Authors: Hannah Howell
“Curse ye, ye are failing me too, just as they all do!” he screamed, and backhanded her across the mouth. “My wives, Lady Ruthven, all of them. Useless whores, the whole lot of you.”
She cried out in pain when he shoved her off the bed and she hit the floor hard. “ ’Tis nay the women who fail ye, ye great fool.” She scrambled out of his way when he leaped off the bed and tried to kick her. “Ye have gone and damaged yourself somehow.”
“Then cure it. Ye are a healer. Heal me.” He grabbed her by the hair, yanked her back toward him, and slapped her again. “Heal me, ye twice-cursed bitch!”
“Is that what ye demanded of Lady Ruthven?”
“Aye, and she failed me. Then she forced me to make sure she couldnae tell anyone my secret. Aye, just like my useless wives, she needed to be silenced.”
“Ye killed them all just because ye are impotent?”
“Nay!” He punched her in the face, releasing her hair when she fell backward from the force of the blow.” ’Tis their fault! They cursed me. Aye, that is what the bitches did, cursed me. And they didnae ken what I needed.”
“Ye need a new pintle, ye old goat.”
“Ye are no healer. Where are your potions and salves, eh? I cannae even get hard enough to seek the cure in your body. What good are ye, I ask ye? Eh? What cursed good are any of ye?”
“I dinnae think anyone can cure ye,” she said, struggling to get to her feet so that she might evade his next attack. “ ’Twas a wound or a fever, wasnae it? There is no cure, and ye are slaughtering women for naught.”
“Nay, they all deserve what I deal out to them. And my secret is safe. And so will it remain safe.”
Tatha tried to elude him when he advanced on her, but she was weak and unsteady. The blows he had already dealt her, her hunger and thirst, had all stolen away her chance to escape him. She cursed in frustration when he grabbed her and watched him draw his fist back with a sense of cold acceptance. He was going to kill her as he had killed the others, and there was little she could do to stop him.
A cry of alarm rang through the halls, and Tatha felt a surge of hope. It might not be anyone coming to her rescue, but any diversion at the moment could only be a blessing. If Sir Ranald was taken from her side for a while, she might be able to regain some of her strength.
She bit back a whimper of pain as he twisted his hand in her hair and dragged her over to the window. She could not see out, but whatever he looked down at caused him to go red with fury. He glared at her, then slammed her head against the cold stone wall. Tatha blinked once, then sank into darkness.
David was astonished at how easily they had gained the inner bailey of Sir Ranald’s keep. His guard had been lax and slow to respond when they had seen his army riding hard toward their walls. They had been able to ride right through the gates, easily cutting down the men frantically trying to close them.
With Leith guarding his back, he fought his way into the keep itself. He ached to confront Sir Ranald, his fear for Tatha so strong it nearly had a life of its own. As he cut down the last man standing between him and entrance into the keep, he looked up to see Sir Ranald himself rushing down the stairs, sword in hand.
“Where is she?” he demanded, a little surprised that the man actually meant to face him.
“Ye mean the little whore of a healer?” Sir Ranald’s smile was pure viciousness. “She wasnae as sweet a ride as I thought she would be.”
David struggled to keep his rage harnessed, knowing the man tried to goad him into acting foolishly. “Her father stands at my side. Your keep is falling into our hands. The whole of Scotland will soon ken that ye are naught but a cowardly slayer of women.”
“Aye, and my tally of dead whores has just increased by one.”
“ ’Ware, David,” whispered Leith from behind him. “He tries to madden ye so that he may actually have some chance of killing ye.”
“I ken it.”
That knowledge did little to dull the sharp fear he felt, however. There was a good chance the man was lying, but he could also be telling the chilling truth.
He had held Tatha captive for long enough to do anything he pleased with her. David dared not think that he had come so close yet had failed to save her. That way lay madness.
“Ye killed my mother, didnae ye?” David said as he and Sir Ranald circled each other.
“Another whore.”
“Is that how ye explain your own lack, Sir Ranald? Do ye blame your poor limp monhood on the lasses? Calling them whores makes ye feel like the mon ye can ne’er be, does it?”
As David had hoped, Sir Ranald was unable to endure even the slightest taunt. The man roared his fury and attacked. The strength the man showed was a little surprising, for he looked like an ailing, too-thin old man, but his skill was rough, his sword swings ill-timed and badly executed. It would not be a long battle.
