Cait blindly struck out, but before she could make contact, Donaldson backhanded her. She stumbled backward. With his hand on her shoulder, he held her steady to deliver another blow to her face. She cried out, her cheek going numb, her vision blurring.
“Bitch,” he ground out. “Because of you, I’ve been banished to the savage regions of the northern Highlands.” He drew his arm back and slapped her open-palmed across the face, jerking her head sideways. She held her arms up to block his blows. “Because of you, I’ve lost the respect of my superiors.” Another slap to the side of the head. She cried out, stars dancing before her eyes, and she felt blood dripping down her cheek. “Because of you, my career is ruined.” This time he curled his fingers into a fist and punched her in the stomach. She folded nearly in half, retching and sobbing.
He wrapped his hand in her hair, which had fallen from its pins, yanking so that her neck was bent backward. He dragged her toward him, causing her to fall against him.
He shoved his face into hers. Spittle clung to the corners of his mouth. His teeth were yellowed, his breath sweet. She would have thought such a monster’s breath would be putrid, but surprisingly, it wasn’t.
“All you had to do was accept my attentions, and everything would have been well and good. But you ran to Palmer. Bloody, righteous Palmer, who spends far too much time with that Scottish bastard Campbell. They’re probably buggering each other.”
She laughed. She couldn’t help it. The blood was rushing through her veins so fast it was making her weak, and all she could do was laugh that Donaldson thought Palmer and Campbell were buggering each other.
He tightened his grip on her hair and she cried out, reaching up to uselessly pull at his hands. Good Lord, but he was going to kill her.
She didn’t want to die. She wanted to live. She wanted what Iain promised her.
He began dragging her and she had no choice but to stumble, half hunched over, behind him, barely able to keep up. She had to stop him. If she didn’t, he would have his way with her and then kill her.
She thought of Iain returning to the cottage to find her missing, the front door open, the back door open. It was a hollow feeling, knowing that she had been right: Eventually, she lost everyone she cared about. Except this time she was the one leaving.
Donaldson slowed down and looked around. “Where the hell are we?” he demanded. When she didn’t answer, he shook her and her head wobbled. She cried out. By now everything on her hurt. Her scalp, her face, her head. She was bruised and battered everywhere. “Tell me where we are, damn it!”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I can’t see to look around.”
He pulled her up until she was somewhat standing on her feet, her head still bent forward because of the hold he had on her hair.
“Look,” he demanded, shaking her head again.
“I…don’t know where we are. This doesn’t look familiar.” They were closer to her cottage; if he kept in this direction, he would miss it entirely and delve deeper into the forest. She wanted him far from the cottage. She wanted him lost, but she needed to know where she was.
“You’re lying,” he said with a deadly calm that made her heart race even more.
“I’m no’. I swear.”
“Dirty Scots. Can’t trust any of them.” He looked around again, and she wondered what his plan had been. Had he come to her cottage to kill her? Take advantage of her?
“Go that way.”
“Which way?” He looked back at her.
“That way.” She pointed a little to his right.
“And where will that take me? To a warrior’s home? Do you think I’m a fool?”
“Where do ye want to go, and I’ll tell ye how to get there.”
He pressed his lips together, and she was certain he had no idea where he wanted to go. She’d ruined his plans by running from her home, and now he was floundering.
“I don’t trust you.” He headed to the left, opposite of where she’d pointed. She suppressed a triumphant grin. He’d played right into her hands, leading them away from her cottage but in a direction she was familiar with.
He dragged her for what seemed like eternity, and she continued to stumble behind him, waiting for her opportunity.
It came when he stopped again and looked around. He unwound his hand from her hair, and the pain in her scalp instantly lessened. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she resisted the urge to rub her head.
Free of her hair, Donaldson pointed at her. “Run and I will shoot you.”
She nodded.
He looked around again and she realized they were in a clearing where no foliage grew. She knew what was going to happen next. As if to prove her right, he began unbuttoning his fly. Already there was a bulge there. But it was the large branch just behind him that she was eyeing.
“Scream,” he said.
Her gaze flew to his dark eyes, alight with excitement. His face was flushed and he was breathing rapidly. “Scream,” he demanded again.
Her breath was stuck in her throat. He wanted her to scream. He wanted her to fight him off because it excited him.
