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by Lynsay Sands
Dwyn wasn’t surprised when she glimpsed Brodie soldiers running around both sides of the tent after them. Faolan Brodie was making enough noise that she was sure the entire camp was coming. Refusing to let herself think about what might happen to her if those jackals got their hands on her, she kept her head down and put all her effort into running. Within seconds they were slipping into what little cover the trees offered. Running became more dangerous then, the ground suddenly uneven with roots and fallen branches to trip them up. Dwyn didn’t slow though, and didn’t look up either until she heard her name shouted over the sound of the gasping breaths she was taking.
Finally raising her head, she spotted two large shapes ahead of her and nearly turned to swerve around the pair, until one of them called out again. “Dwyn, love, this way.”
“Geordie,” she gasped, recognizing his voice this time. Squeezing Father Machar’s hand reassuringly, she managed to put on a burst of speed. The problem then became that she wasn’t sure which one of the two large shapes was her husband. Both men were of a size, and she couldn’t see features or hair color in the dark woods, so she flipped a coin in her mind—left, right, left, right. Right. Dwyn rushed the man on the right, nearly running right up his body and into his arms. She realized the moment she caught a whiff of his scent that it wasn’t her husband. He smelled nearly as nice as Geordie, but different, and she pulled back sharply.
“Lady Buchanan,” a deep rich voice full of amusement greeted her, “Conn MacGregor at yer service. Pleasure to meet ye,” the man said even as he passed her off to another set of arms.
“Dwyn,” Geordie breathed with relief as he held her. She recognized his scent and immediately curled into his arms. He didn’t say anything else; he simply started to run with her, heading up the hill.
“Laird MacGregor! Oh, dear!”
Dwyn stretched up to glance over Geordie’s shoulder at that surprised gasp and nearly laughed aloud when she was confronted with Father Machar’s bottom yet again. The other man, Laird MacGregor, had slung the priest over his shoulder and was hard on Geordie’s heels. She was just relaxing when she looked past him and saw how close Brodie’s men were. There were a bare few feet between Father Machar’s head and the closest of Brodie’s soldiers, and their pursuers weren’t having to cart another person with them.
They’d be on them in another minute, Dwyn thought with dismay, and then her head swiveled so she could look forward as a thunderous battle cry rent the air. Not one, she realized as she saw the darkness ahead morph into several moving shapes. Many. The air was reverberating with the shouts of countless men on horseback, charging down the hill toward them.
Eyes wide, Dwyn watched the warriors approach, afraid they would charge right over them. But the horses flowed around them and trampled, or engaged, the men following instead, she saw as she swiveled her head again.
“Geordie!”
Dwyn turned forward again at that shout and saw two men on horseback approaching, each leading a riderless mount. The men were nearly on them before she recognized her father and Alick.
“Take Dwyn and the priest to the women,” Geordie ordered, setting Dwyn in her father’s lap even as the MacGregor helped Father Machar up behind Alick on his mount.
“Husband!” Dwyn grabbed at his hands as he released her. When Geordie paused, his head lifting to hers, she whispered, “I love ye. Be careful.”
Geordie squeezed her hand, but then turned to mount his horse as the MacGregor mounted his own. The two men rode into the fray as her father and Alick turned to head back up the hill.
Dwyn had no idea where the women were, or even who they were, and was too busy trying to watch Geordie over her father’s shoulder to care much. Unfortunately, it was too dark and the scene too chaotic to see much. She quickly lost sight of her husband in the dark shapes battling in the trees.
“Are ye all right, lass?”
Dwyn shifted her gaze to her father’s face. She couldn’t see his expression, but he sounded concerned. “Aye, Da, and glad to be safely away from Brodie.”
“Geordie’ll get him,” James Innes said with confidence. “He was most worried about ye. I think he near killed Katie when she would no’ tell him where ye were.”
“Ye ken about Katie?” Dwyn asked, as surprised at the knowledge as she was over the fact that she’d briefly forgotten all about the woman.
