Chapter Six

As Alan bolted for the entrance, fear snaked its way around his heart and constricted painfully.

“Nae, stop.” Kirstie’s voice was pitched an octave higher than normal, like the time she’d run for help after her father had fallen from his horse lifeless, a sound he’d hoped to never hear again.

Frantically running down the aisle of stalls, the only thing he saw were horses stabled for the evening with heads tilted toward the sounds of a struggle coming from farther in. Deep male laughter taunted, “Did ye no’ come down here looking for yer stallion?”

“She’s a bonny one, Ceardach. I want her first,” a second voice came, this one slow and slurred.

“Get yer hands off me.”

The long row of stalls became a blur as he focused on the sounds of the voices.

“Ah, ye bitch,” the deeper voice spoke again.

The crack of flesh hitting soft skin was followed by a gasp and whimper. The sound had been branded in his head as a child and could never be removed.

“Dinnae mess up her face.” The slurred response confirmed his suspicions.

Almost there. A soft thud sounded, followed by Kirstie’s sharp intake of breath. Helplessness washed over him, a feeling that had plagued him through his childhood years.

“That’s right, lass, stay down there, cause that’s where ye belong,” said the thick, beefy voice.

“Nae, I get her first, Willy. Ye watch the door. She willnae fight ye when I’m done with her.”

Alan rounded on the stall at the end. Kirstie was on her knees bent over, holding her stomach. He tensed as the sight of her injured hit him like a horse at full speed, so blinding that his gaze narrowed in to the threats before they could strike again. There were two men standing over her with smug smiles plastered on their faces. The bigger one started to unbelt his plaid.

“I believe I heard the lass say she wasnae interested.” Alan tried to look calm and uninterested as he leaned against the side of the entrance, arms folded, hiding the fists that trembled as fear and fury ignited in his chest.

“Go away. ’Tis no’ yer concern,” the larger one said as he stopped unfastening his belt and took a step toward Alan. The wiry man, he assumed Willy, didn’t move.

“Aye, ’tis when two men are forcing themselves on an unwilling lass.” The rage he kept buried inside sprung to life, ready to unleash itself on these cowards.

“Ye should leave now. I willnae show mercy on ye.”

“Like ye have for the lass doubled over in the corner. Where is her mercy? I dinnae think ye have any in ye.” His words were becoming more clipped, and his voice shook with the pent-up energy surging to the surface.

Ceardach, the man who seemed to be the leader, advanced, and Alan rose up to meet him, blocking the exit. “The only way ye will leave is on yer knees begging for the lass’s forgiveness.”

The man grunted and charged, knocking him in the chest; they both went flying with the momentum. He turned during the fall and was able to land on his side instead of under the beast.

A moment of remembered fear assailed him as the smell of the brute reached his nostrils. A potent mix of sweat, ale, and whisky permeated from his pores. The man had probably drunk enough to make a horse sick. It made him dangerous because in his current state, consequences wouldn’t mean a thing to the arse. Alan had seen it enough with his own father.

Jumping to his feet just before the other man, Alan moved into a braced stance ready for attack, something he’d not known as a wee lad.

The drunken brute swung and missed then swung again in rapid succession. As Ceardach’s second blow connected with the side of his arm and slid off, Alan ignored the sting. Taking a step back, he struck and planted his fist squarely on the drunken man’s jaw.

The brute staggered but recovered quickly, pinning him with the fury of someone convinced of his own self-worth.

Standing tall, Alan straightened his shoulders as he waited for the next attack.

“Ye can still walk away if ye leave now,” Ceardach spit out.

“And leave the lass to endure yer bad breath and unwanted attention.” He was not going to let this abuser of women leave standing upright. They were out in the passage between stalls now, but the image of Kirstie on her knees was still fresh in his mind. No man would ever raise a hand to her again.

The drunk stepped closer, but Alan stood his ground. “Ye will regret that. Mayhap I will let ye watch before I kill ye.”

Rage rose in his chest and threatened to overwhelm him.

Taking advantage of his distraction, the brute swung, a hard hand landing on Alan’s jaw.

