The Bruised Thistle (The Order of the Scottish Thistle) (15 page)

He placed a finger to his lips as if thinking over her response. She would venture he had thought of nothing beyond the money. As his gaze skimmed over her body, however, she knew he was now considering something more. She turned to look out at the woods but froze when he caressed her shoulder.

“Does my touch no longer please you, Iseabail?”

She shook her head, refusing to look at him. When she felt his mouth on her shoulder, she pushed him away. It took only a moment for him to compose himself and return to caressing her. “So what would be worse? Going with your uncle or going with me?”

“You do not know my uncle. He will not play this game with you.” She struggled to control herself for a moment before giving up. The tears washed over her face.

Taking her chin, he insistently turned her face back to him. His cold gaze bored into her for an instant before he kissed her with hard lips.

Nausea twisted in her belly. “Stop!” She pulled back.

He would have none of it. He held her in a bruising grip. “I told you I would not stop.” He smiled as he shoved her back onto the blanket, covering her with his body. “I mean what I say.”

When she began to voice her protest, he muffled the sound with his mouth. His hands were on her breast, pulling at her hips, pushing up her skirt. When she tried to move, he held her fast. His touch on her bare thigh made her realize his plans for her had changed drastically.

A rider coming up short saved her as Malcolm tore himself away from her. Clearly frustrated, he left her there as he walked toward the man who was just dismounting. She covered herself and rubbed at her mouth to rid herself of the feel of him.

“What is the word, Phillip?”

“What are you going to do? Rape the girl?” Phillip asked with evident disgust.

“If it gets me what I want. What were you doing, watching?”

He shrugged. “She is well worth a look. He is about ten minutes down the road.”

Malcolm nodded and returned to her.

She stood up to face him, her breath quickened. “You have no idea what you have done.”

“I think I do. I have decided I want you, Iseabail. If I take you, your uncle will have to give you to me instead of Lord Somerset.”

“You know nothing of my uncle.”

“He is a man of great wealth. I know his kind well enough.”

She shook her head. His arrogance would get him killed. “Tell me one thing.” Her throat tightened, and she had to force the words through gritted teeth. “Did Seumas really kill Calum? Or was that another of your lies, like you wanting to protect me?”

He tipped his head, pressing his lips together. “Tsk, tsk, Iseabail, so misunderstood. I do want to protect you.”

She spat on the ground. “You do not even care for me. You just want the money.”

“I want both.” He smirked. “Your dear protector had the same idea. He was making plans to turn you in for the ransom. And Calum? I have no idea. You said it was Seumas’s dagger. There is no reason to doubt you. Mayhap Calum found out what he was planning and Seumas had to silence him.”

She heard the sound of the horse in the distance. Malcolm quirked a brow at her with an expectant look. The bastard had no idea who he was dealing with. When she made no response, he went to where Phillip stood, holding his horse. When they were out of sight, she considered her surroundings. She could not stand here and be turned over to that lecher. A hill rose a few yards behind her, but she could not be sure of its direction. She did know she would not reach it before being spotted. She turned in a circle, but there were no ready hiding places, and nothing around her seemed familiar. If she ran, she would soon be lost and flirting with death of a different sort. She reached for her dagger and realized it was still in her room where she had left it, so sure she was safe. Even the moon had abandoned her, hiding behind thick clouds.

Muffled voices rose not far from where she stood. She moved toward them as if in a dream. Iseabail tensed as her worst fears were realized. His voice. The voice she dreaded drifted to her above the others.

“Good sir, I believe you have property of mine?” Her stomach lurched, and she stifled her gasp. Uncle Henry.

“That I do, sir. But
I
believe we still have some business to take care of,” Malcolm said.

“True, true. And you, young man?”

“Oh, this is my man-at-arms, Phillip. He was just on his way. Were you not, Phillip?”

“Certainly, sir. Good evening.” There was a pause then she heard the horses retreating before they spoke again.

“So, what do you think of my proposal, good sir?” Malcolm asked. His voice seemed slightly higher in pitch. Iseabail guessed he was overawed by her powerful guardian.

“Yes, yes, your proposal. Very interesting indeed. So you would have me pay you the ransom for my niece and allow you to marry her as well? I am not sure about my part of the bargain. Am I not getting short changed, so to speak?”

“As Iseabail’s husband, I can guard your assets in the north while you see to your properties in England. The money you give me will merely be a way for me to add to my own chattel. I will not have to bother you with the details.”

