Page 60 of Hunting for a Highlander (Highland Brides 8)

“He’d have to kill you to have any chance at gaining Innes,” Aulay said even as Geordie thought it. And then he added, “If Dwyn dies ere ye do, Innes goes to you. Does she survive ye and then die, it passes back to her father or her eldest living sibling if he has passed. So, he needs to kill you and either force Dwyn to marry him and change her will, or kill you, and then her and her father, and then go after Una, who would then be Laird Innes’s next heir.”

“So he’ll have to keep her alive and come after me,” Geordie said with satisfaction.

“Aye,” Aulay and Laird Innes said together.

Geordie considered that briefly and then pointed out, “But he could still punish her for what her dogs did to him. He could torture or—”

“But he canno’ kill her,” Aulay interrupted firmly. “We can help her heal from torture. We canno’ bring her back from death.”

Geordie nodded, but felt sick at the thought of the torture Dwyn might suffer. And the worry that if Brodie tortured her . . . How would she be affected? Would she even be his Dwyn when he got her back?

It was cold water splashing over her face that woke Dwyn. Gasping with the shock of it, she sat up abruptly, and then groaned and raised her hands to her head. Shoulders bowing under the pain presently crashing about inside her skull, she pressed her hands tight to either side of her head above her ears, trying to force the pain back.

“Get up.”

Dwyn stiffened at the cold order, not because of the words, but because she recognized the voice. Faolan Brodie. The name slipped through her mind, followed by the recollection of what had happened, or at least what she knew of what had happened. The last thing she recalled was being dragged away from an unconscious Geordie. She had no idea what had happened to him after that. Had they killed him like they had Simon? Was she a widow?

“If ye ken what’s good fer ye, ye’ll get up.” This time the words were hissed in her ear. “And ye’ll marry me all obedient-like or I’ll make ye sorry.”

Dwyn’s head jerked up at that, her eyes wide with horror. “Ye killed him, then?”

Faolan Brodie smiled grimly at her dismay. “Who? The Buchanan?”

When she bit her lip and nodded, he shook his head with cold amusement. “Do I look a fool to ye? I’ve no desire to have the Buchanan brothers with all their clans on me arse. They’d hunt me to hell and back had I killed him.” He sounded disgusted at the prospect, as if he didn’t understand such loyalty and love for a sibling. “Nay. We left him alive. But do no’ be thinking that’ll save ye. Once the wedding is done, ye’re mine and he canno’ do a thing about it. He’ll let it lie and find another bride.”

Dwyn let out a slow relieved breath at this news. Geordie was safe.

“Now get up. The priest is waiting,” Brodie growled, stepping back.

Dwyn glanced around to see she was seated on a pallet in a traveling tent. They weren’t at Brodie, then, but she had no idea where they were or how long she’d been unconscious. They could be just beyond the Buchanan border or a day’s travel back toward Brodie and Innes. Perhaps even two days’ travel away. She had no idea how much time had passed.

“I said get up!” Brodie roared, and backhanded her.

Dwyn swayed to the side under the blow, the pounding in her head increasing briefly so that she still didn’t move. Once the worst of it passed, she raised a hand to press it against her stinging cheek and straightened to peer up at him. Voice calm, she said, “I’ll no’ marry ye, and ye canno’ make me.”

She expected him to hit her again and braced for it. Instead, Brodie caught her by both arms and jerked her up off the pallet to dangle before him.

“I paid the MacGregors a lot o’ coin to camp on their land and get their priest out here today. One way or another, ye will marry me, lass,” he assured her coldly. “The question is whether I’ll need beat ye till ye agree, or whether ye go willingly to the priest.” Smiling coldly, he added, “Do ye go willingly, I’ll only let me men have at you after the ceremony.”

When her eyes shot to his face, he shrugged. “Someone has to consummate the marriage and those vile dogs o’ yers have ensured I canno’.” Mouth tightening, he added, “The beasts will pay for that with their lives when we get to Innes.”

Dwyn’s mouth tightened with disgust. “And that is supposed to convince me to marry ye willingly?”

“Nay,” he admitted. “What’ll do that is the fact that do I have to force ye out o’ this tent and make ye say yer vows, I’ll let me men do what they will with you, as well as yer sisters when we get to Innes. I ken how much ye care about yer sisters,” he added with the satisfaction of a man who thought he held all the cards.

Brodie set her down on her feet then, and Dwyn stumbled slightly to the side before finding her balance. Once she was steady, he asked, “What’ll it be?”

Dwyn stared at him silently for a minute, and then shrugged with disinterest and turned to walk toward the tent entrance. She heard Brodie chuckle behind her, but ignored it, and stepped out into sunlight to peer around the camp. Brodie had said he’d paid the MacGregors to camp here so she knew where she was. The MacGregor stronghold and land were on the northeast border of Buchanan. She wasn’t that far from Buchanan keep if she could get loose and get her hands on a horse . . . Her gaze slid around the camp again, and her mouth tightened as she noted the number of men moving about. Brodie had not brought a small contingent of soldiers with him. There were at least a hundred men that she could see, and every single one had turned to peer at her when she straightened in front of the tent flap.

Her mouth tightened at the leering looks sent her way. She could practically feel their anticipation of her “wedding night,” and Dwyn could only thank God that Geordie had married her first. Of course, that didn’t mean Brodie wouldn’t give her to his men anyway when he learned he couldn’t marry her. But he wouldn’t do it in front of the priest, she was sure. Raising her chin grimly, she started toward the priest standing by the fire.

“Ye’ve got balls, lass. I’ll give ye that,” Brodie growled, apparently impressed with her marching out to meet her fate.

“One o’ us should,” Dwyn shot back as he caught her arm and forced her to slow down and walk with him. She’d known he wouldn’t hit her in front of the priest, but wasn’t terribly surprised when his fingers dug painfully into her arm in response to her smart crack. She was surprised the bone didn’t snap under the viciousness of his grip though. Dear God, it hurt. But she suspected it would be the least of her pains by the time Brodie was done with her.

“Lady Innes, Laird Brodie, come, please. I have other duties to see to,” the priest said, his gaze narrowing on her pained expression and then shifting to Brodie’s grip on her arm. He frowned as he noted the way her skin had blanched around his thumb and fingers under the pressure, and opened his mouth to say something, but Brodie spoke first, cutting him off.

“O’ course, Father. We’re eager to be wed and would no’ hold ye up any longer than necessary,” Brodie said quickly, urging Dwyn the last ten feet to stand before him.

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