Part 52 (1/2)

He turned away from her and she kicked out with her feet, knowing her captor would not drop her. Her foot connected squarely with Eliot's back, sending him stumbling forward several paces. He caught himself before he tumbled down the steps. Her satisfaction at hurting him quickly evaporated as he turned around, his face thunderous.

”You stupid b.i.t.c.h. Ye think it amusing to push the one-armed man?”

They stared at each other for a long time. His normally well-groomed beard was gnarled and matted with filth, his clothes caked with dried mud. His fury abated and he scanned her body dismissively. ”You're no worth it.” He jerked his head at one of his men. ”Bind her at the ankles and knees. We'll roll her in a rug and carry her down. If anyone sees us, I'll claim to be taking the rug as payment due.”

Fayth struggled in earnest, fear blossoming in her chest. She scissored her legs wildly so they couldn't get them together. The tower was practically deserted with Alex gone. He'd taken more than half his men, and surely Eliot had killed or disabled the guards on duty. Fayth kicked out forcefully, catching a Graham in the nose. Blood spurted forth.

Angry now, they fought her to the ground and onto her stomach. Eliot sat on her legs, his muscular thighs clamping her legs together. Pain shot through her hands, trapped awkwardly beneath her, and she ceased her struggles. She tried to scream when groping hands slid up between her legs. But they did no more than sneak a feel before binding her securely so she could do little more than wiggle about like a worm.

Alex. The thought comforted her. She prayed Skelley wasn't dead, but even if he was, someone would send word to Alex and he would come. He would see Eliot dead for this. Eliot yanked her to her feet and as she stared into his black eyes, she let him see her fury.

His mouth, full and sensual in the waves of his beard, quirked at the corner, acknowledging her unspoken threat. ”If ye knew it all, la.s.s, ye'd want to geld me yerself.”

They were in a boat, that much Fayth was cognizant of. She'd fainted for lack of air, wrapped so tightly in the musty rug they'd yanked from the wall of an empty room. She'd wakened to the salty air p.r.i.c.king her nose and the rocking of waves. Water sloshed as someone wielded oars. They'd taken her below, through the honeycombed corridors beneath Gealach to the sheltered cove to escape by sea. They'd likely been below all along, waiting for their opportunity, hidden in some undiscovered chamber or corridor. They'd probably killed Biddy, too.

Fayth tried to move her arms and legs as her mind teetered at the edge of another swoon. She could not lose her wits or she'd never escape. She jerked her arms, bent awkwardly against her stomach, until the pain in her wounded arm brought her to full, excruciating consciousness. She heard voices nearby, but the rug and the surf m.u.f.fled their words.

Her mind was filled with Alex. What if he went straight to Edinburgh, to join the king? How long would it take a messenger to reach him with the news of her kidnapping? With war imminent, would he come for her? Her heart sank as she realized how unlikely it was that he would rush to her rescue. Using her as ransom had failed to work. She held no value there. She was a Graham and marriage to her would bring him nothing but trouble. He would cut his losses and try a different tack to secure his home. It was the only logical thing to do.

As the boat wallowed in the water and the misty cold penetrated the rug and set her to s.h.i.+vering, she knew she would have to save herself.

Alex left the keep and Maxwells gathered eagerly around him. A bell had tolled compline hours ago. Dark had long fallen and fog had finally seeped from the nearby bogs to blanket the castle. When Alex left them, Caroline and Celia had been sewing a shroud for Laine. Alex inhaled deeply, steeling himself for the battle ahead. The infernal waiting was slowly driving him mad. A terror had seized his soul, unlike anything he'd ever known. Fayth would not be there when he returned. Eliot was at this very moment hurting her, taking her to Ridley and Carlisle, where the most sickening and horrifying acts would be administered to her as punishment.

He must not think of Fayth. To think of her in the coming conflict would fragment his concentration, cause him to falter, to fail. He could not fail. Not now. Not when he had to get through this and back to her. But Laine's information pressed down on him. Eliot was in league with Ridley, which meant it was unlikely he had truly left. In fact, Alex leaving with more than half his men was probably the very opening the b.a.s.t.a.r.d needed.

His stomach lurched yet again with the sickening realization that he had played right into their hands. The men all watched him expectantly. He wanted to take them all and rush to Gealach, but they were trapped. One man might get through the loch grate, but not a small army. His only hope was to secure Annancreag as quickly as possible and ride home as fast as Bear could go.

Father Jasper joined them. He'd insisted they join him in prayer and that he bless each one of them, commending their souls to G.o.d. They all knelt and bent their heads. Father Jasper went down the line, stopping before each man.

After praying, Father Jasper turned to leave, but Alex caught the priest's robes. ”Shrive me, Father. It's been ten years since my last confession.”

Father Jasper's brows arched, but he nodded. Alex swallowed hard. He'd put G.o.d and the church behind him long ago. But he feared he couldn't do this alone and he would not return to Fayth with his soul burdened with avarice and hate. When this was over he would go to her as a man, not a Maxwell, or a landless, t.i.tleless third son. What filled him when he was with Fayth went beyond land or towers. She was more than that to him and he could not lose her. Ridley could have Gealach, but he could never have Fayth.

Father Jasper was making the sign of the cross over Alex when he heard splas.h.i.+ng and a cheer went up from the men. Alex turned to see his brother, Robert, emerging from the river entrance, just as he had. He jogged across the bailey, his hand raised in acknowledgment, water flying from his clothes and hair.

Alex chased after him as he burst into the keep, bellowing his wife's name. Alex found them in the great hall, clinging to each other, heedless of Rob's current state of foul saturation.

”All is well,” Caroline was saying when Alex approached them, her voice hoa.r.s.e with emotion. ”I sent word to Alexander and he came.”

Rob released his wife and turned to Alex. Alex was stunned to see his brother was close to tears. He took Alex's hands and gripped them so hard Alex swore his bones creaked. ”You came.”

”Of course I came. What would you have me do?”

”I will not forget this.”

Alex pulled his aching hands away. ”Aye, well. It's hardly over. Don't bother drying off, we'll take out the Johnstones guarding the river entrance. You brought men?”

”Aye,” Rob said. ”I brought a score. They wait in the forest for my signal.”

Alex nodded, turning to leave Rob with his wife, but his brother caught his arm. ”Any word of Patrick?”