The sting bringing him back from the horrid image, he threw a punch of his own. Bone crushed beneath his fist as the man’s nose collapsed, and a strangled sound came from deep in Ceardach’s throat. When he pulled back, blood was streaming down the arse’s face.

His arms were grabbed from behind, and he realized he’d forgotten about the smaller man, Willy. Already having dismissed the willowy man as a non-threat, he kept his focus on the raging beast in front of him. Ceardach, too drunk to feel the injury to his nose, wiped the blood from his face and ranted, “Ye will pay fer that.”

Stepping forward, he spit at Alan before the arse planted a fist in his side. Oh hell, a crack followed by a stab of pain meant the brute had done some serious damage.

An unfamiliar thwack sounded, and Willy’s hands were wrenched away, jerking to the side. With Ceardach’s attention focused on whatever had happened to his partner, Alan spared a glance at the man behind him.

“Ye bitch.” Willy stumbled then charged at Kirstie, who was holding a large metal object.

She shrieked and threw the shovel at him, but Alan didn’t see the rest because another blow landed on his side and he almost fell over. Turning, he pummeled the man just under his jaw, and the brute’s head flew back as he stumbled and blinked.

Alan didn’t wait to see the man fall, instead bolting toward Willy, who held Kirstie up against his body by her hair. “Dinnae come any closer.”

This man was scared. If the brute had Kirstie, Alan would listen, but this man just wanted to get out of here with his friend.

Alan stepped forward, and Willy pulled harder. Kirstie’s head was forced up, and she beat at the man with one hand while she cradled her other arm at her chest.

“Alan, behind ye,” she yelled.

Pivoting just in time to miss the next blow, he straightened. The evil smirk on the man’s face terrified him more than anything else he could have done, and Alan realized instantly what had pleased him.

“Ye ken the lass, then.” The man rubbed his hands together then wiped at the blood that was still dripping from his nose. “Willy, bring her.”

Fury burst behind his eyes, burning like an angry blaze of a roaring fire in the pitch black of night. That brute would not put his filthy hands on Kirstie again.

Flying through the small space between them, he knocked Ceardach to the ground with such force a whiff of alcohol-soaked breath was pushed from the man’s lungs into Alan’s face. He wanted to gag.

It only fueled the flames. The years he had stood by helpless as his father beat and raped his mother exploded to the surface. Unleashing a storm of punches, he stood and drove his boot into the arse’s side as the man tried to evade the assault. Alcohol apparently no longer keeping the pain at bay, Ceardach curled into a ball.

Alan jabbed again, and the man moaned and tried to roll away. He kicked two more times, the anger taking over as his body tensed and the coil that had tightened around his chest spilled over. Everything else blurred.

“Alan.”

He heard his name but kept going.

“Alan!” It was Kirstie. She had managed to break free from the wiry man’s hold. He was hunched over as if she’d managed to get a direct hit on the man’s groin. Not only that, he glanced toward Ceardach, who lay motionless on the ground whimpering.

Willy’s gaze darted back and forth between his fallen friend and Alan. Alan took another step closer, but the man moved behind Kirstie, pushing hard into her back and propelling her forward. She landed straight on Alan’s chest.

After catching her, he looked up to see Willy was halfway to the exit. He could give chase, but that would mean leaving Kirstie alone with the piece of shite on the ground. That wasn’t going to happen.

Kirstie’s hand rose, gently caressing his cheek. It was so tender that he turned into the soft touch. Glancing down, he caught sight of undercurrents of worry and relief swirling in the blue depths of her gaze. “Are ye all right?”

“Aye, I’m fine. What about ye?” She still cradled her other hand. He brought his up to touch it but was afraid of hurting her so he stopped short.

“’Tis just a sprain, I think. The big one bent it back.”

“Are ye hurt anywhere else?”

“Nae, I’ll be fine. What about ye?”

“’Tis nothing. Let’s get ye out of here and get someone to take care of that arse before he wakes up.”

…

Wincing inside and trying her hardest not to flinch, Kirstie turned her focus to the nearby wall to study a portrait of a portly man, the same doctor who was wrapping a bandage around her wrist. Although she’d wanted to shut herself in her room and pretend the night had not happened at all, Alan had insisted they come to see the physician after the guards had dragged away the barely breathing, tree-sized attacker that he had taken down.

