“Pray God forgive me, Camus.” In his chambers, Dillon paced like a man possessed. “I personally delivered Leonora into their hands.”
Camus filled a goblet and watched helplessly as his friend emptied it in one long swallow, then, with a furious oath, hurled it against the wall, shattering it into a million fragments.
In quick strides, Dillon crossed the room and lifted down his father’s sword from above the mantel. “You must assemble my army, Camus. I cannot wait. I go after them now.”
“And if they have already reached England?” Camus asked.
Dillon strapped on his scabbard and reached for a heavy traveling cloak. “I care not how far they ride. If necessary, I will go to hell and back. But this I know, I will not rest until I have rescued Leonora from those madmen.”
“You must send word to the lady’s father, my friend.”
“There is no time.”
“Listen to me.” Camus caught Dillon’s arm, refusing to flinch when his old friend shot him a murderous look. Had be not promised Leonora he would be Dillon’s friend? At the moment, his old friend was not thinking clearly. Nor would he, Camus thought, if the one he loved was in the hands of such as Essex and Blakely. Everyone in Kinloch House had seen what they’d done to young Rupert. They were indeed heartless madmen.
“If we cross over to England, we have need of Lord Waltham’s cooperation. Else we become, by murdering English soldiers on English soil, candidates for Fleet Prison, my friend.”
Though Dillon was beyond caring, his friend’s words penetrated the black fury that held him in its grip. He slowly nodded. “Aye, Camus. Forgive me. I am blinded.” He took a deep breath. “Assemble the army. Tell them to follow my trail. Then take three or four of your most trusted men and ride to Lord Waltham’s castle.”
“And you, Dillon?”
“I cannot wait to assemble an army,” he said, striding toward the door. “I ride now.”
“Alone? In this storm?”
Dillon paused at the doorway. “Aye. And pray, Camus, that I am not already too late.”
~ ~ ~
“We must take refuge from this storm.” The Duke of Essex pointed to the darkened outline of a cottage up ahead. “I will prepare a shelter. James, you and your men come with me. Alger, stay here with the lady.” His smile was dark and evil and full of secrets. “We will signal with a candle when it is safe to approach.”
As the others rode ahead, Alger led Leonora’s horse toward a stand of evergreen. The thick branches afforded some relief from the driving rain.
“Why do we not ride together to the cottage?” Leonora asked. “With Dillon Campbell’s banner for protection, you need only ask and you will be warmly received by all his countrymen.”
“That is not the way of the duke. Essex does not ask. He takes.” Alger gave a short laugh, remembering the path of destruction they had left on their journey to the Highlands. Even the hardened soldiers among them had been shocked by the brutality of the Duke of Essex. He actually seemed to enjoy the bloodletting. By now, the word would have spread throughout the countryside that a band of English soldiers was murdering helpless peasants under the protective banner of Dillon Campbell. No door would be open to them.
Leonora could not hide the alarm she felt. “He will not harm these innocent people?”
Alger drew his steed close and dropped a protective arm around her, enjoying the swift, sudden arousal. His duties had kept him too long from having a woman. “Do not fear, my lady. He will merely... make use of their cottage until the storm passes.”
She let out a sigh of relief, then deftly nudged her horse out of his reach. A few minutes later, she pointed. “There is the signal.”
He felt a wave of annoyance. He had hoped for a little more time alone with the lady. With his calm assurance and good looks, he was usually able to charm his way into a lady’s trust. From there it was only a step to her bed.
Taking up her reins, he led the way across a high meadow toward the small peasant cottage. At the door he helped her dismount, purposely lifting his hands high enough so that they came in contact with the soft swell of her breasts beneath the heavy cloak.
She turned away so quickly he could not see her angry reaction. But as he followed her inside, he decided that he would stay alert and hope that the others soon fell asleep. Perhaps he could still sample the lady’s charms before she... reached the end of her journey.
Once inside, Leonora glanced around. The Duke of Essex was seated at table, eating what was left of some roasted fowl. James Blakely and his soldiers were drinking from what appeared to be a cask of spirits.
“Where are the peasants who live here?” she asked.
Essex looked up with a chilling smile. “They retreated to their pig shelter rather than share their quarters with the hated English.”
She noticed an empty cradle. “Why did they not take the babe’s bed with them?”
Essex shrugged. “Who knows how these savages think? Would you care for some fowl, my lady?”
“Nay, thank you.” She shivered and drew near to the fire, gathering her cloak around her like a shield. While she stood warming herself, she could feel the silent stares from the others. Everything about Essex and his men made her uncomfortable.
“You had best sleep, my lady.” Alger’s voice, so close beside her, made her jump nervously.
