Laurie woke to a foul taste. She choked on a rag stuffed in her mouth.
She jerked her eyes open. Her scream died against the gag. Her vision fuzzy, the oppressive dark night closed in. Her head throbbed. Her numb fingers tingled. The dirty cloth in her mouth made her nauseous.
She sat on the hard ground, her arms tied around a large tree behind her. An awkward position. She tugged against the restraint, hoping to loosen the knots and wiggle her hands free. The leather dug deeper into her skin, causing her to whimper in pain.
Laurie leaned back against the tree, discouraged. Where was Duncan? She had no answer. If only she could get the gag out of her mouth, she might breathe more easily.
A disturbing sensation skittered across her flesh. She glanced at her ankles with unease. A scream caught in her mouth. Dozens of creepy little spiders crawled across her skin. She kicked her legs out, trying to dislodge the nasty things.
One bit her and she bucked against her bindings. Oh God. She prayed they weren’t poisonous. The sensitized skin started to itch. If only she could brush them away. Scratch her ankle.
Oh God. If only she could get free from the restraints. Laurie tugged at the bindings again and pain shot up her arms.
Mentally shaking herself, she tried to get a handle on her fear. She needed to figure a way out of this mess. Laurie closed her eyes briefly, wanting to cry. Instead, she opened them again with determination. As her vision focused, she saw an ugly, dirty man squatting several feet away. A torch held in one hand, he stared at her with unkind eyes.
He smiled wickedly before saying something guttural under his breath. He stood and walked away.
Suddenly, spiders were the least of her worries. A small fire burned nearby. Scattered around were torches. They lent an eerie glow to the surroundings. She attempted to make out images in the dim light, but the ugly man returned with two other big, heavily built men dressed in filthy rags.
The two cruel-looking newcomers stepped behind the tree. One untied her wrists. Then each man took hold of an arm and pulled them away from her body. She kicked at them. The effort was hopeless. The men were too strong.
The third man brought an iron ring with two chains attached. At the end of each chain was a thick leather strap. She’d seen an apparatus like that at a museum in London. She fought harder, yanked on her arms, tried to break free. She struggled through the pain in her armpits and shoulders and neck. Her efforts were to no avail.
They easily restrained her and pulled her arms in front of her. They tied each hand to one of the chains with the straps, making the leather tight.
Ouch! Her wrists burned from the chafing and open cuts from her previous ill treatment. She squirmed, swinging her body awkwardly in an attempt to break away. She thrashed, kicked at them. Their legs were like tree trunks. In the end, she only gained more pain.
Forcing her to the ground, the first man spoke harsh words she didn’t understand. He slapped her face. She curled her body protectively. He stepped back and glared at her. Grabbing the iron ring, he pulled, yanking her to her knees. Urgh. Pain shot up her thighs, burned in her belly.
He tugged on the tether. She lurched forward. He dragged her toward the fire. Her skirt snagged and tore on rocks and twigs as she scraped across the ground. The skin on her arms and legs became bruised and raw.
Beyond the fire, the limb of a large tree stretched straight out. A heavy rope hung from the branch. The men dragged her to the tree and tied the ring to the rope, pulling the line taut, jerking her to her toes, her arms stretched painfully above her head. The tip of her toes barely skimmed the ground.
The men left her alone. Tears burned her eyes. The pain in her arms became a terrible ache that made her want to scream. Soon, her arms went numb.
Terror lodged in her throat. Never in her life had she been more frightened. To the left was the opening of a cave. The image of another cave came to mind. The one where she’d kissed Patrick on the way to Glasgow. This cave was much different. This experience horribly different. Out of the darkness walked her worst nightmare.
Malcolm Maclay. He stood before her, his legs braced apart, his hands on his hips, a smug grin on his ugly scarred face.
Laurie cringed at the sight of him, her heart pounding furiously.
“Whore. We meet again.” He touched her cheek with his dirty, calloused fingers. She flinched and he chuckled. Obviously, he relished the terror in her eyes. He reached around her, untying the rag from her head. Then he pulled the gag out of her mouth.
Laurie screamed. The high-pitched sound shrill against the silence of the night.
He threw his head back and roared with laughter. “There is nary a soul to hear you.” He reached out and slapped her hard across the face.
Her head snapped back from the impact, and she swung on her tether. Her cheek stung, instantly raw where he’d struck. Tears fell freely, burning sensitive flesh. She opened her mouth to scream again, but before a sound came out, he cruelly struck her again, splitting her lip. Blood oozed along her chin.
He continued to hit her several more times. With a final stroke, he struck one of her eyes.
“Agh.”
“Look at me, whore.” He grabbed hold of her braid and yanked.
Laurie tried to see him through her swelling eye, his image fuzzy. She sought to moisten her swollen lips with her parched tongue. She tasted the metallic tang of blood. Fear became a living thing within her, batting against her insides.
Maclay’s eyes burned with a wild lust. He grabbed the front of her blouse and tore it to the waist. Her breasts freed to the breeze, her nipples hardened from the cold. Pinching one of the buds, her torturer twisted it between two fingers.
Agony scorched her flesh.
“Stop,” Laurie cried, unable to pull away. This couldn’t be happening.
Maclay continued his torment. He squeezed her other breast, digging his nails into her tender flesh, inflicting more agony. She recoiled, the pain blinding, the humiliation burning in her chest. Yet she feared her suffering had only begun.
He released her breasts and stood back, staring at her with feral eyes. “I was willing to wed you. Now I will take you like the whore you are.”
Laurie bit her lower lip to hold back her screams. She feared if she screamed, he’d continue to beat her. It would be better to conserve her strength. It would be the only way to survive the ordeal.
