Disclaimers: See Chapter One.
Chapter Eight
"Any news, Iain?" Thomas inquired, looking about him at the bustle of activity in the courtyard before turning to face the stern visage of his friend.
"Aye, my suspicions were confirmed early today. I planted false information in my study about my plans and had one of the maids watch the doorway for anyone entering while I was away," Iain replied, elation and sorrow battling within him at the revelation of who had slain his kin.
"From your tone, it was who you thought it to be," Thomas stated, slapping a hand on Iain's back in support and camaraderie. "When will you grab hold of him for the magistrate to deal with?"
Iain looked towards the gate and saw the in the distance a lone figure riding towards them. A dark cloak flapping in the wind as he rode swiftly towards them.
All the years of friendship and kinship gone with one vengeful act. The reasons were yet unknown to Iain, but he would demand an answer before the day was out. He recalled their youth as they chased after all the lasses, each bragging about which one the the neighbouring laird's daughter, Mary found more pleasing to her eye. Their dual groans of pain as they enjoyed a stiff drink of whiskey after a long and battering practice session under Iain father's tutelage. Memory upon memory flashed through Iain's mind.
"He comes back from his treachery as we speak," Iain said softly, ignoring the sharp sting of betrayal as he watched one of his closest friends smiled at them after returning from plotting with his foe.
With a silent gesture, Iain ordered the capture of his second in command. He watched dispassionately as realization entered Gabriel's eyes that his game had been revealed. He watched as Gabriel fought futilely against his comrades, using every means, fair or foul, to escape their iron grasps. Only to admit defeat as they dragged him towards Iain's looming figure.
The two stared at each other. One gaze demanding as the other was indifferent, neither backing away from the other. Iain was the first to break the silence between them. He needed to find peace and remove the guilt and rage that had been a part of him since that fateful morning.
"You turned against your clan and my parents. They always treated you as if you were a second son. What foul deed did they commit to earn your malcontent?" Iain demanded, his rage tearing his spirit apart as his betrayer stood in front of him smirking. "Tell me! What did any of us do to make you turn your back upon your kin?"
"Kin, you honestly think that the left over scraps of affection that you threw my way made us family?" Gabriel replied with a dry laugh. "When I asked to be handfasted to your precious sister, you all quickly showed me how unimportant I was in your 'family'."
"All this deceit because they dared to refuse your courtship?" Iain asked in disbelief.
"It was not the only thing that prompted me to seek the leadership but it did help me see clearly how you've always looked down upon us in contempt. We are nothing to you, merely pawns that you move about on a playing field of your choosing," Gabriel accused. "You have been turning us from brave warriors into milksops. You drag your clan into these endless alliances that can only weaken us and makes us easy prey to the other clans that would attack us without a warning. Next you'll be wanting us to bow down before the English and her court," he spat angrily. "You do not deserve to be Laird."
"I don't need to explain my reasons to someone who uses treachery to gain their rewards," Iain growled, everything within him aching to rend his second in command apart with his bare hands.
"The lord of the manor has decreed once again," Gabriel mocked.
"If you were not content with my leadership, you could have challenged me, but instead you allied yourself with a murderer and a thief," Iain answered back coldly, his face becoming like granite as he rested his hand on the hilt of the sword strapped onto his waist.
"Aye, a laird that hates you even more than I, with plots more twisted and diabolical than I could ever have contrived on my own," Gabriel boasted. "At first, he was going to capture your sister and keep her locked within the catacombs beneath castle, a pretty plaything that he could rut, beat and torture when the whim came upon him. You should really thank me, Iain, I managed to dissuade him from his plan. After all, I did warn him that she was a haughty tart and who knows how many have lain –"
Iain's fist soared through the air, the movement so quickly made that it was a blur to those watching. It slammed into Gabriel's face with a satisfying crunch, his nose breaking under the force of the blow. Blood pounded in Iain's ears, drowning out the words shouted to him by his men. He found himself falling deeper into a dark, fury-filled abyss, everything within him screaming for him to avenge those within his heart who had been lost. Blow after blow followed as Iain released his rage into the smiling visage of the man who had once been his trusted friend.
