The Bruised Thistle (The Order of the Scottish Thistle) (16 page)

Seumas saw red. His teeth clenched. “Out with it, Phillip.”

Mark stood rigid and faced the man down with his unwavering gaze.

“The plan was that he would drug Seumas to get him away from Iseabail. Then he would either convince her to go with him or kidnap her himself, but something happened…”

“What?” Mark asked.

“The boy…”

“What about the boy?” Seumas stepped closer, forcing his balled fists down. He was near to pulling the man’s tongue out to find out anything he could about Calum.

“The lad heard the plan and confronted Malcolm.” Phillip had a faraway look on his face. “I tried to stop him, but Malcolm was cruel. He laughed at the boy. Said he could do nothing because he was only a child. When he started to leave, Malcolm grabbed him and stabbed him with his own dagger.”

“So Seumas’s dagger was not the murder weapon?” Mark asked.

“No, Malcolm thought of that after. He said if we put the dagger beside the body, Iseabail would believe Seumas had killed her little brother.”

Seumas was beside himself with rage. Surely Iseabail would never believe he had killed Calum?

Mark asked the question Seumas was afraid to have answered. “Did she believe him, Phillip?”

Phillip glanced at Seumas, and his eyes widened in fear. “That is why she went with him. He told her Seumas had murdered a woman and had a price on his head. Malcolm had hoped to convince her to marry him, but when they were on the road to meet her uncle...” Seumas was near to ripping the man’s face off. “When last I saw them, Malcolm was willing to compromise her to get what he wanted.”

Like a hawk swooping down unexpectedly on its prey, Seumas had his hand around Phillip’s throat and his body up against the stone wall before anyone could react. “Tell me quickly, before I snap yer neck—where are they now?”

“I am not sure…”

Seumas’s grip tightened and the man’s eyes bulged.

“Do not do something you will regret.” Mark had his hand on Seumas’s shoulder as he spoke, but that was all he said.

“Ye shall have to do better—”

“I cannot…I was dismissed when her uncle arrived.”

His words were like a punch in the gut. “Her uncle has already arrived?”

“They were negotiating the terms when I left…”

He fought down his panic. “When was that?”

“About thirty minutes ago.”

Seumas immediately released the man. He nearly dropped to the floor, rubbing at his throat and withdrawing to a safe distance. “I must save her, Mark.”

“I understand. Shall I come with you?” The dark circles under Mark’s eyes told Seumas his friend was in no condition to do so.

“Thank ye, my friend. I will see to this alone, but I beg a favor of ye.”

“You need only ask.”

“Please care for Calum’s body… If I am not back in time, please have him buried properly. He was a good man, even at nine.” His throat tightened with emotion. “Will ye do this for me?”

The two clasped arms just above the wrists, their eyes level. “Consider it done. Rolf,” he shouted to his man at arms, “prepare Seumas’s horse and see that supplies are gathered. He must leave immediately.”

Rolf withdrew with a nod.

“I will return if I am able, Mark. Give Lady Elisabeth my apologies for leaving so abruptly.”

“She will understand. She would not want you to wait for her.”

“Calum will be in good hands.”

They released their hands and Seumas was gone.

The pain in Iseabail’s head was excruciating when she finally came to.

The sun beating down on her back, the soreness in her arms, and an annoying moaning had woken her. She lay across the horse on her belly, and her ribs ached from its constant jarring. With a start, she realized the moaning was coming from her. The horse stopped. Though her face still hurt, and all she could see was grass and clovers, she was relieved to find she could now open both eyes. She tried to move her fingers, but they were numb. She closed her eyes, hoping for the oblivion of sleep.

Her uncle had other ideas. He came to stand beside her. “How are you feeling, my little Iseabail?” His breath reeked of onions and rotted teeth. “Are you comfortable enough?”

His smug smile incensed her spirit. If she had not hurt so much, she would have spit at him. On second thought… No, there was not enough water in her mouth even for that small act of defiance.

“Would you like me to help you down?” he asked.

At the chance to no longer be trussed up like a deer, tears sprang to her eyes unexpectedly. Her weakness disgusted her.

Did Calum plead for his life?

“Please.” She held her breath. It would have been no surprise if he denied her—he was a cruel man—but he lifted her almost gently from the horse and placed her beside him at the fire.

