Chapter Thirteen
They reached the Norman camp at nightfall.
The blaze of several fires lit up the darkness, and armed sentries stood all around.
Several soldiers were working on setting up tents while others tended to the horses.
Raine rode into the camp with Carice, and as they approached, her posture tightened.
She looked back at him, and the sadness in her eyes only made him feel worse. He deserved this.
But what else could he have done? The men were too close, and even if he had tried to help her leave, the soldiers would have caught them.
They would have treated Carice like a prisoner, and she wasn’t strong enough to endure captivity.
He, himself, might be sentenced to death for desertion.
And it would only endanger his sisters more, if they were still alive.
The soldiers stood back to let them pass, and when Raine reached the center of the camp, he saw her father waiting. The man’s expression was a blend of relief and fury.
Raine helped Carice dismount and walked forward with her hand in his. Her demeanor was stiff, her expression holding resignation. He didn’t like the way she was staring into the fire as if her entire body had gone numb.
“Are you feeling all right?” he murmured against her ear.
“I am feeling betrayed.” Her answer was dull, like she didn’t care if she lived or died.
He could say nothing to her, for it was the truth. But he squeezed her hand in silent apology.
When they stood before her father, she said, “Raine de Garenne, this is my father, Brodie Faoilin. Chief of our clan.”
Raine met the man’s gaze evenly and gave a nod of acknowledgment. He offered no fealty, and perhaps it was best if he did not speak at all.
But Brodie moved forward to embrace his daughter. A smile broke through his expression for a moment before he said, “I am glad you are safe, Carice. Go to the litter and lie down while I speak with this man.”
Her father addressed her as if she were a dog, which Raine didn’t like at all. To Carice, he said, “It is your choice whether you wish to stay or go.”
“I’ll stay.” She drew in the edges of her cloak and regarded her father. “I suppose I deserve to know the plans for my future.”
“The plans have not changed. You already know that the High King’s men came to escort you to your wedding.
And this man slaughtered half of them.” Brodie’s face turned thunderous when he turned to Raine, speaking in the Norman tongue.
“What right have you to interfere? I should have you slain, here and now.”
Raine stood his ground, taking Carice’s hand. “I would not try it, were I you.” He rested his hand upon his own sword in a silent warning.
The Normans closed in around them, and his commander signaled for him to come forward. Raine didn’t want to leave Carice, but he saw no alternative. He squeezed her palm again and in a low voice asked, “Will you be all right?”
Her expression held sadness. “I would have been all right if you’d kept your promise. What does it matter now?”
He deserved that, he knew. But after he left her side, he glanced back to ensure that she was protected by her father. When he reached Sir Darren’s side, the knight ordered, “Walk with me.”
The man’s expression was unreadable, and Raine couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Darren led him to the outskirts of the camp, and then dismissed the sentries at the boundaries. “I am glad you kept your word.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t?”
His commander stared out into the darkness. “You have been too eager to give your own orders instead of following mine.”
“I brought her here, as you commanded. And now, we must bring her to Tara.”
“You could have brought her to us sooner, had you taken her as a prisoner.”
Raine shook his head. “She was far weaker than I thought. I managed to help her rebuild her strength enough to make it this far. But she is still unwell.”
His commander didn’t disagree. “Nonetheless, the High King wants his bride. And you will accompany her father to Tara, to ensure that she arrives there.”
Raine made no argument, for he fully intended to accompany Carice. Although she was upset and angry with him, he intended to make matters right between them.
Yet, now that their arrival was imminent, he couldn’t stop thinking of Carice’s prediction, that King Henry would never let his sisters go. The man had a violent temper, and anything might set him off.
What if Elise and Nicole were already dead? His mood darkened at the thought. Was it right to murder the High King for a sovereign he no longer respected?
Sir Darren paused a moment and said, “Do not forget your task, Raine. You seem to be wavering in your orders.”
“I haven’t forgotten.” But he was trying to decide whether or not to go through with it. Carice had made him realize that the Normans were indeed expecting blind obedience. And the truth was, he wasn’t like the other soldiers. He held no true loyalty to King Henry—not anymore.