Through the fog that engulfed him, Iain felt arms wrapping around his neck and torso and he struggled against their hold as they pulled him away from the collapsing figure.
"Iain!" Thomas shouted, his arms straining and bulging as he wrenched Iain away from his prey. "Stop! You need him able to speak."
Iain nodded abruptly and gestured to be released, his breathing heavy and sweat dripping down his face.
"Get him out of my sight and into the gallows," Iain growled as he clenched his fists, fighting the heady urge that tempted him to continue to throttle the traitor before him. "I'll be down shortly with the magistrate to question him."
Gabriel let out a short laugh, his voice rich with pain and mockery. "I doubt that, Iain. You may find yourself a little busy to continue your thirst for gratification." He sneered, spitting blood and salvia unto the dust cobblestones.
"I'll make the time," Iain promised.
"Are you sure you wish to dally with me all afternoon? The longer you take with me, the more time Patrick will have to capture his harlot bride," Gabriel taunted, relishing the sudden pallor of the men surrounding him. "Going after an engaged woman, Iain? Patrick was devastated, almost overcome with emotion that his sweet, virginal bride had become your whore. What happened to your highly prized honour?"
"Men, see that my horse is ready and someone take that cur away," Iain ordered, running towards the stable, his heart beating furiously at the danger Catherine was now trapped within. "Saddle up and throw open the gates. My Lady is depending upon all of us to rescue her from the McNeil. To arms!"
The courtyard explode in a flurry of movement as his men took swiftly to their mounts, their swords at the ready and their rousing battle cries echoing in the crisp Highland air.
Iain and Thomas led the troops forward, galloping out the gates to confront the mad man who had plagued them, when Thomas suddenly cried out.
Iain watched as he halted and dismounted, running towards what appeared to be a pile of discarded rags left at the end of the road way.
"Belle!" Thomas gasped as knelt beside her battered body.
Belle had been deposited at Iain's gate, tossed aside as if she were nothing more than rubbish. Her long locks had maliciously been shorn, whoever had attacked her had left her with ragged strands soaked with her perspiration and blood. Her delicate features swollen from a brutal beating. Her nose and mouth trailing blood onto the earth beneath her. Her nails torn to the quick and the bodice of her cream gown had been ripped from shoulder to waist, exposing her bruised breasts to them.
"Please, don't let her be dead," Thomas prayed, pleading with the Almighty as his hands swept gingerly over her shattered body, searching desperately for her heartbeat. He exhaled sharply in relief when she uttered a pain filled moan. He removed his jacket and laid it over her trembling form, his heart crying out as her agonized moan shattered the air at the slight weight upon her, "Hush, love, I'm here. Forgive me."
"Th..omas," Belle rasped, choking back the pain that screamed through her body. She wanted nothing more than to fall into the oblivion that called to her, an oblivion that promised peace and a release from the pain pulsing throughout her. She was safe within Thomas's embrace and he would hold back the nightmares that would soon overtake her. "Help…"
"It's alright, Belle, you're safe," Thomas whispered, brushing back a strand of hair that had fallen over to conceal her pain filled eyes. His hands trembled at the sight of her flinching away from his gentle touch. "Don't speak, love. Rest."
"No… message…Cath…" Belle croaked through chattering teeth, fighting against the pain that was slowly consuming her fragile body.
"Slowly lass," Iain replied softly. "What is it that you need to impart?"
"Catherine… taken…by Patrick," she gasped as tears cascaded down her cheeks.
'No! God, please no.' Iain begged silently.
"How?" Iain demanded, bending down beside her.
Thomas glared at him and pushed him away from Belle. Angry at Iain's demands of her, but knowing that time was slowly ticking away. "Can't you wait until she's safe within the manor and no longer gracing the dirty earth?" Thomas spat, anger and worry raged within him. He cared deeply for Catherine but at this moment his wife lay broken and mayhap dying, her blood soaking the ground around her and staining it crimson.