“You have caused quite a bit of excitement.” He chastised her as if she had stolen cookies, and with a fleeting smile, no less. Chatting as if relaying gossip, he untied her hands, bound with such anger that the rope had cut into her skin. “But I know you have always longed for adventure. Now your mother, you know...”

His lids suddenly lowered, his eyes rolled back while his tongue swept along his lower lip. His nostrils flared as if he had caught the scent of a hunted animal. Iseabail held her breath. She knew that look. It was one she had come to recognize, a sort of madness. His body tensed, but then he exhaled, and she relaxed slightly.

“…she loved adventure. She would skip around the room in her short little nightdress and sing songs of being with the captain of a big ship. Did you ever hear those songs, Iseabail?” His calling her by her real name was a good sign. She shook her head, and he turned, gazing into the fire.

When
that look
came over his face, she knew he wanted to use her for his own satisfaction. She dreaded
that look
. Whether it was in the solarium she had never found comfort in again, his room, or her own, he would find her. Sometimes, while in her room, she would try to convince herself that she had been wrong about
the look
, that he was not coming. Just as sleep was taking her from the hell her life had become, the door would open. Despite knowing better, she would hold out hope that this time would be different. This time he would leave without touching her.

“You know, Iseabail,” he stared into the fire as he spoke, “I loved your mother.” Iseabail gasped at this, but he ignored her. “Your father and I met her when we were still young. She was quite a precocious little girl, maybe eight or nine that first time, when she sang the songs about the sea captains. Our father had business with the clan and we were to ‘watch and observe’ as ordered by him.

“She was more beautiful the next year, with her long hair and her little breasts already budding. I lusted after her even then. During the long winter nights, my dreams were of her. But by the next summer, your father had noticed her, and I was near to invisible.” He turned to her then and took her hand in his, rubbing gently at the dried blood where the rope had cut into her skin. “You might have been mine. Then I would have protected you and brought you up like a proper lady.” He peered deeper into her eyes, seeming to search for something. “I would never have touched you then, Iseabail, I swear it. But you are not mine, and you do so remind me of your mother…”

Iseabail jerked her hand away before he kissed it and struggled to swallow the bile that rose in her throat. An angry expression washed over his face, but she refused to cower. Not this time. He abruptly turned away, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

Time slowed as they sat in silence. She dared not move for fear he would reach for her, but when she could wait no longer to relieve herself, Iseabail stood. She looked down to her dress and noticed it had been changed. Fear shivered down her spine. He had already touched her. She reached for her silver cross, but it was gone. Yet another anguish she had to deal with.

“Are you going somewhere?” His smirk was knowing.

“I need to see to nature’s call.” She took a few steps toward the woods. “I will not go far, and I will return shortly.”

“You are correct, Iseabail, you will not go far. Right there.” He pointed to the spot by the fire. “You may relieve yourself right there.”

She shook her head at him, her breaths shallow as sobs bubbled up from deep in her throat.

“Nay, uncle, I need privacy. I am a woman. I need my privacy.” Her words were getting tied up in her sobs, and she feared for her sanity.

He stared at her, tilting his head to one side to assess her.

He has total control over me and wants to be sure I know it.

“Very well. Come here.” She came closer. “Give me your hands.”

Reluctantly, she put her hands out. He tied her back up with the rope but, thankfully, not so tight that it cut into her wrists.

“You may go as far as the rope.” He spoke as if to a small child. “Do you understand?”

She nodded.

When she returned, she found blankets spread out on the ground and dread enveloped her so that all she could do was close her eyes.

“Oh, come, Iseabail. Lie down here.” He pointed to a spot not far from the fire, and she obeyed.

She lay stiffly on her back, not sure what would happen next, but all he did was cover her with a blanket and kiss her forehead. His smell made her feel sick. He removed his boots and lay down an appropriate distance away from her. He turned and fell promptly asleep.

Iseabail’s dreams were of Seumas. His warm smile filled her heart. His blue eyes twinkled when he raised her hand to his mouth. Her spirit soared. Then he transformed into Malcolm. She tried to withdraw her hand, but he was too strong. She called out to Seumas, but it was her uncle who stood over her. She pushed against him.

“Stop, stop,” she begged, but he would not.

As always in her dreams, she got away from her uncle. She was running through the woods when she saw Seumas beside the river, his back to her. The relief of finding him made her sigh in anticipation of him holding her. She was so tired. When she reached him, he turned to her. He held Calum’s dead body in his arms.