“Where is she?” he demanded again. “Where have ye put Tatha Preston? Tell me, and if she is hale and unharmed, I may let ye live.”
“Live? For what? To hang? To be laughed at? Nay, I think not. Your wee whore is dead, her soft, pale flesh cold. Ye rode her, didnae ye? Aye, ye did, and I made her pay for that.”
It was clear that the man would never tell him what he wanted to know, would just continue to try to torment him with tales of the horrors he had made Tatha endure. Cursing the man, David strengthened his attack. Sir Ranald quickly weakened. Although it was tempting to make the man sweat and linger in the knowledge that he would soon be dead, David quickly delivered the death stroke.
Even as he stared down at the man’s body, praying that all Sir Ranald had said concerning Tatha’s fate was no more than lies spat out by a vicious man, David heard Leith curse in surprise. A moment later one of Sir Ranald’s men landed in a heap at his feet. David held his sword at the terrified man’s throat and glanced over his shoulder. Sir Malcolm stood there glaring down at the man.
“I think this worm kens where the lass is,” said Sir Malcolm.
“It would be wise to tell me,” David said, his gaze fixed upon the trembling man-at-arms. “I have had a bellyful of lies and taunts and willnae tolerate another. If ye wish to keep your head on your shoulders ye had best speak the truth and do so quickly.”
“Sir Ranald kept the lass in the dungeons for four days,” the man replied, speaking so fast in a shaking voice that it was hard to understand him. “But moments before ye rode through the gates he had her taken to his bedchamber.” He lifted one trembling hand and pointed up the stairs. “The door on the right at the head of the stairs.”
David bounded up the stairs, faintly aware of the sound of a fist hitting a body. He guessed that Leith or Sir Malcolm had rendered the man unconcious rather than waste any time securing him. Even as he threw open the door the man had spoken of, he could hear the others pounding up the stairs.
A soft curse escaped him and his blood ran cold when he saw Tatha sprawled on the floor near the window. Sheathing his sword, he hurried to her side. As he knelt beside her, he saw her chest move and nearly wept with relief. She was alive. At the moment that was all that mattered.
Gently, he picked her up and carried her to the bed. Leith and Sir Malcolm stood by the bed as David checked Tatha for any severe injuries. She had clearly been knocked around, and there was a sizable lump on the back of her head, but David could find no other wounds. He sat down on the bed and took her hand in his, lightly rubbing it warm between his two hands.
“The fool said Sir Ranald had only just brought the lass up here,” Sir Malcolm grumbled, scowling down at his daughter. “’Tis clear she managed to enrage him right quickly.”
David stared at Sir Malcolm, torn between disbelief and anger. “I dinnae believe Tatha asked for this beating.”
“That wasnae what I said. Dinnae tell me ye are one of them sensitive lads. I just said that the fool had been quick to beat her, and if ye try to tell me my lass didnae whet her tongue on his wrinkled hide then ye dinnae ken her as weel as I thought ye did.”
“My father oftimes sounds as if he is saying something most unkind when ’tis nay the way of it at all,” said Douglas as he entered the room and walked to the side of the bed.
“I hope ye arenae saying that I am kind,” snapped Sir Malcolm, glaring at his son.
“I would ne’er insult ye so.” Douglas frowned down at Tatha. “ ’Tis a shame that the best healer we ken is the verra lass who needs tending.”
“If she would wake, she would be quick to tell us what to do. I wouldnae be surprised to see her heal the dead one of these days.”
David hid his surprise. Sir Malcolm’s words were spoken in the same gruff, nearly angry tone he always used, but the pride he felt in Tatha’s healing skills was evident. It was increasingly clear that he had wronged the man to think he cared nothing for his daughter.
“She will wake soon,” David said. “Her breathing has already grown stronger and her eyes move beneath her lids.”
“Are ye a healer too?” asked Sir Malcolm.
“Nay, but my mother was, and I learned a few things.”
“The woman Sir Ranald called a whore and near confessed to murdering?”
“Aye, that woman.”
“Why did ye let the mon live?”
“Why did ye betroth your daughter to him?”