"He's mad...Thomas," Belle whispered, her words and her breathing becoming more ragged as the seconds passed, "He'll hurt her without a second thought. He was livid and without remorse, watching as they beat me, forcing Catherine to watch, laughing out loud as she begged him to make them stop."
"What happened after I left today, Belle?" Iain asked urgently, fighting the instincts within him that were crying out to him to run after Catherine before it was too late. Until he heard Belle's recounting of her ordeal, it would be for naught if he didn't know were to look for them.
"We had gone to the dress maker…"
Beginning of Flashback
"Catherine, you haven't told me of your encounter with Patrick. Did it go well?" Belle asked as she pulled a bolt of emerald green chiffon from the counter top and held it before her. Her lips pursed in a moue of dislike and she placed it back on the counter with a small scowl.
"Let's just say that, Patrick did not accept my declination of his proposal very well," Catherine responded, unconsciously rubbing her arms to remove the memory of his touch upon her body.
She had been wearing long sleeved and high cut gowns recently after discovering the bands of purple and blue bruises long her upper arms and the finger like bruises long the curve of her breast. His revolting touch had marred her milky flesh, leaving behind tender to the touch flesh.
Catherine had attempted to conceal her injuries from Iain but a heated embrace had forced her hand. He had been kissing her, a slow sweet kiss that was quickly overtaking them. His hands had been caressing her back, sweeping long the slender curves to come to a rest upon her arms. His hands wrapped around her arms to pull her closer, unknowingly tightening on her bruises. Catherine had struggled to hold back a low moan but Iain pulled away from her as he felt her flinch against him. Seeing her guilty expression beneath his worried stare, he demanded to know what was wrong.
Catherine had tried to dismiss it as nothing, looking down at the hardwood floors, refusing to meet his gaze. She heard him sigh deeply before his hand caressed her cheek and gently turned her to face him, his dark eyes full of concern for her well-being.
She quietly responded to his query, waiting for the explosion to come from her admission. No one was more surprised when one second Iain was by her side and the next he was almost out the salon door. Catherine had rushed after him, calling out his name until he paused.
"When were you going to tell me, Catherine? What happened to your promise?" Iain demanded icily, refusing to glance back. "Why must you be so stubborn about this? You are not alone anymore, I've vowed to be at your side, but the minute I'm not here, something happens and you don't tell me about it. Why, Catherine?"
Catherine walked to stand behind him before wrapping her arms about him. She laid her face on the stiff muscles of his back, breathing deeply his earthy aroma that eased her distressed thoughts.
"It has nothing to do with my stubbornness, Iain. I didn't want to worry you and have you rushing out of here while in a temper," Catherine replied soothingly. "I was going to tell you."
Iain stood stiffly within her embrace, anger radiating from him, not even the feel of her pressed against him relieved the tension he emitted.
"Say something, please," she pleaded with him.
"Don't hide anything like this from me again. You don't know what he is capable of," Iain replied gruffly, resting his hand over her clasped fingers over his waist.
"I know what he's capable of and it frightens me, Iain," she whispered, tightening her hold on him. "He's insane, and I couldn't risk losing you."
"You're not going to lose me but this is the end of the lies, on both our parts." Iain asked, turning to face her and gathering her close to his chest. "Promise me."
"I promise," Catherine responded, cuddling deeper against him.
They stood locked together, each drawing strength from the other, both thinking of a future free of Patrick.
"Oh?" Belle inquired. "What did he do?"
"Let us just say that he is not the most forgiving of men and had to be escorted out by the soldiers. How about this fabric, Belle? It feels so soft and it is so rich in colour," Catherine replied, eager to turn the conversation away from Patrick and to more pleasing matters. She held up a bolt of silk in a vibrant shade of amber.
"Alright, I'll cease with my questions and move onto more interesting topics," Belle replied, flashing Catherine a wicked grin and glancing at her sideways.