“Hmm, I see. And where is my niece now?

The sound of Malcolm’s humorless laugh echoed around her. Her uncle was going to kill him, and then he would come for her. Iseabail looked to the left then right, desperate for escape. “I am afraid you underestimate me, Henry, if you believe I will hand her over before we have an understanding.”

“No, son, I am afraid you underestimate
me
.” The sounds of a struggle reached her, and she had to know what was happening. She stumbled up to the clearing in time to see Malcolm collapse on the ground.

As her uncle withdrew his dagger, he noticed her standing there and smiled. The gurgling sound of Malcolm’s lifeblood leaving his body breached the silence. Uncle Henry wiped his dagger on the dying man’s shirt before approaching her.

“Sweet Iseabail.” He shoved the dagger into his belt. “How have you fared?”

Iseabail took a halting step back as he approached her, but she had nowhere to go. Her feet became lead. Laughter threatened to erupt, and she squeezed her mouth shut, shaking her head in denial. She took another step back, and then another, but he kept getting closer.

He was within arm’s reach. “Oh, my dear, you do not look well. Did this man violate you?”

She glanced at Malcolm’s still body, at his blood puddled around him. She turned back to her uncle too late.

He grabbed her arm in a painful grip.

“Leave me, will you?” He slapped her hard. Her head jerked back, and he dragged her to him. “You self-centered little whore.” He backhanded her.

Her face was wet, but she did not know whether it was from tears or blood. The sound of his palm against her cheek echoed through her head. He released her, and she crumpled to the ground at his feet. She wondered why his boots looked wet when there had been no rain right before she lost consciousness.

Seumas opened his eyes. The room was completely dark, and he could not remember where he was or what he was doing on the floor.

“Iseabail.” Seumas stood up with such force, his head burst in pain. He squeezed his eyes closed and fell onto the bed, rubbing his temples. Had he been run over by a horse? The pain centered behind his eyes, but he forced himself to look at his surroundings. The small room was dark, so he inched his way off the bed, toward the light emanating from the single window, and pushed open the shutter. The moon let in more light, giving him an idea what time of day it was. He should have been missed at dinner.

He started to remember, and a sense of foreboding filled him. Where was Calum?

He slipped soundlessly down the hall to Iseabail’s room and entered without knocking.

“Iseabail,” he whispered as he approached the bed. “Iseabail?”

The bed had not been slept in and there was no sign she had been in the room at all. Cold embers covered the hearth.

Something is terribly wrong.

Hearing movement in the hall, he leaned against the door and opened it enough to see two armed men pass, heading into his room. They quickly stepped back out.

“How could he have gotten anywhere?” The man scratched his red head. “Do you think we used enough hemlock?”

“It was enough to knock out an army, if not kill it.” The shorter man scowled back. “Malcolm has already left.”

“Then we had better catch him…” They ran past on the way down the stairs.

Seumas closed the door. He took a deep breath to clear his head, and the pain subsided slightly. Hemlock. They had poisoned him but not enough to kill him.

Where would Malcolm have gone?

He searched her room but found only her silver cross. With great care, he placed it inside his sporran, nestling it between his other treasured objects. He adjusted his sporran and realized his dagger was missing. He checked the hall before heading back down to his room but found nothing—not his dagger or the cloak Iseabail had left on the hook.

Iseabail and Calum had to be in trouble. He had started toward the back staircase when he saw the open door to the last room on the right. He peeked into the darkened room. Someone lay on the bed. As he approached, his foreboding increased. There was no sound—no breathing, no snoring—and the person was so very small...

Calum.

He reached the side of the bed and gasped at the sight of his young friend. He was pale, unmoving, and his hands were crossed over his chest.

Nae.

When he would have touched his arm, he heard men coming up the hall. Flattening himself against the wall behind the door, he waited for them to pass.

“I never thought Malcolm was untrustworthy.”

“That is putting it mildly. Lord Mark said he tried to poison his friend…”

Seumas heard no more.

Mark has returned?

The men continued past the room and went down the stairs. Seumas glanced back at the bed. Anger ripped through him at the unfairness of it. He ground his teeth, determined to find out why the boy was dead. He followed the men down the stairs. The sound of voices met him as he rounded the corner of the hall.

