Grant hadn’t killed the whole village as he’d expected.
It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless, though it left Keir feeling uneasy.
What could have made a man like Eamon Grant willingly leave witnesses to his horrendous crimes?
“They were lookin’ for us,” Noah said quietly. “These people…”
Keir glanced at him but didn’t speak. He knew how Noah felt.
“They must have him. Graeme, I mean. It’s the only way to explain how he disappeared, the only way to make sense of them kennin’ how close we are,” Noah continued. “But look at this destruction. Grant must have numbers on his side. It would be suicide tae continue.”
“Maybe it will be suicide, aye,” Keir agreed. Was that building over there the tailor shop? It still stood even though the two next to it had burned down entirely. Were the threads and lovely dresses still safe? Elin’s heart would break if she could see this.
He scowled, shaking his head, trying to put her out of it. What would she say now?
The two men looked at each other.
“He’s our brother,” Keir said. His blood brother was missing, gone to God only knew where, but that didn’t make Graeme and Noah less his family.
Noah nodded. “Aye. Well, ye found me half-dead anyway,” he said with a weak smile. “Cannae think of anythin’ more worth finishin’ me than gettin’ that big lout back with us.”
They nodded. Together, they walked down from the ridge until they found the tell-tale signs of hoofprints, and without needing to discuss it, they followed.
They walked for some time until the sound of many voices filled the air.
Keir held up a hand for Noah to wait, and then, stealthily, he peered down from the top of a curving grassy hill into the valley below.
He hissed at what he saw. Beckoning Noah to join him, he silently pointed at the thirty or more men who waited below, each with a weapon and a loyalty to their enemies. But they could see Graeme, too, and—Keir’s heart stuttered—a woman by his side.
“It’s an obvious trap,” Noah whispered. “If we walk intae this, we dinnae walk out. Ye ken that, aye?”
Keir set his jaw but nodded. “I ken. But Theon and Briana live. Wherever they’ve gone, maybe they’ll carry on our work. Maybe the MacKenzie name will still be restored and Scotland will one day be free of the tyranny these monsters have put it under.”
Noah nodded. “And until then, we’ll kill a few of these monsters tae get them started, aye?” He held out a hand.
With a fierce squeeze of his hand, Keir nodded. “Aye. And we die with honor.”
“We die together,” Noah replied.
And they charged.