Catherine arched her brow at her antics and prepared herself for a full-scale invasion.
"How is Iain?"
"As far as I am aware Iain is well," Catherine replied, her lips turning up into a crooked smile.
"And?" Belle demanded, refusing to accept her bland response.
"And what, Belle?" Catherine asked innocently.
"You know exactly what, Catherine. If you think you're getting out of answering all of my questions, then you, my dearest cousin, are very much mistaken," Belle announced, tugging Catherine towards the reclining chairs, "Now start talking."
End of Flashback
"I teased her about you, as she did when I meet Thomas and my head was in the clouds. She still teases me about how I could barely string together two sentences without uttering his name." Belle said smiling through the pain, "She is more than a cousin to me. She has always been my confidante and my cherished sister of the heart. Bring her back, safe and sound. Please, Iain."
"Thomas, stay here with your lady wife," Iain ordered, looking down at the brave, battered lass that had once been glowing with energy and sass. "I'll go with the men. You are needed more here than at my side in this confrontation."
"No!" Belle burst out, her voice weak and wheezing, " Thomas, don't let him go without you. 'Tis what Patrick wants. I'll be fine but he'll need you there. Go!"
Thomas leaned down, his lips brushing tenderly across hers, "I love you."
"Even now?" Belle asked hesitantly, tears filling her eyes.
"More than ever," Thomas replied.
"Go. I'll be waiting for you to return."
They waited as the manor servants raised her carefully into a cart and rode through the manor gates. Nodding to each other, they quickly mounted their steeds and rode out to confront the man who threatened their loved ones.
Catherine pounded the locked oak door, her fists reddening and becoming raw from each blow she delivered against the unyielding surface. Her bruised, dirty stained face was flushed with anger and her hair cascaded about her face, to lie about her shoulders and back. Enmeshed within her auburn locks, were dry leaves and twigs. It was all in tangled messy disarray.
Her gown was dusty from her rough ride at the bottom of the carriage and her hemline torn. Dirty footprints marred the simple fabric and the lace edging had been ripped aside to trail along behind her with each step she took.
Upon her arrival, Patrick had dragged her from the carriage by her hair, watching as she fell from the carriage floor to the hard cobblestones without anything to cushion her landing. Catherine had cried out as her ribs protested at the rough treatment and her wrist took the full brunt of her weight upon the small bones. Patrick had only watched her, a cruel, victorious smirk never leaving his lips as he marched in front of her before ordering a frightened servant to bring her inside.
Catherine gave one last futile blow that caused her hand to throb before walking away, her mind in turmoil over the events of the last few hours.
Images of her last moments with Belle bombarded her mind in an endless horrifying montage. As the carriage was traveling at full speed, Patrick had opened the door and gestured towards his companion to remove Belle from their midst. Belle had weakly struggled against him, unwilling to back down from their tyranny, her strength depleted from her beating at Patrick's companion's hands. With a malicious laugh, he tossed Belle out of the carriage as if she were no more than soiled bathwater.
The sounds of Belle's struggles echoed tauntingly within Catherine's mind. Over and over, each pain filled moan, the sound of flesh hitting flesh and the final gasp before Belle had been tossed away, assaulted Catherine and mocked her for not protecting her better.
Catherine prayed that someone had found her before it was too late, and brushed back tears that threatened to fall. She could not allow herself to be weakened by her guilt and remorse; she had to find a means of escape from the luxurious prison in which she was trapped.
Her eyes swept over the room to rest on the mauve curtains. A thin beam of light shone through the partial opened fabric. She rushed forward and flung them apart, hoping to find a possible escape route. Her head fell forward as she found an iron barred window.
The sound of the door opening caused her to spin about and glare at the invading silhouette.
"I see that you found my little surprise," Patrick asked smugly, "Did you honesty think that I would sequester somewhere where you would be able to flee from me? You had best learn quickly that you are mine until the moment I decide I no longer wish to have you underfoot."
