Page 45 of Sinful Scot
“Nay!” she shouted, raising her hand to strike the baron, but he captured that wrist, as well, and squeezed until she whimpered. Tears sprang to her eyes.
“Yes, Lady Margaret. Accept it. For the sooner you do, the better it will be for you. I can be kind, or I can be very cruel,” he threatened. “We will be wed, whether you gave your body to that spawn of Satan or not. I will have your castle on the border, and I will have you. You are already bought.”
“I’m nae for sale,” she seethed.
He released one wrist to grip her chin once more. “Ah, but you are, my sweet. You were sold to me by your brother.”
Her mind denied his horrible words, but her heart ached with the awful, possible truth.
“Yes,” he said after a pause. “I have already purchased you for the price of coin and land to your brother and a marriage to my son for your sister. Your brother was eager and willing to sell you and give his vow to my king, and your sister clearly does as he bids because I’ve heard no objections on her part for you or herself.”
Tears streamed down Maggie’s face. She didn’t want to believe it. She refused to believe it. “Nay!” she denied, tugging and tugging, but the baron simply gripped her harder until her arm and chin throbbed. “They would nae do that! Ye are a liar! I know ye are! King Alexander demanded that I wed ye! They told me so. Ye lie, ye—”
She never saw the slap coming. It forced her head sideways to face the entrance to the inn where Rhys appeared, held back by two men with a crowd behind them.
She heard him roar and hazily saw him throw off the men who had been holding him and surge down the stairs. He took only four steps before he was swarmed by five men, but he moved forward six more paces before they were able to bring him to his knees. His bellow of rage rang in her ears and deep into the chambers of her heart.
Bellecote jerked her face to his once more. “Hear me now, Lady Margaret. And remember this,” he said, his voice low. “Your brother does not have any loyalty, except that which is bought.”
“Nay!”
“Yes,” he said, the word final and certain. “His loyalty has been bought, and the price was the blood of your king, which he gladly paid. Now come!” he ordered and dragged her the rest of the way to the horses where his men were now waiting. He slung her onto the horse, then climbed up behind her. Shock rendered her almost numb, but she tried to scramble off, only to be yanked on once more. Then with a shout, the horse surged forward, and Maggie could not even glance around to see Rhys’s face one last time. But his voice, anguished and enraged, echoed within her as she was taken away.
Chapter Fourteen
Suddenly, quietly, you realize that
From this moment forth, you will
no longer walk through this life
alone. Like a new sun this awareness
arises within you, freeing you from
fear, opening your life. It is the
beginning of love, and the end of all
that came before.
~ Robert Frost, “Suddenly, quietly”
He raged against the men holding him as Bellecote took Maggie away. Rhys didn’t give a damn for his safety or his life. Nothing mattered but her. He loved her. That’s all there was to it. There was no time to be shocked or dwell on it now, though. He fought off two men with his fists, now bloody for his efforts, and he managed to stand once more, only to be dragged back down. But he would not stay down.
He surged up again, punches flying, adrenaline coursing through his veins, but he faced a growing crowd of men intent on killing him. He was shoved backward, and a foot wrapped around his legs from the front so that he landed hard on his back in the snow. The sky loomed mockingly blue above him, and feet shuffled around him. He tried to get up, but a boot stomped him back down.
He couldn’t die here. Not now. Maggie needed him, and he loved her. There wasn’t any decision to stay or go anymore. She was his choice.
With a roar, he managed to knock the man’s foot off his chest, and Rhys scrambled to his feet. His jaw dropped to see Dermot swinging a sword at the crowd surrounding Rhys. Dermot struck one man, but he was overwhelmed by the crowd, which was thirsty for Rhys’s blood, and they took Dermot down, then did the same to Rhys again. His back slammed into the ground with another jarring thud, but this time, no foot came to his chest. There was one swift, hard kick to his head, and then darkness swallowed up the light.
When he came to, he was being jerked upright and something was being placed around his neck. A rope? It tightened. Jesus, they were going to hang him. The executioner finished knotting the rope around Rhys’s neck, then left the platform. He glanced to his left and stared speechless at Dermot, who already had a rope around his neck.
“Are they planning on hanging us?” Rhys demanded. It seemed pretty damned obvious, but his mind refused to believe it.
“Aye,” Dermot said with a wry smile. “That is why we are on the gallows, Nephew.”
Nephew? Rhys could do no more than stare dumbfounded. This man was his age, or close. His uncle. Dermot. Uncle Dermot. Rhys felt like laughing hysterically. He was cracking.