“Come all. Come hither. Look at the whore of Castle Lachlan,” Maclay taunted. He leaned in close, his foul breath on her face. He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. “I will enjoy taking every inch of your precious body, lady-whore, in front of these fine warriors.” Spittle hit her cheek. He waved his other hand toward the men who hovered in the background, snickering and hooting. “When I have finished, each and every man here will have their turn.”
More softly, so only she heard, he said, “You ken he will never want you back.”
The men who ogled the scene cheered. They moved closer out of the darkness, grabbing at her clothing, touching her flesh with dirty hands, scratching and bruising her skin.
Maclay released her chin and pushed the others away. He snatched a willow switch from one of them. He walked behind her and tore what was left of her blouse. He brought the switch down across her back.
“Stop. Oh, God, please stop.”
He whipped her again. She gritted her teeth against the spasm of pain.
He struck another blow.
“Have mercy,” she pleaded.
“Aye. You will learn to beg. You will learn to obey. I will break your spirit, lass. You will crawl to me and beg for my attentions. You will, so help me.” He brought the switch against her raw skin again.
The agonizing pain raced across her nerve endings. She no longer screamed, instead she prayed. Prayed she’d faint. That the misery would end. Maclay stopped his assault and slowly walked around her several times, glaring as he moved. When he stopped to stand in front of her, an unholy hatred glowed deep in the depths of his eyes replacing the lust she’d seen in his stare.
Laurie prayed she’d pass out.
She was fading into unconsciousness when someone tossed a bucket of cold water over her. She convulsed from the shock.
Maclay threw the willow switch to the ground, pulled his knife from the sheath on his belt, and brought the blade close to her face. His smile was ugly and cruel. He moved the knife downward, placing the blade to the side of her right breast.
At the touch of cold steel, Laurie jerked, her heart hammering painfully in her chest.
“I will punish you each time you dinnae please me.” He dragged the knife along the edge of her breast, deep enough to flow blood.
She choked on a scream, the sound gurgling in her throat. Whimpering, she wished she’d die, anything to block out the dreadful torture.
Maclay bent his head, placed his lips over the wound, and sucked the blood. As he did, he made a moaning sound that made Laurie’s skin crawl.
This was much worse than spiders. The man is insane. He must be.
He rested his blade on her cheek, all the while laughing sadistically.
Laurie screamed and screamed and screamed.
* * *
Patrick paced, his emotions in turmoil, his bedchamber a lonely place. He tortured himself by remaining, but couldn’t leave.
Laurie’s presence remained all around him. The chamber still held her scent along with some of her things. He picked up the silver brush she’d used to tame her beautiful golden locks. A silky strand remained in the bristles. He wrapped the precious thread around his fingers until his chest tightened with pain.
How would he live without her?
He paced well into the night.
When he finally slept, his fears took hold and twisted his dreams. He tossed and turned, caught in the sheets. He woke, a scream burning his throat.
Laurie was in danger. And he did nothing.
He played the proper bridegroom to the wrong bride. He hated feeling so utterly helpless. His fear gnawed at his gut. He hadn’t felt this miserable since his parents disappeared. He’d been helpless then as well.
No more!
Stephen burst into the room, sword at the ready. “I heard you scream. What is wrong?”
“We go after Lady Laurie.” Patrick threw the bed coverings to the side and padded butt-naked to his chest. He quickly dressed and secured his weapons on his person.
He’d find her himself. He didn’t care what Isobell or her father thought. He’d find a way to make things right.
Determination stiffened his spine as he strode from the chamber with Stephen at his heel. They gathered some men and rode out before first light.
* * *
Laurie sensed someone’s presence in the cave. She didn’t dare move. If the intruder was Maclay and he realized she was conscious, he’d come for her, and the pain and degradation would begin anew.
How long had she been here? Several days? An hour? She couldn’t be sure.
The madman beat her often. When she was no longer responsive to his insults, he left her in the damp cave, where a stranger with gentle hands came to her, tending to her battered body. She’d become numb to the cold and the pain. Her only solace was she hadn’t yet been raped, though he persistently threatened he would take her in the most unpleasant way.
Laurie listened, trying to detect who approached.
Duncan was in the cave too. Somewhere. She overheard them talking when they’d thought her unconscious. He was a prisoner also, still insensible, or so they said.
The only thing that kept her from losing her mind completely was the single thread of hope someone would come searching for them. If not for her, certainly they’d come for Duncan. And they’d both be set free of this horrible lunatic.
Laurie lay on her belly across a dirty pallet. Painful oozing sores covered her back. The bastard had tied her arms and legs, but she had grown numb to that discomfort.
Muffled footsteps approached her corner of the cave. A gentle hand smoothed her hair, and she felt relief from her fears.
The old woman hovered over her, softly crooning in the lilting language of the Highlanders. Laurie almost smiled. Thank God, it wasn’t Maclay. The strange woman resembled the wicked old hag that brought Snow White the poisoned apple in the animated classic tale. Only this woman eased Laurie with compassion.
Ancient, her leathery skin folded into baggy wrinkles and a large ugly wart protruded from the tip of her pointed nose. But her eyes were the green of emeralds and sparkled within her withered face...eyes that were somehow familiar.
The woman gently applied a healing salve to the sores on Laurie’s back. Her pain lessened, and once again, she sank into blessed oblivion.
Much later, the woman chanted over her. Words she didn’t understand, that sounded ancient, but she found calming.
“Ugly crone, get out of my way.” Maclay pushed the woman aside and grabbed hold of Laurie, dragging her from the pallet.
The torture began again. Only this time he seemed different. More intense. Laurie feared this time he’d surely commit rape.