“I saw the way you were looking at Lady Carice. I warned you not to get too close to her.” Darren turned to face him. He studied Raine a moment, his eyes narrowed. “You swived her, didn’t you?”
The crude words ignited a rage within him. His hands clenched and he turned on the man. “Don’t speak about her in that way.”
“You did.” A smile curled across the Norman’s mouth. “What do you suppose her father will say when he learns what you’ve done?”
Raine seized Darren’s tunic and twisted the fabric. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what? Tell the High King that you’ve defiled his bride? Tell her father that his daughter is no longer a virgin?”
Raine swung his fist at the man’s jaw and sent Darren staggering. Blood trickled from his commander’s lip, and his thin smile stretched. “Perhaps I’ll sample her for myself. Or I’ll let our men have her...unless you do as you’re told.”
“I will slit your throat if you touch her.”
Darren unsheathed his own blade. “I could have you killed right now for such a threat.” In the firelight, the iron gleamed. “Your life belongs to me, de Garenne. You have no freedom, no will of your own. I own you.”
Raine gritted his teeth, knowing that the knight was trying to provoke him. And he’d already fallen into the trap, admitting how much Carice meant to him. They would use that against him now.
From behind him, two soldiers seized him. He could have fought them off, but when he saw the look in his commander’s eyes, he knew that Carice would suffer if he dared to disobey. It didn’t matter that her father was here with his men. Brodie Faoilin could not protect her from the Norman soldiers.
“Take him to the center of the camp,” Sir Darren commanded. “He will receive fifteen lashes for defiance.” He moved in closer, crossing his arms over his chest. “I would have thought you’d learned to hold your temper, Raine.”
He said nothing but let the men lead him away. He knew the whipping was meant to punish him for striking his commander, to remind him of his place. To break him.
But no amount of physical punishment could eradicate the fires of rebellion brewing inside.
They bound him to a post at the center of the camp, baring his back before Normans and Irish alike. In the firelight, Carice saw the reddened flesh that had healed from the night he’d been trapped in the fire.
“What is happening to Raine?” She turned to her father, but Brodie gave no answer. It seemed that he was glad of the punishment. She approached a soldier nearby and asked, “Why is he being whipped?”
“He disobeyed our commander,” the man answered. And when Carice searched for a glimpse of Sir Darren, she saw that the man’s face was bruised and bleeding. Why had they fought?
Her questions died away when the first lash struck Raine’s back. A line of red marred his flesh, and she bit her lip hard, to prevent herself from crying out. A few of her father’s men roared with approval, but the Normans remained silent.
The look on her father’s face revealed his own satisfaction.
Brodie was reveling in the whipping, as if he blamed the man for her abduction.
And she knew that she could show no emotion at all.
No one could know that it felt as if she were the one enduring each lash.
It took every last bit of inner strength to watch the leather bite into his skin, knowing the pain he was suffering.
Not a sound did he make throughout the whipping. Were it not for the blood dripping down to the snow, no one would think the lashing had any effect.
“Disobedience will not be tolerated from any soldier,” the commander said, when it was finished. “We will uphold our laws from every man.” With a silent gesture, he ordered Raine to be cut down.
His hands fell to his sides, but he did not lower his head with subservience. Instead, he turned in a slow circle, his gaze searching until he found her. And when he met her stricken gaze, she saw the apology in his eyes.
I am sorry for what I did to you.
He had accepted this punishment as his due, not because he had disobeyed orders, but as penance for delivering her to them. She pressed her fingertips to her lips, hating the thought of his suffering. But she forced herself to look at him, even though it tore her apart to see his wounds.
He cared. She knew that now, and he regretted all that he had done. She only wished that he could change it somehow.
“I am glad to know that the Normans mete out justice where it is due,” Brodie continued.
“Though I still believe de Garenne should be held accountable for the men he killed.” He led Carice away from the crowd toward his own tent.
She allowed it, because she knew she could not reveal any sympathy toward Raine.
It would only cause greater retribution against him.
“He was escorting me to Laochre,” she told her father. “We were attacked, and he defended me from the High King’s men.”