“Nay.” She felt the floor tilt and the room begin to spin and still he would not relent. Though she kicked and fought and clawed at his hands he never loosened his hold on the rope.
She heard a strange buzzing in her ears, and tiny black specks seemed to float through the air. Though she fought the feeling, she was slipping, slipping. Her hands went limp and she felt her knees buckle.
As she slid to the floor he knelt over her and loosened the rope, then reached both hands to her torn shirt.
In some dark corner of her mind she heard the ripping sound as the shirt was torn from her.
Chapter Seven
Though she was barely conscious, Meredith continued to fight her attacker. She felt a sense of outrage as strong hands tore at her breeches. With no weapon, she used her fingernails to scratch and gouge at the offending hands. And when Holden ignored her feeble attempts, she sank her teeth into his hand, drawing a spurt of blood.
He was stunned by her determination. Though he had seen traces of her fire and spirit, he had convinced himself that this female would be cowed by his superior strength.
“Stupid wench.”
He slapped her so hard her head was snapped to one side. Pain danced through a haze of bright stars before she fell back defeated.
As Holden’s hands reached for her, a voice from the doorway caused him to pause in midair.
“Step away from the woman.”
Holden turned to see Brice facing him. By the flickering flames of the fire, Holden could see the glint of a knife in Brice’s hand.
Meredith’s attacker felt a trickle of sweat mingle with the blood that oozed from his wounds. He recognized the look of fury that darkened Brice’s features. There were many men he would fight for a beauty such as this one. But never would he wish to fight Brice Campbell. Especially in a temper like this.
Thinking quickly he said, “The wench called out to me. And when I entered your chamber she acted the part of a temptress. Look how she is dressed.”
He scrambled quickly to his feet, stepping a little away from Meredith. Brice saw, for the first time, the tight breeches, the gaping shirt.
Meredith opened her eyes and felt her head swim as she tried to sit up. At a glance she took in Brice, dagger in hand, facing Holden. She felt a momentary rush of relief. Safe. Now she would be safe from her vicious attacker. It was Holden’s words that sent her hopes plummeting.
“The wench thought if she could seduce me I would be persuaded not to tell you that she was trying to escape. But I remembered your orders, Brice. Though she put up a fierce struggle, I was able to keep her from slipping out the window.”
Meredith thought about protesting. But why would Brice Campbell accept her word against that of one of his own men? With a feeling of desperation she lay back, prepared for even more punishment from the man who should have been her protector.
Brice took a step closer. “Aye. I see the tunic and warm cloak folded atop a fur throw in preparation for travel. Woman, there is no denying that you intended once more to attempt an escape.”
His gaze locked on the knotted rope of linen that trailed the floor. “You are a clever lass. You even prepared your escape from a dangerous height.”
Suddenly his gaze followed the trail of linen rope from the window, to where it was still coiled loosely about her throat. Dark purple welts were already forming on her flesh. From the way her shirt fell open he knew that it had not been merely unfastened by a woman about to seduce. It was rent nearly in two. And the torn breeches were further indictment.
His gaze lifted to Meredith’s face. He saw the dull pain that glazed her eyes. And something else. Terror. Sheer terror.
His fury bubbled dangerously close to the surface. He felt the warmth of the dirk in his hand and fought a surging desire to bury it in Holden’s massive chest. What chance did a fragile, unarmed woman have against an animal like Holden Mackay?
In the blink of an eye the anger and guilt transferred from Holden to Brice himself. Who had left the lass in this brute’s hands? Who had foolishly thought that a man, far from the comfort of his own clan, could be trusted with the care of a prisoner as beautiful as Meredith MacAlpin?
Had it not been for his own complicity in this, Brice would have killed Holden Mackay for this ugly deed.
In a tightly controlled voice he rasped, “Mackay, you will leave us. You have violated someone under my protection. Return to your people. You are no longer welcome in Kinloch House.”