“Aye. Geordie worked it out that Simon could no’ have been stabbed without going through her with her position before him, and she was the only one who kenned ye were at the waterfall, so is the only one who could have told Brodie that.”
“Oh,” Dwyn sighed, and they both fell silent as they rode. She was beginning to fear they were going to ride all the way back to Buchanan when the horses began to slow.
Lifting her head, she glanced ahead, her eyes widening at the sight before them. Several torches had been planted in the ground in a large circle that surrounded a fire and several logs where women sat waiting, or had. They were all getting up now and rushing to meet them as her father slowed his mount and helped her dismount.
“Dwyn!”
Turning, she found herself caught up in a fierce hug by Aileen. Una soon joined them, wrapping her arms around both of them.
“Are ye all right?” both of them asked at the same time, not releasing her.
Managing a smile despite the pain they were causing her by pressing against her bruised chest and stomach, Dwyn hugged them back.
“Aye. I’m fine now,” she murmured, and then heard as Father Machar assured the women surrounding him, “Oh, nay, I’m fine, m’lady. Just fine. Lady Buchanan took good care o’ me, though she took a terrible beating herself.”
Dwyn sensed rather than saw when all eyes turned on her. Sighing, she opened her eyes to glance around in time to see that most of the women were all now moving toward her.
“Brodie beat ye?” Una asked, sounding angry as she pulled back. Reaching out, her sister pushed the hair out of Dwyn’s face and inhaled sharply, then breathed, “Bastard.”
“I’m fine,” Dwyn assured her.
“Nay, Dwyn, you are not fine,” a woman she’d never met before said quietly with an English accent. Una and Aileen fell back at once to make room for the newcomer. “You have a split lip, a terrible black eye and a bump and cut on your forehead that look serious. Come over by the fire and let me look at you.”
“Dwyn, this is Jo Sinclair,” Saidh said, taking her arm and urging her toward the fire.
“Aye,” Murine said, urging Father Machar toward the fire as well as Dwyn was ushered that way. “Ye remember us mentioning her. She is a fine healer.”
Dwyn nodded silently. The women had told her all about how they’d met, which had been at Sinclair. They’d been invited there by Campbell Sinclair’s mother in the hopes that he’d be interested enough in one of the women to finally marry and produce grandbabies for her. As Dwyn recalled, it was where the women had got the idea to invite all the heiresses to Buchanan. But a fine joke had been played on all since Campbell had arrived at Sinclair with Jo already as his wife. Even so, the women had become fast friends, and Saidh and the others had insisted that Jo and Campbell, as well as Jo’s aunt and uncle, the MacKays, should be invited to the wedding at Innes.
“Brodie did this?” Saidh asked as she urged her to sit on the fallen log closest to the fire and looked her over.
“Aye,” Dwyn murmured. Noting the grim expressions all around, she was guessing she looked pretty bad at the moment, but then a black eye and split lip would hardly be pretty; add a cut and swollen forehead and she feared her plainness had moved on to just ugly.
“Oh my, it was an adventure,” she heard Father Machar saying from a nearby log that the other women had urged him to. “The Brodie gagged us and tied us up back-to-back. It was most unpleasant. The gag was dirty, ye see. But Lady Buchanan got her gag off and then even managed to remove mine as well. She had to stick her tongue in me mouth to do it, but there was nothing las
civious about it. She was just trying to get the gag out.”
Dwyn turned to peer at the man with raised eyebrows. She seemed to recall him declaring he couldn’t possibly talk about what had happened. What would people think? he’d asked. Apparently, he’d forgotten that concern, she thought wryly as he continued.
“Just as I’m sure there was nothing lascivious when she put her hands on me bum while I had me legs in the air. It wasn’t even really her hands, but her knuckles. She was trying to undo me bindings, ye see.”
There was a brief silence and then one of the women loosed a giggle. It was short. Whoever it was obviously tried to stifle it, but it was the catalyst that had everyone laughing, and Dwyn felt herself relax a little, and then jerked in surprise when something cool touched her forehead.
“Sorry,” Jo Sinclair said apologetically as she smeared something oily over the cut on her head. “I did not mean to startle you. I am just putting some salve on to help prevent infection and reduce the swelling.”