“Mark!” Seumas exclaimed. Relief filled him at the sight of his friend. Mark would help him now. He would help Iseabail and Cal— Seumas pushed aside the unfathomable loss.

The brown-haired man turned wearily, but broke into a smile when he saw Seumas and reached for his friend. “Seumas. My apologies for not returning sooner. I have only now heard of your arrival.” Mark embraced him for a moment before drawing back, his tight lips pressed into a thin line.

His three guards surrounded them, pointing drawn swords at Seumas, who put his open hands up in submission. He recognized the redhead from a few minutes earlier.

“What is the meaning of this?” Mark demanded, his voice taut with controlled anger.

“He has murdered the child, m’lord.” One of the guards spoke up, never taking his eyes off Seumas.

“What?” Seumas could not believe what he had heard.

“That is ridiculous. Desist, now, gentlemen.” It was only after he stared each of the guard’s down that they relented and lowered their swords.

“He is a murderer, sir,” the first man repeated, though with less heat.

His friend faced him. “Any idea what they are talking about?”

Seumas put his hands down, clenching his fists at his sides. “I have just this very moment awoken in my room from a drugged sleep. I know not what has transpired in that time but…” He glanced toward the room where Calum lay, and confronted the red-headed guard, his jaw stiff. “Is it Calum? Has Calum been murdered?”

“As well you know!” the guard snarled at Seumas.

“Enough, Rolf, my friend is no murderer. Who told you he was?”

“I was there when they found his body in the library. This one’s dagger was the murder weapon.”

“That is impossible. I—” Seumas stopped when he realized he had no defense except that he had been drugged.

Mark placed his hand on Seumas’s arm. “Fear not, Seumas, I will get to the bottom of this.” He turned back to the soldier. “Where is Malcolm?”

“Malcolm has gone to protect the Lady Iseabail—” Rolf said.

“Iseabail… Where? Where did he take her?” Seumas felt as if his heart was being ripped from his chest. Iseabail was somewhere with that bastard, unprotected.

Rolf narrowed his eyes at Seumas. “To her uncle, where she shall be safe from the likes of you.”

Mark caught Seumas just short of clutching the outspoken guard by the throat. “Rolf, leave us now. Send Phillip to me.”

Seumas shook with rage. “Mark, her uncle is not her protector. She was running from him.” His friend frowned in confusion. “I was her protector. Hers and her brother’s.” Seumas collapsed onto the bench. “I have been found greatly lacking.”

“Husband, someone said a child has been murdered.” Lady Elisabeth burst into the room, quickly closing the distance to Seumas. Without hesitation, the regal noblewoman took his hand, her eyes rounded with concern. “Dearest Seumas, brother of my heart.”

“Lady Elisabeth.” Seumas stood wearily. He guided her hand to his mouth to bestow a gentle kiss. “It has been too long since these sorry eyes have beheld yer beauty.”

“Seumas’s friend has been murdered.” Mark placed his hand lightly on his wife’s arm.

“The child?”

Seumas nodded. The weight of the world lay upon his shoulders.

“I will see him. Please, Seumas?” Her large, dark eyes were warm and caring, and her midnight-black hair surrounded her shoulders like a shawl. “Then we will speak. We will get to the bottom of who murdered your friend.”

“Peter, take my lady to see the child please?” Mark led Seumas into the Great Hall, which now bustled with activity “Come. We need to talk.”

His fear for Iseabail grew with each weary step. “Mark, I cannot wait to find Iseabail.”

“Only as long as it takes to gather information.”

Seumas stopped, his jaw dropping at the bustle of activity around him. A servant placed mugs of ale on the nearby trestle. Rushes were being changed, stores were being brought to the kitchen, and soldiers sat along the far side of the hall in quiet discourse. “This place seems so vibrant now. It was not like this when we first arrived.”

Seumas explained how Malcolm had left them waiting on the hill in the blistering sun and that there was no one to greet them when they entered the castle. Seumas even shared his doubts about coming to Mark for help.

“I am saddened to hear that. We have had our concerns about Malcolm of late. He was cruelly played by a woman he was in love with and has not been himself. But that is not your concern. You have come for my help. What can I do?”

“It is a legal matter. Her uncle has taken over control of the land that was legally left to her and her brothers…brother.” The memory of Calum’s still body flashed through his mind. He forced down the sadness. “They had a will from their father but now that is gone, too.”

