Page 75 of The Rogue's Bride
She thought it would be enough to make him let go, but it just seemed to enrage him. His grip tightened, and he dragged her down the alley between the two dwellings.
Fear slammed into Sorcha, and she began to struggle. “Let go of me!”
His hand slammed over her mouth to stifle her protests. He threw her up against the wall, his free hand fumbling with her skirts. “Keep yer mouth shut,” he growled, “and spread yer legs for me.”
Sorcha didn’t obey him. She couldn’t shout for help, for his hand prevented her, but she started to struggle wildly, clawing at him. Boyd MacDonald wasn’t a big man, but he was lean and wiry, and much stronger than her.
Terror pulsed in her breath as she felt his hand on her thighs, raking her skin. He was trying to wedge his thigh in between her legs. He was going to rape her, right there, just yards away from where folk were enjoying the fair. Sorcha wasn’t strong enough to fight him off.
And then, as suddenly as he’d grabbed her, Boyd jerked away.
Sorcha sagged against the wall to see Darron drag Boyd backward by his hair. Then he spun him round and punched him hard in the face. Boyd staggered, blood pouring from his nose.
Cursing loudly, Boyd righted himself. “Keep out of this, MacNichol,” he rasped, wiping away the blood with the back of his hand. “It’s my turn now to have some fun with the wee whore.”
Darron growled, before his fist shot out once more. He hit Boyd in the eye, and the man went down like a lump of peat, where he lay groaning.
Captain MacNichol then crossed to Sorcha. His face was pale and taut as he stared down at her. “Did he hurt ye?”
Chapter Thirty-three
Willing
ALASDAIR SURVEYED BOYD under hooded lids.
“Do ye have anything to say in defense of yerself?”
Boyd stared back at him before folding his arms across his chest. Darron had made a mess of his face. His nose had been flattened, his nostrils were encrusted with blood, and his left eye was purpled and had already swollen shut.
Boyd’s response, when it came, was spoken in a growl. “I thought the lass was willing.”
“Willing?” Darron growled from behind them. “Ye were trying to rape her.”
Alasdair’s gaze remained focused upon Boyd. “Were ye?”
A chill silence settled over the market square. They stood in the midst of the wide space, a large crowd of village folk looking on. The merriment and dancing had ceased the moment Darron had dragged Boyd out by the hair into the center of the square.
Boyd’s mouth thinned. “No.”
The hiss of an enraged intake of breath interrupted them. Sorcha stood next to Caitrin. The hand-maid’s face was ashen although her eyes were ablaze. “He dragged me out of the square, threw me up against a wall, and tried to force himself on me,” she said, her voice shaking with the force of her rage. “I wasnotwilling.”
Boyd shrugged. “And ye would trust the word of that MacQueen bastard over mine?”
Alasdair drew in a long, measured breath. Boyd was starting to sorely test his patience. He wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to keep a leash on his temper. “And what of Darron. Are ye calling him a liar too?”
A nerve flickered in Boyd’s cheek. “MacNichol has had his eye on the lass for months … he’s just jealous I got in first.”
“Dog,” Darron snarled. “I’ll blacken yer other eye.” He stepped forward, hands clenched by his sides, but Alasdair halted him with a hand to the arm.
Turning back to Boyd, Alasdair fixed him with a hard stare. “I brought ye into my home and gave ye a place in my guard. Is this how ye repay me?”
Boyd’s lip curled. “There’s no need to be over-dramatic, cousin. Don’t work yerself up over some goose-brained slut.”
Alasdair went still, his fists clenching at his sides. The anger inside him coiled like a serpent readying itself to strike. “That’s it, Boyd,” he growled. “Ye are out of chances.”
His cousin shrugged, his battered face creasing into an expression of scorn. “If ye say so,milord.”
“I do. Ye are to leave Duntulm. Today.”