“Thank ye,” Dwyn murmured, doing her best to remain still.
Jo smeared more salve around her eye after that, and a little on her split lip, and then frowned at the bruises visible on Dwyn’s chest, but began to press on her ribs, asking if it hurt.
“I do not think he broke any of your ribs, but you are definitely bruised there. And everywhere from what I can see,” Jo said grimly.
“He was angry that I was married already,” Dwyn said wearily.
“And thank God ye were,” Saidh said grimly. “I canno’ imagine ye’d have survived long married to that bastard.”
The other women all murmured agreement to that and then Jo said, “You look tired, Dwyn. We brought plaids out with us. Why do you not rest on one until the men return? Or would you rather return to Buchanan and rest in a bed? It could be a while before the men finish and return.”
“Nay. Here is fine,” Dwyn assured her. She wasn’t going anywhere until she was sure Geordie was all right.
Father Machar was still chattering away about his “adventure” as she lay down on the plaid the women spread out for her. She murmured, “Thank ye,” when Aileen and Una spread another plaid over her and then allowed Father Machar’s excited voice to lull her to sleep.
“Anything?” Geordie asked grimly, wiping what he suspected was blood from his forehead with the back of his arm as Aulay and the MacGregor approached.
“Nay,” Aulay said. “Brodie’s no’ among the bodies or the prisoners.”
“The bastard appears to have abandoned his men and slipped away in the melee,” Conn MacGregor growled with disgust.
Geordie cursed under his breath at the news. He’d wanted to put an end to this chapter of Dwyn’s life so she’d never need fear the man’s popping up again in the future.
“I’m no’ surprised,” Alick said grimly. While Laird Innes had stayed behind to guard the women, the youngest Buchanan brother had returned to the fray the moment he’d delivered Father Machar to the women. Geordie had seen him return and had been relieved to know Dwyn and the priest were well out of it. Now his brother said, “What else would a coward do? And any man who beats a woman is a coward.”
Geordie’s gaze sharpened on his brother. “He beat Dwyn?”
“Badly, by what Father Machar said on our ride back to the women,” Alick told him solemnly. “By his account, Brodie was no’ happy to learn Dwyn was married to ye and beyond his claiming her.” Grimacing, he added, “I got a look at her face once we reached the temporary camp and the light from the torches and fire. She’s several bruises and wounds and her gown is ripped. She . . .”
Geordie didn’t hear the rest; he had already mounted and turned his horse to head back to the women.
Chapter 19
“Oh, bother,” Dwyn muttered, pushing aside a branch that appeared to be trying to yank the hair out of her head. She then paused to survey the darkness around her, unsure she was heading the right way.
Much to her surprise, Dwyn had actually managed to fall asleep for a bit by the fire while waiting for news from the men. When she’d woken up, the rest of the women had been resting while her father stood guard. Dwyn had nodded at him and slipped into the trees to relieve herself. That was why she’d woken up, a desperate need to water a bush. Now she’d finished the task and was making her way back to camp, but was suddenly worried she’d got herself turned around and was heading away from rather than back toward the fire. She was sure she hadn’t come so far from camp. Dwyn would think she’d be able to see the fire ahead through the trees by now, but she’d been still half-asleep when she’d stumbled from the plaid and couldn’t be sure how far she’d gone.
Grimacing to herself, Dwyn bent to catch the back of her skirt and draw it up between her legs to tuck it into the belt around her waist. She’d just climb a tree and have a look around. That should give her an idea whether she was heading the right way or not. She hoped.
The tree next to her felt a good size, she decided after sliding her arms around the base to test its girth. Stretching up to grasp the highest branch she could reach, Dwyn dug her slippered foot into the trunk and pushed herself upward as she pulled with her arms. She’d just managed to get both feet off the ground and had shifted one hand to a higher branch to continue upward when her ankle was grabbed and yanked downward.