Catherine stood still, every muscle tense as he began to approach her.
"I must say you look stunning today, Catherine, being swept away by your affianced has no doubt brought out your beauty. Your cheeks are flushed, your hair is tumbling down your shoulders and your gown is torn allowing me to glimpse the flesh that will soon be mine."
"I belong to no one," Catherine replied coldly, "least of all you."
Patrick walked towards her, his stride slow and snakelike. Catherine breathed deeply to calm her nervousness at his approach. She refused to back down before him and give him more power over her. She needed to keep her emotions under control and not lash out without thinking, she had no way of knowing what he would do if she provoked him.
"I'm a reasonable man, Catherine. If you would honor the vow that you gave, accept your circumstances and your status as my bride, I'm sure we can come to a satisfactory agreement that would please me," Patrick said stopping before her and running his hand lightly over her jaw. His depraved innuendo dripping from each word he spoke, sending chills of revulsion through her body.
His rough fingers slid from her jaw to trace a pattern down her neck, coming to a stop over the curves of her bosom. His broken nails scraped the delicate flesh, leaving behind thin lines of blood on the creamy surface.
Catherine knocked his hand away from her, feeling ill from his touch. "Don't touch me," Catherine hissed in a low voice, not hiding her disgust for him.
Patrick's reaction to her defiance was swift as he backhanded her across the cheek, her head snapping to the side. Catherine cried out and stumbled back, her hand clutching at her throbbing, heated face. She wet her dry lips, her tongue tasting the sharp metallic tang of blood.
"I command you, not the other way around," Patrick growled, glaring at the proud figure that was refusing to bow down to his whims. "I am the man here, you are merely my bitch who hasn't learned that her place is at her master's feet."
Catherine laughed aloud at him.
"I caution you to watch your tongue, else you may find yourself without it," Patrick threatened. "Something that I would hate to have done as I know I would enjoy it immensely in the coming future."
"I know what you truly are behind the façade you show your peers," Catherine continued, ignoring his threat.
"And what is that?" Patrick asked in disinterest as he glanced down at her heaving chest, his eyes darkening with lust with each deep breath she took.
"You are nothing more than a bully. You threaten others into doing your dirty work. You order beatings as calmly as you ask for a drink of water. You stand in the shadows, ambushing innocent people and then callously murdering them for your advancement." Catherine spat, shaking in anger at the smile that spread across Patrick's visage and in the moment she wanted nothing more than to wipe it clean of its arrogant sneer.
"How well you know me, my dear." Patrick replied, pulling her close to him, enjoying as she twisted against him in her futile attempt to break free.
"You are without honor or morals to try and force me to accept you after all you've done to those I love. You are a weak, defective shell of a man," Catherine continued, her temper overruling her common sense. "Iain is more a man in just his finger tip than you are in your entire being."
"Ahhh Iain, the supposed hero in our little melodrama, a man with such outstanding qualities that he consorts with my fiancé behind my back, turning you from my virginal bride into his pet whore."
"I would rather be his harlot, than be chained to you in wedlock," Catherine countered.
"After today, it won't matter," Patrick replied brushing aside her comment and smiling cruelly. "Once I've finished consummating our union, no one will dare to nestle with you. I will keep you trapped within these walls until you are carrying my child. No one will take you from me."
"Never! I will fight you with all the strength within me. You'll never claim me," Catherine lashed out through clenched teeth, her body tensing in anticipation of his attack.
"You must face the reality of this situation. You have no choice," Patrick retorted with a sinister grin. "Don't worry, my dear, after you've lain with me, you'll come to appreciate my touch, the touch of a real man not a milksop like your pathetic Iain."
"You call yourself a man? Your delusions of your charms are vastly overrated. I'll never see you for anything other than a brute and a cowardly troll." Catherine spat, seconds later berating herself for taunting the devil before her.
Catherine watched Patrick's features twist into a vicious mask as her words struck home, and she could only gasp aloud as his hands sped towards her.