“I am not tired.”
“You are probably too excited about leaving this bloody land behind,” James said bitterly, lifting ale to his lips. The ale had loosened his tongue.
“Why do you hate it so?” Leonora asked.
Tossing his cloak aside, James lifted the sleeve of his tunic to reveal a long, puckered scar. “This was given me by a filthy Highlander many years ago.”
“I am certain there are many Highlanders who bear such scars delivered at the point of an English sword, as well. But that is no reason to harbor ill will for a lifetime.” Leonora smiled gently. “Can you not put your anger aside and begin anew?”
James returned her smile, and for a moment Leonora thought how handsome father and son were. But at his words, her smile disappeared from her lips.
“Aye, I can begin anew. But I fear the Highlander can no do the same. Nor will his sons. You see, he thought I ought not to bed his lovely maiden daughter. I disagreed. So, after I ran him through with my sword, I not only took his maiden daughter, but his wife, as well.” He looked around the room, apparently pleased that all the men were laughing heartily at his joke. Throwing back his head, he added, “And forced his young sons to watch while I did so.”
That comment brought even more laughter.
Leonora reacted as though she’d been slapped. Righteous anger colored her cheeks. She thought about all the horrible stories she’d been told by the serving girls at Kinloch House. Each one had been more shocking than the last. And each time, she had experienced a sense of outrage and revulsion at the men who had inflicted such pain. She could see these men, men who called themselves friends of her father, staring at her and laughing. She felt as if she’d been violated.
“That is not all, my lady,” James said between bouts of laughter. “Within a fortnight, I returned with an army of men, and we killed the entire clan while they played in a Highland meadow. I saw to it that there were none left to seek vengeance upon me and mine.”
“God in heaven.” She pressed a hand to her mouth when she realized what James had just revealed. He was the one who had destroyed Dillon’s clan. And left his mark upon the lad’s face, and upon his soul, for a lifetime.
With a look of indignation, she removed a warm blanket from the empty cradle, then strode across the room and paused beside the Duke of Essex, picking up the remains of the meal he bad been enjoying.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
“I am taking a warm covering and the rest of this food to the peasants. I would prefer to share their quarters with the pigs, rather than remain here with such animals.”
She managed to pull open the door before Alger, swearing loudly, closed a hand over her wrist.
“Nay, Alger,” Essex said, beginning to laugh once more. “Do not stop her. I think you should accompany the lady to the pig shelter. Let us see if she is truly ready to... join the peasants.”
Alger glanced from his father to Essex. Both men were smiling broadly. The others were laughing at their shared joke.
He shrugged and took up a torch from a niche in the wall. “Come, my lady. I will take you to the peasants.”
~ ~ ~
The downpour made it impossible to track the horsemen. Hoofprints were instantly washed away. Grass that had been trampled now floated in puddles. Bits of fabric that might have snagged on branches were impossible to see in the darkness. The only thing for which Dillon was grateful was the fact that the pounding of his horse’s hooves could not be heard above the steady beat of rain and the rumble of thunder.
He drove his mount mercilessly. Though he knew not which trail Essex had taken, he knew one thing: the English were eager to leave the Highlands behind. But whether Leonora was alive or dead, was still a mystery to him. It was no mystery that the lady would be dead by the time the English soldiers reached her father’s castle. And their lie, which had almost cost Rupert his life, would be believed without question. They were, after all, high-born Englishmen. He, on the other hand, was known to all English as a Highland savage. All of England would be ready to ride against him, once Leonora’s death was discovered.
The fragile peace between their countries would be forever shattered. But though that should have been the noble reason that drove him, it was not. In his heart, there was only one compelling fact that drove him. Leonora. His beautiful, beloved Leonora was in grave peril. If she came to any harm, his own life would be meaningless.
Pulling his cloak around him to ward off the rain, Dillon urged his mount into a run.
~ ~ ~
Leonora lifted her hood and stepped outside. Despite the rain, the fragrance of heather was strong as they crossed the field toward the crude animal shelter.
“A word of warning, my lady.” Alger walked by her side, holding the torch aloft to light their way. “You would be wise to tread carefully, lest you anger the Duke of Essex.”
“I care not for Essex. He is not worthy of his title.”
“Perhaps. But he wields great power, my lady. And you are not yet in your father’s safe embrace.”
She paused in midstride and faced him. “Are you trying to frighten me, Alger?”
He shrugged, and the smile that played on his lips gave her a strange, uneasy feeling. “I merely suggest, my lady, that in the company of such powerful men as the duke and my father, you are in need of a friend.”
“And you would be that friend?”
