Page 89 of Bride of the Mad Laird
No doubt, in his prime he’d been a handsome man.
He said nothing, his gloved hand reaching out to force her head this way and that, for all the world as if he was inspecting a prize breeding cow brought for his inspection before purchase.
He took a handful of her hair which was now bedraggled and tangled again after her ride and brushed it over her shoulder, forcing her chin up so he could better observe her features.
“I heard ye were a beauty, but ye’re nay more than a homely village lass wi’ her blackened face and hands, yer hair lank and tangled in yer shabby gown.” He shook his head, looking at her with disdain. “Nevertheless,” he went on, returning to his seat at the desk. “I will wed ye and take yer lands as me own.” He gave a sharp laugh. “And I will bend ye tae me will.”
She took a deep breath, holding herself as straight as she could, looking at him with all the haughty displeasure she could manage.
“Ye’ll nae wed wi’ me, ye callow swine.”
He looked up and raised his hand. For a moment she thought he would strike her, but he lowered his hand and studied her, his mouth drawn in a snarl, showing his teeth.
“Little I care fer yer wedding tae that pup MacKinnon. I heard it was hasty, the banns were nay called correctly. It will be a small matter tae have it annulled.”
She raised her head, piercing him with fiery arrows from her green-eyed glare. “We were married according tae Gods’ law and the kings’s Scottish law.” She hurled the words at him. “Me consent was freely given and our marriage was duly consummated. There can be nay annulment.” She spat at his feet.
He swung back his arm and slapped her across the face, his signet ring dealing a painful blow to her cheekbone.
She did not flinch although the pain was great.
He seized her arm in a painful squeeze above the elbow, causing her eyes to water. “I shall enjoy your feistiness and yer resistance all the greater when I take me pleasure in yer body.”
CHAPTERTHIRTY-ONE
Tòrr roared in a fever of rage at the news of Lyra’s abduction.
“They’ve what? When? How did such a thing happen?”
A groom rushed over to seize Paden’s reins as the great horse reared at the tightening of Tòrr’s hands.
Edmund had waited, gray-faced, to give him the news of Lyra’s abduction the moment Tòrr and his troop had returned to the castle.
“Why did ye nae set off in pursuit?” Tòrr asked, shaking his head as he dismounted. “Bring me a fresh horse,” he commanded and the stable boy rushed off with Paden to saddle up a new steed.
He signaled to his men. “Find fresh horses if ye can. We ride tae Duart castle at once.”
Edmund raised a hand in caution.
“Wait, Tòrr. Be nae hasty. We are few and there are many at Duart Castle. We cannae summon enough men tae take an invincible castle such as Duart wi’out waiting fer our allies tae sail from Skye and Barra, and fer an answer from Clan MacInnes.”
Tòrr swept angry fingers through his hair. “We cannae wait. God alone would ken Lyra’s fate if we delay.”
“We need our wits about us, nae to go blustering into MacDougall’s territory. He’ll be anticipating our pursuit and be ready.”
Tòrr hauled in a deep breath, and slowly exhaled, trying to steady himself. Edmund spoke the truth. A furious assault on the well-armed and well-guarded Duart would gain them nothing and most likely end in unnecessary wounding and death.
He shook his head, trying to hold back his wildness and the red mist closing in.
MacDougall has perpetrated a crime fer which he must die.
His fingers itched to hold his swords or his dirk, to feel his weapon sinking into MacDougall’s heart and to see the man’s life-blood spraying. He breathed deeply, making an effort to cool his blood lust.
“Aye.” He raised a hand. “I ken ye couldnae leave the castle unmanned. Fergive me, I cannae think straight, me senses are only able tae grasp that she is gone and in the clutches of that monster.”
Edmund placed a heavy hand on Tòrr ’s shoulder. “I have the beginning of a plan.”
“Let’s hear it then.”