The guards had directed them down into the city to see this particular physician, but he’d only confirmed what she already knew—it was a sprain. The doctor gave her some kind of medicine for the pain, and she took a spoon of it right away because it did hurt.

“Ye should have him look at yer side,” Kirstie said. She’d seen him grimace a couple of times when he thought she wasn’t looking.

“Nae, ’tis fine.”

“Please. Ye made me. Now ’tis yer turn.”

Giving in, her savior sat as the physician fumbled around a bit and declared his ribs bruised, giving Alan the same medicine, but he refused to take it. By the time they were done, she could barely keep her eyes open.

Glancing up the stairwell on their way out, her gaze was caught by several more portraits lining the stairwell up to what she assumed to be a private residence above stairs. She wasn’t sure how much Alan had paid him, but she was certain his fee would be exorbitant if he was able to afford such luxuries.

Shivering as they stepped out into the cool late night air, she stumbled.

Alan said, “I’ll send word to Blair. My tavern is close. Ye can stay there tonight.”

She froze.

He was probably relieved not to have to escort her up the long hill to the castle with the pain in his side. He looked as exhausted as she felt, so she ignored that silly childish part of her that at one time had wanted him to ask her to stay with him.

The medicine had made her so tired she could crawl into a bed of old rushes and fall asleep right now. “Aye, that will do.”

Shrugging as a mixture of excitement and trepidation threatened to shock her out of her exhaustive state, she squashed the feelings down and let the bone weary tiredness reign.

“I dinnae think I can make it all the way back up there tonight.” She didn’t want him to try, because she was certain his injury was worse than he was letting on.

“I remember ye used to fall asleep under the big tree out in front of Kentillie when ye were supposed to be doing yer chores.” His words brought back fond memories of warm summer days and childhood innocence.

“I loved that spot. It was my favorite. Ye and Lachlan would always tell on me.” Strolling down the street, she held her hurt arm close to her chest as she let Alan lead the way.

“Aye, we only did that a couple of times and usually ’twas because ye had done something to get Lachlan in trouble.”

“’Twas because ye two always left Malcolm and me out. Ye were forever hiding from us.”

She stopped to look in the window of a bakery that still had a light burning in the background. She’d been so busy with Hamish and Niall that she’d barely eaten dinner. The fruit tart in the window looked dry, but her mouth still watered.

“I saw ye protect that boy playing in the great hall.” Drawing her gaze from the window, she glanced at Alan and saw a man of honor and generosity before her, not the lad who had teased her as a child. She felt a new appreciation for the person he had become, and although she’d been able to grow as a caregiver to animals, she’d missed seeing his transition the years she had been gone.

“They were just lads having fun.” He shrugged casually, not realizing that when he’d turned, the lads had gazed up at him as if he were a conquering hero. She was glad she had seen their admiration, and she wondered if that’s how she looked upon him now.

Her gaze returned to the bakery window, hoping he didn’t see. “Aye, but no’ many adults would have defended them the way ye did. I admire that ye are always looking out for others.”

And he’d been looking out for her tonight as well. She didn’t want to think about what could have happened had he not been there. It didn’t matter if he viewed her as a friend or a sister, he had been there. She liked that he was dependable.

And despite the childhood feelings, which threatened to erupt, she was proud of the man he was now. Some lass would be lucky enough to catch his heart one day, and if it couldn’t be her, maybe she should keep an eye out to make sure the woman was worthy of him.

When her gaze returned to his, she saw something there that made her want to lean into him, and it frightened her. Turning away, she continued walking, not quite sure where to go but certain she couldn’t stand with his eyes focused on her like that and not delude herself into thinking that more emotion reflected back to her than sibling affection.

“Aye, and I fear tonight nothing will wake me. That medicine is strong.”

Weak from the tonic and the night’s events, she drifted into him, and he wound his arm around her waist as they walked the dark street. She felt warm, safe, and all too comfortable in his strong embrace. Despite her fatigue, she wanted to remain in the moment, but they arrived at the tavern too soon.