Holden experienced a wild surge of relief. He had feared, from the savage look in Brice’s eyes, that he would have to battle him to the death. But just as quickly the relief disappeared, to be replaced by a growing sense of wrath.
“Aye.” Holden’s eyes glinted with sudden anger. “Turn on your old friends from the north for the sake of a wench who has bewitched you. But the day will come when you will regret this. On that day, when you need the might of the Mackay armies, we will remember this night and take up arms with your enemy.”
“So be it.”
Holden thought about killing the man who all but ignored him while he studied the woman. Brice’s head would be quite a prize to take to his people. The name Brice Campbell still brought fear to the hearts of men in the Highlands. But Holden was aware of the barely controlled fury in the man, and knew that with Brice in such a rage he had no chance to win. Without another word he turned and fled.
Brice fell to his knees and touched a finger to the bruises about Meredith’s throat. “The lout choked you.”
At the intimacy of his touch she flinched and tried to back away from him. “Do not touch me.”
“I must examine your wounds.” When he tried to subdue her she mistook his intentions and began wrestling for control of the knife still held firmly in his other hand.
He saw the raw emotions in her eyes and cursed himself for his clumsiness. Tossing aside the dirk he lifted both palms to her to prove that he meant her no harm.
“I am unarmed, my lady. I wish only to make amends for what has been done.”
At his submissive gesture Meredith felt the prickle of tears against her lids and blinked furiously. She must not let him see her weakness.
“Do not touch me. I can—take care of myself.”
The more she tried to be brave, the more helpless Brice felt.
With a savage oath he yanked the rope free and tossed it aside. Then he lifted her in his arms and strode across the room. Kicking open the door to the bedchamber, he crossed the fur-strewn floor and laid her gently upon his bed.
The room was dim except for the flickering flames of the fire. His voice was as still and hushed as the night that seemed to have wrapped them in its soft, dark cloak.
“Forgive me, Meredith. It never occurred to me that one of my own men would be the cause of such pain.”
When she did not respond he whispered, “I regret that I must cause you further discomfort.” As he spoke he reached his hands to the waistband of her breeches. “There is blood upon your clothing. I must find the source.”
“Nay. Nay.” Though she tried to fight him, he managed to remove the torn clothing.
Beneath the breeches and shirt her ivory chemise bore more traces of blood. But when he untied the ribbons that laced the chemise across her breasts, she cried out so sadly he was forced to stop.
He sat on the edge of the bed and leaned close, placing his hands on either side of her head. “Holden has hurt you, Meredith. You are bleeding. Let me help you.”
At his gentle concern she felt some of the terror dissipate. Perhaps it was not his intention to harm her. Perhaps he was merely trying to help.
“I am not bleeding,” she whispered.
Her breath was warm against his cheek. So warm he had to resist the urge to turn his mouth to hers.
“There is blood on your garments.”
“Holden’s blood,” she whispered.
“Holden’s?” He drew closer, staring intently into her eyes. “But you were unarmed.?
??
“Aye. But I had my hands. And my teeth.”
“You bit him?” He felt some of his fury begin to melt. In its place a hint of laughter bubbled.
“Aye. I bit him.”
“Then I suppose I need not remove your chemise in search of more blood.”
“Nay.”
“A pity. I was prepared to do my duty no matter how unpleasant.”
How could it be that only moments ago she had suffered the terror of the damned, and now, with Brice as protector, she was able to smile and even respond to his silly joke?
“If you should think about removing my chemise, my lord, think about this. If you try, you will need the queen’s own physician to repair the damage these teeth will inflict upon your hands.”
“These are noble warrior’s hands, my lady. They must be ever prepared to protect the weak and suffering.”
“They will be exceedingly damaged warrior’s hands if they are found where they are not wanted.”
He gave her a long, lingering look. “What an amazing woman you are.” He saw the hint of color that touched her cheeks. “You are truly unharmed, Meredith?”