Seumas told him how her uncle had put a price on their heads and woven a story of murder to catch them. “They would no more murder in cold blood than ye or I.”

The look that passed between Mark and Seumas spoke volumes. They had an understanding.

“It is good to see ye, Mark,” Seumas said quietly and took his friend’s hand in both of his. “It is good to be with someone who was there.” Mark nodded. “I am glad I have ye to call friend.”

“Then do you know about Giles?”

Seumas’s gut tightened. Why speak of that evil man now?

“I know that Giles was a man of no integrity and even less strength.” Seumas looked away in disgust. “There is no more I need to know.”

“Hear me, Seumas.” Mark grasped his shoulder. “I was not here when you arrived because I was looking into allegations that had recently come my way… Allegations about the battle you were not expected to survive.”

“Not expected to survive?” He smiled wr
yly. “I was left to die alone, ’tis true enough.”

“By the time you had reached Antioch, I had already been turned back to care for my father, remember?”

Seumas nodded. “Did ye arrive in time?”

“Nay, he had already passed…”

Seumas recognized the depth of his friend’s pain. Mark had not been allowed to make right the wrongs from his past. Seumas had suffered also. He and Mark had spent many quiet nights talking about life’s journey and how to honor one’s parents without ignoring yer own purpose.

“What of the battle?” Seumas asked.

“Is that not where you were wounded?”

“It was. I have lived as half a man ever since.”

Mark’s brow furrowed with confusion.

Seumas shook his head. He could not speak of this now. “Who spoke of me to ye?”

“You were not supposed to live. Giles told everyone he was going to castrate you then leave you in the desert sun to die a slow painful death.”

Seumas saw again the desolate sand, the scorching sun, and Giles bent over the girl. Her hands pounding against him. He struggled to slow his breathing before speaking. “What do ye mean?”

“It was not a wound inflicted by the enemy.” Seumas knew Mark. His insistence had to come from sure knowledge. “Giles is the one who mutilated you. I was looking for you when you arrived. I had found the proof I needed. I had to warn you.”

“What proof?”

The memory of that afternoon warred with the urge not to believe that Giles would take such cruel measures against him. They had been like brothers. He had learned to fish and hunt alongside his friend. As boys, they had played on the moors together. As they grew, they had dreamed of what their lives would be like. How could Giles be so vicious and Seumas not even know it? He shook his head. Ah, but he had known of the rants and raves. Mayhap, he simply had not wanted to accept it.

“One of my men, Phillip, let something slip. When I questioned him further, I learned his own brother had been with us… Do you remember Gregory?”

Seumas nodded. He was a curly-haired boy that had tagged along with them as if on a great adventure, always smiling.

“When Gregory finally returned home, he was a broken man, who had lost his desire for this world. He told his brother of the atrocities he had participated in. One of the worst things he spoke of was Giles’s cruelty. The boy ended his own life shortly after.”

What a waste. He had been a good man.

“I have lain awake many nights reliving what I could not stop…wondering if I could have done more,” Seumas said.

Mark nodded. “I was blessed to have you there to keep my head on right.”

Mark’s smile of gratitude gave Seumas pause. Most of the men were not cruel by nature. He had been able to talk reason to them. Mayhap that was God’s purpose for him being there.

“I would have you speak with Phillip yourself.”

When Mark returned a few minutes later, Seumas recognized the blond man who had been beside Malcolm. He tensed, his hands fisted at his sides.

“This is Phillip?” Seumas asked “Aye, Mark, I recognize him. I took him to be Malcolm’s lackey.” Mark blinked, his eyes widening in surprise at the insult. “Is that not true, Phillip?”

Phillip had the grace to look down. “No, sir, I am no one’s lackey.”

“Nae? Then tell Mark what was really happening when he was away. His mice did more than play, did they not?”

Mark’s look pierced the younger man’s façade.

Sweat dampened Phillip’s brow. “Sir Mark…” Phillip started then stopped. “I should tell you…”

“Phillip, when we err in our ways it is important we confess so we can be forgiven and can start anew. Is there something you wish to tell me?”

“Aye, m’lord. Malcolm plotted against you while you were gone. He learned of Seumas’s sister’s—I mean lady’s true identity.” Iseabail being referred to as Seumas’s lady sent a thrill down his spine. “He had planned to return her to her uncle and get rich while doing it.” Phillip’s normally pale cheeks suddenly suffused with color. “I helped him, m’lord.”