Page 30 of Christmas at Castle Dunrannoch
With a grunt of irritation, Calder drew out his dirk and cut through the ropes at Flora’s wrists, narrowly avoiding nicking her skin. The relief at being free of the bindings brought a prickle to her eyes as no taunts had been able and she rubbed at her wrists to restore feeling.
Holding the blade before him, Calder threw her a shawl and jerked his head. “Put this aboot ye tae cover the rent in yer bodice. I doubt the laird has come tae do anything other than gloat, but we’ll make ye presentable, shall we, until we see what he’s aboot.” He gave her a hateful grin. “And mind ye nay complain, or I’ll take the cloth from yer back altogether when we return, and ye’ll nae see it again. ’Twill make ye appreciate ma warmth if ye’re obliged tae shiver naked.”
Abhorrence surged through Flora’s veins. The man was distant kin by blood but there was nothing that made him worthy of the Dalreagh name. Her father had been right to sever the betrothal.
Calder was armed and she had nothing but her wits, yet instinct told Flora that she might not have another chance. The chamber pot beneath the bed was still full from yesterday, when Calder had demanded she relieve herself while he watched. Holding it between her legs, he’d laughed as she blushed, and she’d wished then that her hands were free, wanting to hit him over the head with the heavy bowl.
There was nothing to stop her from doing so now. It would only be fitting, since the man was nothing but a turd himself.
With pounding heart, Flora dived to the floor, reaching for the pot, and Calder obligingly took a step closer, bending down to grab her. Flora felt a brief moment of glee as the slops hit him in the face, but she wasted no time in swinging the pot in a calculated arc.
His blasphemous oaths were cut off as the pot connected with his temple.
Though dazed, he still had hold of the dirk and careened towards her, slashing at the air. “Just wait ’til I have hold o’ ye, bitch.” Calder wiped his sleeve across his face. “I’ll cut ye a new gash in yer belly and fuck ye there while ye scream for mercy!”
Picking up her skirts, Flora made a dash for the door, running down the passageway, then taking the stairs two at a time. Her best hope now was to reach the feasting and throw herself on Ragnall’s mercy. Better to be imprisoned at Balmore than here.
Calder would nae be able to hide his bitter mood. Ragnall would see the man was unhinged. He might even believe her suspicion that Calder had been the villainous murderer.
However, as she reached the minstrels’ gallery, she heard a great commotion from below. Ragnall’s men might have laid down their swords but there was a deal of fighting going on. Furniture overturned as men wrestled with one another, but it was clear those loyal to Calder were coming off worst. Amidst the throng, she caught sight of Ragnall and her heart leapt.
Mounting a table, he shouted loud and clear. “Hear me, for I’ve nae wish tae see the blood of kinsmen spilled.”
Though his curls were wilder than ever and his eyes sunken dark, he’d never looked more handsome.
“I hereby take possession o' this castle, and shall treat every man fairly. Calder is nae what ye think him. There shall be a trial, but I believe he murdered Malcolm of Dunrannoch. Lady Flora is innocent of any crime, and is held here against her will. Surrender ma wife and pledge yer fealty, and all shall be well.”
At that moment, he looked up, and the face he turned to Flora softened. Whatever anger was there, it fled before the love that shone from his eyes, directed at the woman who was lawfully his.
“Ragnall!” she called to him, feeling as if she were saying his name for the first time. With beating heart, she began to push through the musicians, to reach the staircase on the other side, but had taken barely a step before an arm came about her throat, lifting her from her feet.
The screech died in her throat as she realized the point of a dirk was pressed hard beneath her lower ribs.
“Shut yer harlot face!” hissed Calder. The scent of urine wafted from him. “Ye’re comin’ wi’ me, and ye’ll do it fast, or I’ll cut ye, like I promised. There be plenty o’ rooms wi’ locks upon them, an’ I can cut ye several holes afore any man of Ragnall’s will break down the door.”
Without waiting for reply, he hauled her back the way they’d come, pulling her the length of the passageway and upwards, climbing the tower stairs, barring each door as they progressed higher.
At the top, Calder kicked open the final barrier and an icy blast swept in, bringing with it a whirl of snow. The cold hit Flora like a punch, rendering her breathless as he dragged her outside.
“What are ye doing?” She gasped between the words, the frozen air rending her lungs.
“Surely ye recognize the battlements?” Calder spoke through gritted teeth. “It seems the laird is nae as stupid as he looks, and has come tae reclaim ye after all. I doubt he’ll wish tae listen tae aught I say, but he’ll remember what I do.”
In a single movement, he threw what had previously bound her hands over her head. Flora attempted to twist away but Calder tugged hard. This time, his knot put a noose about her neck and, though she pulled at it with her fingers, there was no loosening the rope.
Calder was surely almost as cold as she, but an unnatural fire seemed to burn in his eyes as he surveyed her and then leaned over the side.
There would be nothing to see. She knew the tower they’d climbed as well as any other part of the castle. It was the twin of the tower that loomed above Balmore, its battlements visible for miles around, rising a hundred feet or more above the courtyard.
Nevertheless, Calder brought her to the edge, inclining her head to make her look as he had done.
“Ye dinnae ken, do ye?” He sneered, tugging at the rope so that it tightened further about her throat. “Ragnall ne’er deserved tae lead the clan. He’s no son of Broderick. With his brother’s death, the lairdship should hae gone tae me, as Connor’s heir. Ragnall is naught but a bastard, as everyone knows.”
Flora managed to shake her head. “’Tis idle prattle.”
“Ye think so?” Calder jeered again. “Only Vanora would know, but ’tis common knowledge Gillivray the falconer began bedding her soon after Alasdair was born. She was a strumpet, and Broderick had nae softness in his heart when he punished her and her lover both.”
He pulled the noose tighter still and Flora heard herself make a choking sound. Momentarily, the world dimmed.