The tenderness in his tone was nearly her undoing. He felt her tremble.
“Aye, my lord.” Her voice trailed off as she fought a shudder that passed through her body. “I have survived. I am fine.”
His voice was suddenly gruff. He recognized the shock and fatigue that was beginning to overcome her. “You are indeed a fine woman. But you are far from recovered. You will sleep now.”
He pulled the bed linens over her and added a fur on top of them, smoothing it until she was warm and snug.
Meredith caught his hand. “You will stay with me? You will not send someone else to guard me?”
“If you wish.”
“Aye.” She clung to his hand. “I wish.”
He stared down at the small hand upon his. At this moment he would move heaven and earth if she but asked it. “I will be right beside you.”
“All night?”
“And late into the morning if you desire.”
He pulled a chair beside the bed and dropped a fur across his knees. While the fire burned to embers he watched her as she slept.
~ ~ ~
Thin morning sunlight filtered through the windows, sweeping away the night shadows. Beneath the covers Meredith lay very still, replaying in her mind the events of the previous night.
She recalled clearly the attack by Holden and the tender way Brice had carried her to his bed. Less clear in her mind were the dreams that plagued her as she slept. Several times she had cried out. And each time Brice had been there beside her, soothing, holding. The last time she had sobbed as though her heart would break and it had been Brice who held her in his arms, rocking her as tenderly as if she were a wee bairn.
Brice. She opened her eyes and stared at the chaise drawn up beside the bed. It was empty. She felt a swift stab of disappointment. He had broken his word and left her.
A movement beside her in the bed startled her. Turning she found herself face-to-face with Brice.
Without a word he touched a hand to her cheek. The sweetness of the gesture brought a lump to her throat.
She studied the stubble of beard that darkened his chin, and had to clench her hands into fists to keep from reaching out to him. The nearness of the man did strange things to her. Her throat was dry. Her heartbeat was wildly erratic. And she was suddenly far too warm.
As she sat up and swung her feet to the floor he closed a hand around her wrist.
“You should stay abed, my lady.”
“Nay. I have a need to be up and about.”
He watched as she crossed the room toward the basin and pitcher. Pouring a little water she began to wash her face and arms.
He sat up. From this vantage point he could admire her Creator’s handiwork. How truly lovely she was. The sheer chemise clearly emphasized every line and curve of her body. As she bent to splash water on her face, he studied the dark cleft between her breasts and felt a rush of heat. His gaze traced the waist so narrow he was certain his big hands could easily span it, then moved lower to her flare of hips. Her legs were long and shapely, her bare feet as dainty as a child’s.
She dried her face and began to run his brush through the tangles of her hair. Tossing her head, she brought the hair forward over one breast and continued brushing until it was sleek and shining. Then she tossed it back and allowed it to cascade down her back like a shimmering veil.
She crossed the room to a stool and picked up the crumpled white gown. He watched her with a smile of appreciation. It was then that he spied the bruises on her throat.
He was across the room in quick strides. Without a word he caught her chin in his hand and lifted her face.
Meredith was about to protest his rough actions until she saw the pained look in his eyes. “What is it, my lord?”
“I should never have allowed him to walk away.” Brice’s nostrils flared as he gently examined each bruise. “I should have killed Holden Mackay for what he did to you.”
“I will heal.” Embarrassed at his scrutiny she brought a hand to her throat.
“If I but had it in my power,” he said, bending his lips to the bruises on her throat, “I would willingly take each of your hurts upon myself.”
She stood very still, absorbing the waves that shuddered through her at his touch. Never before had a man dared to press his lips to her throat. And yet the touch was so tender, so loving, she was helpless to step away.
He glanced down at the soiled gown in her hands. “Do not put that on,” he said in a low tone of command.
“But it is all I have.” As she made a move to pull away he yanked the gown from her hands and tossed it in a heap on the floor.
“I will send Cara up with something more appropriate.”
