Page 44 of Scot of Desire
“We’ll kill ye,” Cillian assured him. “She can simply buy ye a few more minutes of life first. Faither, where is that priest?”
“Here.” Laird Gilroy returned, thrusting a man into the barracks before him.
The poor priest, an elderly and hunched man, with skin that sagged like old parchment, trembled from his head to his toes. He crossed himself, clearly praying for forgiveness for what he was about to do.
“Please, dinnae dae this,” Ilyssa begged of the priest, still down on her knees by the racking.
“I-I have nay choice.” The priests’ hands shook around his white robes. He glanced at Laird Gilroy who had taken out a short dirk of his own. He toyed with it in the palm of his hand, the threat obvious without having to raise it to the priest.
“Cillian. It’s time.” Laird Gilroy nodded at his son.
Slowly, Cillian lowered his sword, though he did not put it away. He moved toward Ilyssa and pulled her to stand.
“Nay. Nay! Take yer hands off her!” Bran raged. Ilyssa wasn’t strong enough to fight Cillian alone and was soon forced to stand in front of the priest, her hands still bound together, though they were no longer against the racking. “Release her.”
“D-dearly beloved,” the priest began, glancing petrified at Laird Gilroy before he went on. “We are gathered here –”
“Gathered!?” Ilyssa scoffed loudly. She tried to pull her arms out of Cillian’s grasp, but he held on tightly.
“Get on with it,” Cillian snapped.
Bran turned, his eyes darting all over the racking that held him in place. He could not bear this. He would not let it happen. He pulled sharply, throwing all his weight backward.
Somewhere in the racking, wood snapped.
“Faster!” Laird Gilroy ordered.
“Dae ye take this man tae be yer lawfully wedded husband?” the priest asked fast.
“Nay, I bloody dinnae – hmm!” Ilyssa’s mouth was blocked by someone’s hand as Bran continued to pull and tug against the racking. He kicked out at the wood, listening as something else cracked loudly.
“Aye, of course she does – it’s just nerves,” Cillian complained.
“Bloody likely,” Bran threw over his shoulders. With one last heave of his weight backwards, he managed to snap the wood out of place. His hands slipped off, the rope coming apart. He quickly loosened in his grasp as a weapon.
“Br – nn!” Ilyssa didn’t manage to say his name as her mouth was covered again.
Bran turned, whipping the ends of the rope in the air, intending to stop things then and there. He launched himself at Cillian, who threw Ilyssa into Laird Gilroy’s hands. Cillian advanced toward Bran with the sword as Bran came at him with the rope.
“Shall I go on?” the priest asked tremulously in the background though no one was paying any attention to him now. Ilyssa was fighting Laird Gilroy, trying to escape his hold, as Bran fought Cillian.
He managed to flick one end of the rope in Cillian’s face. It caught the end of his eye, drawing blood. Cillian screamed in pain then lunged forward blindly with his sword.
Bran caught the end of the sword by wrapping the rope around it, then tugged hard. The blade came away, falling to the floor as Cillian leapt back, blood now pouring down one cheek. Bran marched toward him, intending to deliver full punishment for daring to even think he could touch Ilyssa, when a gasp of breath made Bran halt.
I ken that fear.
He halted, his hands raised in the air as he saw Laird Gilroy had Ilyssa firmly in his grasp now, his dirk at her throat, her head tipped back on his shoulder.
“Make another move toward me son and she dies.”
Bran backed up at once.
“Nay,” Ilyssa whispered, the word barely audible at all.
Bran could feel his advantage slipping away now. Everything was doomed. If he could not save Ilyssa, then it was all for nothing.
“Dae away with him now,” Gilroy ordered, then we can have this wedding in peace. The priest prayed something to the ceiling once again.