“A lass needs a husband, a home, and bairns. I have eleven lasses with nay a dower between them. I took what I could get. Aye, the mon wasnae the best choice, but I didnae see the evil in him. Aye, and he was old.” Malcolm shrugged. “I felt he would probably die soon and the lass wouldnae have to endure him long ere she was weel settled, a widow with lands and coin.”
David stared at the man in bemusement for a moment. A quick glance at Douglas caught him hiding a grin. In his rough way Sir Malcolm had been trying to do what was best for his daughters, and if that best also filled his purse, so much the better. David did think that Tatha might have misjudged the man. If she had stayed to make her distaste clear, Malcolm might well have ended the bargain. Then again, he would never have met her. She had erred when she had run away in panic, but since that error had set her in his arms, David decided he would not chide her for it.
Tatha opened her eyes and David quickly grasped her by the shoulders, lightly pinning her to the bed. His touch seemed enough to swiftly still the panic that seized her a heartbeat after she woke. She stared up at him for a moment, then yanked on his arms, pulling him down into her hold. David cast a wary glance at her father, amazed to find him grinning.
“Ah, weel, my lass was ne’er a shy one,” Sir Malcolm drawled.
David felt Tatha tense and met her wide gaze. “David,” she whispered, “I didnae just hear my father, did I?”
“Aye,” he replied. “He is standing by the bed.”
Tatha squeaked in shock and gave David such a hard shove he slipped off the bed, barely stopping himself from sprawling on the floor. Douglas and Sir Malcolm both guffawed, and, as he straightened himself up, David caught Leith grinning at him. He turned his attention back to Tatha, who was staring at her father with a mixture of pleasure and wariness.
“Glad to see ye didnae take any harm, lass,” Sir Malcolm said, awkwardly patting her on the shoulder. “Ye should be in fine fettle for your wedding.”
“I willnae marry Sir Ranald,” she snapped, then rubbed her forehead, just speaking having been enough to set it to aching.
“Of course ye willnae. The mon’s dead.”
“Oh.” She frowned. “Then what wedding are ye talking about?”
“Ye are marrying Sir David.”
Chapter 11
“It would be nice if, just once, someone would ask me if I wish to be married,” Tatha grumbled to her sister Elspeth as the girl helped her dress in her finest dark blue gown.
All the way back to Cnocanduin, no more had been said of the marriage her father had so bluntly announced. David had made himself conspicuously unreachable and Tatha had ached too much to argue with her father. A part of her had not really wanted to argue anyway. She wanted David, loved him deeply. It simply troubled her that he might be being forced into a marriage he did not really want.
“This mon is a far better choice than Sir Ranald,” said Elspeth as she pushed Tatha down into a chair and began to gently brush out her hair.
Although she had taken a potion to ease the ache in her head, Tatha still found having her hair brushed almost painful. “A far better choice. In truth, a mon who could do much better than a too-thin, left-handed redhead.”
“He wants you.”
“Are ye sure?” Tatha hated to reveal her uncertainty before anyone, but she needed someone to boost her courage, and Elspeth had always been one of the closest of her sisters, as well as highly practical.
“Oh, aye. He was readying himself and his men to go and try to rescue you when we arrived. Papa said he took a chance in sending for us because he confessed that ye had stayed with him. If no one believed his claims that Sir Ranald killed his mother then he was exposing himself to a great deal of trouble. After all, ye were another’s betrothed wife.”
“I ken all that. ’Tis why I left here. My presence so complicated matters that he could not fight Sir Ranald openly despite the raids upon his lands. Everything he tried to claim about Sir Ranald was put into question because I was here.”
“He had clearly decided that that no longer mattered. He was going to war with Sir Ranald to get ye back.”
“That does seem to indicate that he has some feeling for me.”
“Aye, and he had already told Papa that he meant to wed with you as soon as he got ye out of that mon’s grasp.”
“Oh. I didnae ken that.”
“Weel, there hasnae been much time for talking.”
“I love the mon, Elspeth, and I just wish he felt the same.”
Elspeth patted Tatha on the shoulder. “Trust me in this. He feels something for you. Leith said the mon was devastated to find ye gone and ken that ye were in Sir Ranald’s grasp.”
“Leith says, does he?”
Tatha gave her sister a considering glance. Even though she had been groggy from pain when they had finally ridden through the gates of Cnocanduin, she had seen how Elspeth had run out to greet, not her family, but a blushing Leith. She had also seen the way the two of them could not stop looking at each other and smiling.