He took her free hand in his and brought the torch close so that he could see her eyes. His voice was low, seductive. “If you would let me, I would be more than friend.”
She jerked her hand from his grasp and turned away, lifting her skirts in the wet grass as she strode quickly toward the crude shelter.
From behind her came Alger’s voice, tinged with anger and something else. Something she couldn’t quite identify. There was a smug, self-satisfied ring to his words, as though privy to a secret she had not yet learned. “Remember that I offered you friendship, my lady. For in the next few moments, you shall be in need of a friend.”
She pushed open the door and was assaulted by the usual barnyard smells. Dung. Earth. The fetid stench of so many creatures crowded into such a small space.
As pigs and chickens and lambs scrambled about, she peered into the darkness in search of the family that had fled the English invaders.
“Good people, I bring you food and warmth,” she called out in greeting.
Her words were met with silence. Except for the bleating of a lamb, and muted animal sounds, there was no response.
She walked farther into the shelter, groping her way until she reached the far wall. In the darkness she nearly tripped over something. Pausing to reach down, she encountered the coarse texture of a peasant shirt.
“Good sir,” she said softly, “forgive me for waking you, but I have brought food, and a blanket for your child.”
An almost overpowering stench arose, the likes of which she had never before experienced. At almost the same moment, she lifted her hand from the shirt and shrank back. Her fingers, she realized, were covered with something thick and warm and sticky.
“Have you found your peasants?” Alger asked, stepping through the doorway.
In that instant, he lifted the torch, illuminating the interior. The walls, the earthen floor, even the roof, were spattered with blood. It stained the coats of the pigs. The wool of the sheep ran red with it. The chicken feathers were smeared with it. And on the floor, trampled beneath the feet of the animals, lay the broken, twisted bodies of a peasant family. A man, a woman and two young girls, one of them an infant.
Leonora heard the high, piercing sounds of a woman’s screams, though she did not recognize the voice of hysteria as her own. Sobbing, choking, she clawed her way out of the shelter and ran halfway across the meadow before she collapsed beneath a tree, retching.
She seemed unaware of the man who knelt beside her, or of the light of the torch as he lifted it to study her. The hem of her cloak was crusted with animal waste and blood. The hood had slipped from her head, leaving her hair to fall in soaked tendrils around her face. Her eyes, red and swollen, seemed too bright in a face that had been drained of all color.
“Now,” he said, taking her cold, lifeless hand in his, “do you still wish to join the peasants, my lady?”
She could barely speak. “They did that to them. Essex and your father and the others. They murdered those innocent peasants.”
She expected him to share her outrage. Instead, he said simply, “Aye. As they have before. As they surely will again, until we leave this filthy, heathen land behind.”
“You know what they do, and you do not condemn them?”
“Condemn them? I am a mere soldier, my lady, following the orders of my leader. What we do, we do for England.”
She shrank back from him. “Nay. It is my land, as well, and you do not do it for me. You do it because it pleases you. It gives you a sense of power to hurt these helpless people.”
His tone hardened. “We do it because they deserve it. They are our enemy. Now, come, my lady. It is time we returned to the cottage.”
“Nay. I cannot bear the thought of being with such monsters.”
“But you have no choice,” he said as patiently as if he were lecturing a child. “You are in our protective care, my lady. Your fate is in our hands.”
Fate. She now knew her fate. These men had no intention of returning her to her father. At least not alive. For if they did, she would speak of their evil deeds. Now that she had been a witness to their barbarism, she would have to die. She recalled the soldiers she had encountered in the forest. Though these men called themselves noblemen, they were no better.
She had never felt so alone. This time, she had neither Dillon Campbell nor her father to protect her.
“Have no fear, my lady. Remember, I will be your friend.” He helped her to her feet and brushed a strand of damp hair from her cheek, allowing his hand to linger in her hair. With an arm around her shoulders, he began to lead her back to the cottage. “As long as you do not anger me, as long as you... please me, I will place myself between you and the others.”
Numbly, she moved along at his side. Her tears had already dried. The tremors that had first rocked her were subsiding. But the sight that had greeted her in the barn had been seared into her memory. She would not forget. Nor would she forgive the men who had done this. Though she knew not how, she would find a way to make them pay.
A strange sort of calm descended upon her. She glanced heavenward and realized that the worst of the storm had passed, leaving a steady, drenching downpour. Far to the east, the first faint ribbons of dawn already streaked the sky. A new day was beginning, and with it, a chance to escape these monsters who insulted all Englishmen by passing themselves off as English noblemen.
So long as she had a breath left in her, she vowed, she would escape from these men. And then fight to denounce them.