Dwyn cried out in surprise, but instinctively tightened her hold on the two branches she was grasping as she glanced down. All she could see was a dark shape below, but it was too big to be one of the other women or her father, and whoever it was obviously wasn’t a friend or they’d have spoken by now. That thought in mind, Dwyn hooked her arm over the nearest branch to give her more stability, and then removed her free foot from the branch it was on, and kicked out at the hand grasping her other ankle.
Her aim was good, and Dwyn heard the man bark out a curse as her foot was suddenly released. Her blood ran cold as she recognized Brodie’s voice behind the expletive. Turning her gaze desperately to the branches above her, she began to scramble upward as quickly as she could. Dwyn had just pulled the previously caught foot up to a branch and started to pull up the other when it now was caught and yanked viciously. Her arm was still hooked over the branch, but Dwyn lost her grip on the higher branch and tried desperately to grab on to something else to save herself. Unfortunately, Brodie was still exerting pressure on her foot and before she could save herself her arm slipped and she was falling out of the tree.
Dwyn screamed as she fell, screamed again as she crashed onto Brodie and grunted as they both crashed to the forest floor. She was immediately kicking and scrambling to get away from the man, but he caught her knee in a bruising grip and crawled onto her legs, keeping her from kicking any more. It didn’t stop her punching out at him, but Brodie did by grabbing her hands and forcing them to her sides.
Dwyn groaned in pain when his fingers and thumbs pinched into her wrist bones, and then he forced them to the ground and rested the weight of his upper body on her wrists as he dragged himself up on top of her.
“Thought ye’d got away, did no’ ye?” Brodie growled once his body covered hers from the waist down. “But I swear I’ll kill ye if it’s the last thing I do.”
He released one of her hands then to grab her throat instead, and Dwyn struck out at him with her free hand as he began to choke her. She went for his eye, her three longer fingers extended and squished together. Grim satisfaction ran through her briefly as she hit her target.
Brodie roared in pain and fury, and then released her other hand to punch her in the face, but the hand at her throat remained, continuing to choke off her air. Dwyn was flailing at him now a little wildly. A buzzing had started in her ears, her body was beginning to tingle and it felt like her tongue was swelling in her mouth, though she knew it couldn’t be. Even so, she was starting to fear she would not escape him this time and he really would kill her. Dwyn had barely had that panicked thought when he was suddenly gone.
Gasping for air, and coug
hing violently, Dwyn pressed one hand to her throat and tried to drag herself away, pulling with her other arm and digging her feet into the dirt to push with her legs. The sounds of curses and grunts and the thuds of fists hitting flesh followed her and she glanced warily back to see one large, dark shape rolling across the forest floor behind her. Even as Dwyn watched, however, the shape shifted and rose slightly and a snapping sound filled the air. It wasn’t very loud, but seemed to be in the silence that followed, and then the shape shifted again, part of it dropping to the forest floor and the other disengaging itself as the man stood.
“Dwyn?”
She’d turned to start crawling again, but paused and turned back at the sound of Geordie’s voice and then he was kneeling beside her, raising her shoulders to hold her against his chest.
“Are ye all right, lass?” he asked anxiously, his hands moving over her as if checking for broken bones or wounds.
“Aye,” she got out in a shaky rasp.
“Oh, thank God.” Geordie scooped her into his arms and held her close, his head resting against hers. “I came back and yer da said ye’d slipped away to find a handy bush. I was going to wait patiently, but then I heard ye cry out. God,” he breathed, pressing a kiss to her head. “I think me heart stopped.”
Dwyn slid her arms around his chest, holding him as he shuddered against her.
“I love ye, Dwyn,” he said solemnly. “I truly do, and I do no’ ken what I’d do if I lost ye.”
“I love ye too, Geordie,” she whispered.
He found her face with his hands, and tried to kiss her, but stopped at once when she winced in pain as his mouth covered her split lip.
“I’m sorry, love,” Geordie said at once, and then gathered her in his arms, and pushed to his feet, murmuring, “I’d best get ye back to the fire.”
Dwyn glanced over his shoulder at the dark shapes on the forest floor. In truth, she couldn’t tell which shape was Brodie and which were just bushes.