He punched her in the stomach. She gasped and a strangled sound emerged, it was so unexpected and brutal. Her arm automatically came forward to cover her stomach.
“Scream,” he said again as he fumbled with his breeches.
“I…can’t.” The breath was slowly coming back to her.
He grabbed her shoulders and she cried out, more from surprise than anything. His fingers dug in to her, harder and harder. She opened her mouth to scream. At this point she would do anything he asked if only he would stop the pain. Only a gurgled moan came out of her.
He shook her and her head wobbled. “I will make you scream,” he said with deadly calm. “You will scream for me.”
She fell forward, her eyes on the thick branch just a few feet away. Holding her by the shoulders with one hand, he reached for his fly again. “I wish I’d thought to bring a shovel,” he said mostly to himself.
A tremor raced through her. He was going to beat her, rape her, and kill her. She wasn’t ready to die. She wanted to spend the rest of her life with Iain. She’d been so foolish, pushing him away.
With a cry, she rushed forward and grabbed the branch. Not expecting her sudden lunge, Donaldson cursed and tried to grab for the makeshift club, but she was already swinging.
It landed with a hollow thud against his head. The vibration of the blow traveled up her arm and numbed her fingers.
His knees gave out, and she was surprised by how slowly he sank to the ground. She’d thought he would just collapse, but it was a slow sinking that seemed to take forever.
He looked at her in shock as blood trailed down his temple. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and he slumped to the side.
Using her anger as the impetus, Cait lifted the branch high above her head and swung down, smashing it into the front of his skull. His body twitched and then stilled.
She stood there, breathing hard, whimpering, her fingers almost numb because she was holding the branch so tightly. She watched, waiting for him to move, ready to club him again. But he didn’t stir.
The club fell from her fingers with a soft thud. A fly landed on the corner of his partially opened lips and crawled along his cheek. Something in the underbrush to her right moved. A small rabbit emerged, its nose twitching, then hopped away.
The fly was now crawling on his forehead.
Cait picked up her skirts and ran.
She didn’t remember how she got home or how long it took. She stumbled into the clearing behind her cottage and dropped to her knees, leaning over until her forehead touched the ground. She sobbed, her arms clenched over her stomach.
Eventually, the sobs lessened and she stood on legs that were shaking so hard that if anyone saw her, they would think she had been drinking. Her cottage was just as she had left it, the back door wide open. The front door wide open. It was eerily silent, and she thought of the refugees hiding beneath the floor. Had they heard anything? Were they too frightened to move? She should check on them but couldn’t face them at the moment. She slowly made her way up the steps to her bedroom, where the sheets were still rumpled from her and Iain’s lovemaking the night before.
Everything was the same, and yet everything had changed in just a short time.
Hours ago she and Iain had been talking about marriage, and now she had killed a man. An English soldier.
She may have escaped death this afternoon, but she had surely put the noose around her neck now. The English would not take Donaldson’s death lightly, and she had no doubt that Palmer would not be able to help her.
She took a cloth and dipped it in the ewer of water to bathe her face. The cloth came away streaked with blood. Her face burned from the scratches and cuts, and she could feel several bruises forming. Her gown was torn in so many different places that it appeared a shredded rag. She peeled it off and washed herself completely as tears streamed down her face. She didn’t think past washing away the dirt and the feel of Donaldson’s hands.
“Cait?”
She stilled, her heart leaping. Why was Rory here? She pulled an old gown out of the bureau. “I’ll be down in a moment,” she called, her voice slurred from a swollen lip.
She looked in the basin of water, the only looking glass she had. Her reflection wavered, but she could easily see the swollen lip, the cut on her cheek, and the large bruise on her jaw.There was no hiding the damage that Donaldson had done. She took a deep breath and went downstairs.
Rory was rummaging through her cupboard and came away with half a loaf of bread. He turned to her, smiling, but the smile instantly disappeared. “What in the hell happened to ye?”
She put a hand to her cut cheek, and to her surprise, tears leaked from her eyes. “Donaldson returned,” she said.
“Good God.” Rory took a step toward her and then stopped as if afraid to come closer. His expression turned dark. “Where is he?”
“I think I killed him, Rory.” She looked up at him, her terror nearly overwhelming.
“What?” he whispered, his face going slack with shock.
“I killed an English officer.”