“I did this,” he told her.

Great sobs finally roused her, and she pushed through her confusion, trying to come fully awake.

“Iseabail, is something amiss?” Uncle Henry startled her with his closeness. “You cried out, my dear.”

“I am fine, uncle. I thank you for your concern.” She wiped at the tears that continued to course down her cheeks and struggled to steady her breathing so he would get away from her.

“Well, mayhap we had best prepare for our departure. Come to the river, and we will wash your face.” Iseabail tensed. His use of the word “we” was not a good sign. Right before he molested her, he often said “we will do this” or “we will do that.” He continued as they walked the few feet. “You are really filthy and need to prepare to see your betrothed, Iseabail. You do not want to disappoint him, do you? Or me?” His meaning was clear—the appropriate answer was no.

She threw cold water on her face and relished in the taste as it trickled into her injured mouth. She pushed her sleeves up and washed the dirt from her arms then reached under her hair to wash her neck. She did not notice her uncle moving until he took her hair in his hands, holding it up for her. She braced herself.

“I suppose this will do for now, Iseabail,” he commented as if he had not noticed her stilled hand, “but you will need a proper bath before we return to the castle.”

“You do not think he shall notice my bruises, uncle?” She spoke without thinking.

He gasped his surprise then bent down beside her, his grip tightening in her hair. He looked directly into her eyes, and fear curdled in her belly. “My dear, you may return to the castle one of two ways. I could use you for my pleasure until I finally hand you over to Lord Somerset, who will continue to use you as he chooses. Or I can refrain and allow you some time to yourself before I hand you over to Lord Somerset, who will still use you as he chooses. Which would you like?”

“The second, uncle. Please forgive my outburst.” She looked down at her hands as they rested in her lap.

He stood behind her and dropped her hair. “Hurry now. Finish your ablutions so we can be off.”

The road was long and tedious and they stopped often but never at a public place. She wondered if he was intentionally dragging out the trip so there would be no signs of his beating on her body. It made no difference to her. When she got back, she would have to deal with Lord Somerset. Exchanging one evil for another. Which was worse?

Oh, Calum, I wish you were here with me to help me through this.

Near exhaustion, she was barely able to continue riding each day. Her sleep was wracked by the same dreams every night. Seumas would be everything she could have hoped for, but in each and every dream, he murdered her little brother. Malcolm would try to take advantage of her, and Lord Somerset would become her uncle.

They finally stopped not far from the castle, and her suspicions were confirmed. He wanted her to look untouched for her wedding, which was to take place immediately.

“You are not speaking much, little Iseabail. What is amiss? Can you not tell I have forgiven you for your defiance?” He sat close to her and handed her an apple. “Or are you worried about your wedding night?” He rubbed his own against his shirt before biting into it.

She turned toward him and shrugged.

“Well, I know you will be very pleasing to your husband.” He smiled at her. “You are a good girl, Iseabail.” He pushed her hair behind her ear as he spoke. “You listen well, and you learn
very
well.” She nearly choked on her apple. She put it in her lap, unable to eat, and waited as he continued. “He will not know what experiences you have had and, since you are still a virgin, he will find no fault with you.”

She closed her eyes but saw the solarium. Her eyes flew open again.

“Do you understand me?” He leaned in close.

She nodded.

Her uncle screamed at her. “Now, Iseabail, we have all taught you better than to respond with shrugging shoulders and blank stares. Words, girl, use your words.” He stood and pulled her to him. “Try again. Do you understand what I am telling you?”

“Yes, uncle. I understand, and I appreciate your thoughtfulness in talking to me about this. I will make you proud of me.” Desperately Iseabail searched for the words to take
that look
off his face. “You have been very good to me, and I appreciate all you have done.”

She was not sure, but it seemed the tension on his face dissipated a little, so she continued, “I believe Lord Somerset will be a wonderful match for me, and I hope you will visit us often.”

His body tensed.

Something was bothering him, and she had touched on it without even knowing it. “You have made an excellent match for me.”

But he would have no more of her speech. She had said too much. His jaw tightened and reality hit her. He did not want to give her up. He looked at her now as one would a child requiring punishment, and her stomach tightened. That mad desire sparked in his eyes, and she knew he would be using her again.