“Ye’ll stay in my room tonight. I dinnae trust this place.” Clinging to her, he pulled her up the stairs as his gaze darted in every direction. He may have been looking for threats, but the streets and the tavern were deserted at this late hour. She saw no one. The hall was dark and smelled of stale ale, smoke, and urine. She held her breath as Alan unlocked the door at the end of the hall.

“Och,” she said as he stood back, holding the door for her to enter. The door clicked shut behind him, and he pivoted to bolt it. “Why are ye no’ staying with Malcolm? This place is filthy.”

Turning back to her, he avoided her gaze, but it wouldn’t have mattered—she couldn’t see in the darkness of the room. He fumbled around as he lit a candle. “Finlay and Dougal are there. He has enough company.”

Something in the response caught her attention. She’d been away a long time, but she couldn’t imagine that things had changed so much at home that Malcolm wouldn’t have wanted Alan there with him. She was too tired to start a debate over it, so she let it go, telling herself she would bring it up again tomorrow. Something was going on between the men, but they hadn’t let her in on the secret.

“Thank ye,” Kirstie said as the events of the evening played back in her mind.

“What for?” Alan responded as the flame took, and he turned around.

“Saving me. I dinnae ken what would have happened if ye hadnae come along.” Rubbing at her injured wrist, she cringed as an image of the large man’s lust-filled eyes invaded her head.

“Just promise me ye willnae wander around by yerself here. This isnae Kentillie. There are too many men here who dinnae have any morals.” Sitting in a chair, he removed his boots.

“I thought ye were going to kill that man tonight.” She bit her lip while he removed his sporran and tossed it on the table then leaned down, his broad shoulders drawing her attention as he pulled off his boots.

“He reminded me of my father.” Alan’s eyes narrowed, and an unreadable cloud appeared, hinting at a storm that brewed in their depths.

“I never kenned him.” Pacing, she tried to picture the man.

“Be glad ye didnae. He was a drunk and a monster.” He unbelted his plaid and stood.

“Is that why ye dinnae drink?” she asked.

“Aye, I dinnae want to become him. He was most dangerous to those he was supposed to love.”

After pulling off the plaid, he draped it over the back of the chair. Alan was only wearing a shirt now, and she wondered how he could be so unaffected by her presence. The room suddenly seemed too warm, despite the cool breeze blowing in from the open window.

“That would never be you,” she said.

He looked away, but not before she saw a deep sadness cloud his gray eyes. “He beat us.”

A piece of her broke inside. No one had ever told her; it was like her family to shield him from those harsh memories. How had she not known? A child should never have to endure violence, especially at the hands of the ones who were supposed to love them the most.

Emotion simmered, hidden beneath the surface, but the words were delivered in a deadpan, dismissive tone. Alan took a step toward her. “Turn around.” When he made a waving motion with his hand, she obeyed because she didn’t want him to see the despair in her eyes. If she’d known when they were children, would she have been able to help him?

“I didnae ken he was like that.”

Risking a glance behind her, she was rewarded with a view of his dilated gaze fixed on her neck as he took her hair and draped it over her opposite shoulder. His fingers skimmed across her back, and she felt her gown loosen. Odd, she thought once the restrictive garment was off, she would be able to breathe better, but it seemed now that each inhale was sharper and didn’t fully reach her lungs.

“Aye, yer parents and Lachlan were the only ones who kenned what happened.” His fingers stilled, but he didn’t back away.

Twirling to face him, she held the gown tight at her chest. If she let go and dropped her arms, it would fall free. “And they didnae stop it.”

Exhausted, she moved toward the chair and let her dress glide down her arms, careful not to jostle her injured wrist with the material. Stepping out without looking back to him, she placed it next to his plaid. Last night, it hadn’t bothered her to undress in front of him, but something had shifted, and the way he’d looked at her tonight reminded her not of a brother, but of a man who wanted something more. Her shift still kept her covered, but she felt naked and exposed and thankful only one small candle was lit, because it hid the blush stinging her face.

“They didnae ken the truth until ’twas too late.” His gaze was off in a distant memory, and he took no notice of her. The flush receded.

“What happened?”

“My father came home from drinking like usual. That night, he started beating me because I left something on the floor and he stepped on it.”

Kirstie stepped closer and put her hand on his arm.

