Page 55 of When a Warrior Woos a Lass
“I’ll share this, though,” the woman said sharply. “He liked to dominate me, and I loved it. I ken yer past, little mouse.” When she reached out to grasp a strand of Lena’s hair, Lena slapped Euphemia’s hand away.
The woman simply laughed. “Verra well, there is a little spirit in ye, but nae enough for Alex. What he needs in the bedchamber would send ye skittering away in fear.”
“I’d nae be so certain,” Lena hissed, forgetting her mission to gain information. She felt as if she were fighting to keep her husband, and she was unsure whether it was true or false. Her mind was suddenly muddled, and the room seemed hot and rather as if it were spinning.
“Oh, I’m quite certain of what Alex likes,” Lady Euphemia cooed, or rather was it that her words sounded slurred?
When she linked her arm with Lena’s, Lena’s mind screamed a protest, but her body felt too heavy to even lift her hand to push the woman away. What was wrong with her? She blinked her eyes, but when she opened them, there were two images of Euphemia.
“Oh dear,” Euphemia said, not sounding concerned at all, despite her words. “Ye look rather pale. I’ll take ye to yer bedchamber.”
When Euphemia tugged on her, Lena barely had enough strength to do more than sweep her gaze to the table where she’d been sitting with Donald and Broch. Both men had departed immediately, as she had told them to. Panic welled within her.
“Lean on me, Lena,” Euphemia urged, then jerked Lena toward her when Lena attempted to comply because she feared she would fall. Her knees started to give, and before she knew it, Thomas was beside them, his hand clutching her arm, his other arm encircling her waist. She felt him lift her just off the ground, so that the toes of her slippers dragged on the floor beneath her skirts. Through the gathering thick mist of her thoughts, her mind registered that no one appeared to notice anything amiss. They were all too busy with their own conversations, and even if they had noticed anything, she wondered if they would be bothered to aid her against the Steward’s wife and his trusted man.
“What are ye doing?” Lena asked him, her words sluggish in her ears.
“What the devil, Lady Euphemia?” he snarled under his breath, even as he led Lena toward the door that exited the great hall. “I told ye to useonedrop of the potion!”
Potion?Icy fear raced through Lena’s veins as she thought about the wine she had drunk. She opened her mouth to scream her protest, but her tongue was too thick to form words. “Mmm,” she grunted, though she realized with horror that it came out as little more than a whisper of sound.
Thomas and Euphemia both gave her dismissive looks, then continued on as if she were not there.
“One?” Euphemia flashed a smile that even Lena, in her drugged state, could see was falsely innocent. “I’m so verra sorry, Thomas. I thought ye said two.”
“Liar,” he growled. “I want Lena willing in my bed, nae drugged. It will only serve to enrage Alex, nae plague him, if he believes I took his wife against her will and nae because she desired me.”
“I agree,” Euphemia replied. “Leave the wench in her bedchamber and go to see Laird Grant, as my husband told ye to. Ye’ve worked too hard to be brought low by yer need for revenge. Warn Grant that he is to ready his forces to rise against the kingand thencome back here to pleasure yerself with this one. If ye ride hard, ye should have little problem beating Alex back, and the poison should wear off by then, aye?”
“Aye. I will have my vengeance,” he said.
“Have it,” Euphemia said with indifference as Thomas carried Lena out of the great hall and into the passage outside the room. “But have it wisely. I dunnae care if ye bed Alex’s wife.”
When Euphemia smirked, Lena could nae even make the grunting sounds anymore. Thomas ran a hand down Lena’s cheek, making her skin crawl. “Dunnae fash yerself, Lena,” he said, lifting her higher to carry her up the stairs. “’Tis temporary, this inability to move or talk. ’Tis called the Potion of the Dead. I vow I dunnae wish to hurt ye, only to please ye. To make ye mine in heart and body. I can give ye pleasure where Alex has failed.”
She blinked, not able to do more than that, and even that felt like it took great effort. Thomas carried her into her bedchamber and laid her on her bed. It was soft. So soft. And her worries seemed so heavy. She closed her eyes, and then dragged them open once again to find Thomas and Euphemia staring down at her.
“Do ye think he’s introduced her to the art of dark pleasure?” Thomas asked Euphemia.
She snorted. “Nay. She’s too skittish and fearful.”
As they quit the room, Lena could do no more than lie there, struggling to stay awake. Thomas was evil. Euphemia was evil. And the two of them shared a common past with Gillis. Alex also shared that past. What had it done to him? Her thoughts would not stay with her, though, and her eyes drifted downward, too keep open.
Nineteen
Alex’s sword reverberated with the force of Lachlan’s blows. He’d known his friend was a fierce warrior. He’d seen Lachlan enough on the battlefield to attest to it. But they had always been fighting side by side as comrades in arms, never against each other. Now they were surrounded by his men and the Campbell’s, who outnumbered Lachlan’s party of four. Lachlan was the only MacLeod left standing. The other three had been captured, and the duty of bringing Lachlan to his knees had been given to Alex.
As he parried blow after blow from Lachlan, he tried to determine how to capture his friend without hurting him, and he kept coming to the same conclusion: there was not a way. Lachlan was too swift, too cunning, and too skilled to be easily taken, and the only opening Alex had even seen was a stab to the man’s gut, if he even managed to make that. It wouldn’t do. He could not chance killing his friend, yet he felt certain that Lachlan would gladly kill him in this moment.
“Pig! Swine! Traitor!” Lachlan roared, swinging his sword overhead and bringing it down over the front of his left shoulder in an attempt to stab Alex in the heart.
Alex barely jumped back in time to save his life. Lachlan advanced, and Alex lifted his sword to defend himself once more. Then the sound of horse hooves thundering toward them caught his attention for one breath. But it was one breath too long. Lachlan stabbed his sword out with his left hand. Alex jerked to the left to dodge the blow, but as he did, Lachlan swung his other arm around, gleaming dagger in hand, and buried it in Alex’s shoulder before barreling into him.
Excruciating pain throbbed at Alex’s wound as he caught Lachlan by an arm, knocked his sword away, and attempted to swing the man to the ground. But as Lachlan fell, he swiped out, grasped Alex’s ankle, and brought him down hard on his back. Before Alex could recover, Lachlan was on top of him, dagger once again in hand. He plunged it toward Alex’s heart.
Alex’s pulse exploded as he bucked upward high enough to dislodge Lachlan, clutch his forearm, and guide his dagger into the ground by his right cheek. They panted, face-to-face, sweat dripping from each of them. Above him, Alex heard a commotion but had no time to look, seizing the moment when men seemed to be scrambling. He brought his head forward, hitting Lachlan directly in the nose. Bone crunched, and blood spurted.
“I’m sorry, friend,” he murmured under his breath as he reached to the left for his own dropped sword and brought it up to knock out Lachlan with its thick hilt.