He turned away and pulled on a tunic before leaving the room. It would never occur to him to admit, even to himself, that the gown offended him because it reminded him of the marriage she had almost been allowed to consummate, and the husband who would have bedded her.
~ ~ ~
Cara helped Meredith into the gown provided by the young widow, Mistress Snow. Though not a perfect fit, it was far more comfortable than the white gown that she had discarded.
The fabric was the color of heather, with deeper purple ribbons banding the bodice and hem. The sleeves were full, then gathered at elbow and wrist with shirring. The color was a lovely counterpoint to Meredith’s green eyes and brought a bloom to her cheeks. Best of all, the high ruffled collar hid the bruises that marred her throat.
“Oh, you look lovely, my lady,” Cara said as she finished dressing Meredith’s hair with matching ribbons.
“Thank you. And thank Mistress Snow for me.”
“I will, my lady.” Cara crossed the room and held the door. “If you are ready, the others are waiting to break their fast.”
Meredith followed her from the room and made her way to the great room, where the rumble of masculine voices alerted her that the others were already assembled.
She took a seat between Brice and Jamie and accepted food from the servants in silence.
Beside her, Brice cleared his throat. Odd. When they were alone, he had no trouble conversing with her. Now that they were with the others he felt the old awkwardness returning.
“You look lovely,” he murmured in a voice meant for her alone.
“Thank you, my lord. I would like to go to the scullery later to thank Mistress Snow.”
“I will take you myself.”
They continued to eat while the conversation swirled around them. There was talk of the queen’s visit, which led to a discourse on the scandalous marriage feast the queen had given her brother, James and his wife. The guests had openly danced, knowing they violated the laws of the kirk. The discussion then turned to the latest invasion of the Borders by English troops.
Beside Meredith, Jamie fidgeted. He had heard the whispers and rumo
rs this morrow. Brice had banished Holden Mackay from the castle. Some said the lady had seduced poor Holden, while others whispered that Holden had forced himself on her. No matter what the truth of the rumors, Jamie was unnerved by them. He had witnessed glimpses of Holden’s cruel vengeance. He would not wish to endure the man’s wrath.
He glanced uneasily at the beautiful creature beside him. Though he was only ten and two, he was already as tall as she. And stronger, he suspected, risking a quick glance at the delicate hand resting beside her plate.
She was very quiet this morrow. But since her arrival he had heard her say very little. Her voice was unusual: deeper in timbre than most females, and as whispery soft as a lullaby. It was the voice he imagined his mother would have had, if he could but recall his mother who had died when he was a bairn.
Meredith sensed the scrutiny of the lad beside her and turned to give him a shy smile. He returned the smile before coloring and turning away quickly.
It mattered not to Jamie what the others whispered about the lady. He knew in his heart that she would never attempt to seduce a man like Holden. To Jamie, Meredith MacAlpin embodied all that was good and fine and noble.
No one mentioned the absence of Holden Mackay, and Meredith fretted that word of her attack had already been whispered about the castle. She frowned and quickly dismissed such thoughts. She would not dwell on somber things.
After their meal, she followed Brice from the great hall and through the maze of dimly lit passageways to the scullery.
The air was thick with the aroma of fresh bread baking in the ovens. A small deer was slowly roasting on a spit, in preparation for the evening meal. Servants were busy fetching buckets of water, while more servants scurried about, scrubbing, cleaning, cutting and preparing.
“Mistress Snow,” Brice called.
A small, thin woman looked up from a floured table where she was kneading dough. Seeing the lord of the manor she quickly wiped her hands on a linen square and hurried forward.
Her dress of pale pink was covered by a soiled apron. She touched the end of the apron to her brow as she walked. Dark hair was pulled back from a pretty oval face. Little tendrils of hair clung damply to her forehead and cheeks. Blue eyes danced with laughter as she studied the way her best gown looked on the beautiful woman beside Brice Campbell.