“Mother pulled him off, and he started in on her. ’Twas always in her stomach or side. Somewhere people couldnae see. That’s what they were doing to ye tonight.”

Voice drifting off, strong arms encircled her waist and drew her into his solid chest, so close she could feel his heart beating. He nuzzled into her, and her heart shattered into a million pieces at the pain and vulnerability he’d laid bare for her to see.

Continuing to talk into her shoulder, he held on tight. “He hit my mother too hard that night. She didn’t get back up. I tried to wake her, but I couldn’t. He threw the peat from the fireplace all over the house to hide what he had done. He burned the house down with us still inside and left.”

Tears rolled down her face as she thought about the scared little boy who had witnessed his mother’s murder at the hands of a man he should have been able to trust.

“How old were ye?”

“Eleven summers.”

“Ye were just a babe. Is that when ye came to live with us?”

“Aye, yer parents took me in.”

She’d never loved her family more, knowing now they had taken him in and protected him.

“Did ye ever see him again?” She ran her fingers through his thick hair and cradled him to her chest. Pain ripped through her to realize what he had endured and how he had kept it hidden from everyone. From her. Her heart bled for him.

“Nae. He’s dead. Drank himself to death one night. Yer parents went to see the body to confirm it was him.” Alan’s detached tone sent a chill down her spine, but she didn’t blame him; the lack of emotion was probably a way he’d learned to cope.

“I’m so sorry ye had to go through that. I cannae fathom how a father…” She couldn’t even say it.

“’Tis a madness. My father had it, the man who attacked ye tonight has it, and—” He choked on whatever he was about to say and released her, retreating to put distance between them.

“Ye should have told me.” Suddenly cold, she crossed her arms to stave the chill.

“Ye were a wee thing, and then, I only wanted to forget it.” He moved to peer out the window into the dark night.

“Ye ken ’tis no’ yer fault.” Taking a few steps closer, she came to his side. He nodded but didn’t turn to face her. “Yer a fighter, a survivor, and ye were just a child. ’Twas nothing ye could do.”

“Enough.” Shaking his head, he declared an end to the conversation, shutting her out. Inching in front of him, she reached up with her uninjured hand and caressed his cheek.

He drew her in and held her. Not knowing his intent, she did not sink into him and offer everything like she had on the night of their first kiss when he’d turned her away. His proximity and the confusion in her chest tore her apart, but he needed to be held. Whether the embrace came from a sister or a lover, she would be what he needed.

Her sides burned and her blood heated at the feel of his touch even through her shift. And a longing to be closer to him beat at her, so she attempted to squash it.

But her traitorous heart yelled at her, Just for tonight, let him love me.

She would give anything if he for once forgot who she was and looked at her as if she were a woman. She wouldn’t care what tomorrow brought if he would just lie to her tonight and tell her she was everything. It would be a lie, but she didn’t care; she would welcome the pain tomorrow for just a few moments of this aching need in her being returned.

Giving in and melting into his embrace, she put her hands on his hips, careful not to touch where he’d been hurt. She was sure the world went on somewhere around them, but time had stopped while he held her. It was as if he were a lover. Her heart pounded a rhythm deeper and stronger than any she’d ever known, and she thought it might explode.

Inhaling, she took in the warm, salty, male scent that beckoned her to tilt her head to his. To ask for his lips to touch hers and to beg for him to love her. He looked into her eyes, and desire flashed in his gray depths. It gave her hope. The intensity made her knees weak.

His lips parted and started the descent toward hers, then he winced and folded toward his hurt side. His arms fell from her, and she shivered as she lost the warmth of his body.

“Are ye okay?”

“Aye,” he said, but his gaze revealed the pain even as he tried to hide it. He nodded toward the bed. “Get some sleep.”

Too tired to argue, she climbed in and slid to the side by the wall. He followed.

“Sleep well,” he said.

“Ye too.”

He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead just as a brother would do. Alan turned to lie on his back as far away from her on the bed as he could get. She wanted to fight sleep and enjoy just being beside him, but at the same time, she wanted to cry and scream at fate for the cruelty of the night.

For just a moment, she had dared to believe he could think of her as a woman. She had been wrong. She lay there and fought back the despair. She was on the verge of breaking in two, but thankfully the darkness claimed her.