Chapter 14

“Bran? Bran!” Ilyssa was hissing his name.

For a minute, Bran saw them together in his mind. They were in the disused barracks again together, rolling around on those cushions. He was inside of her, listening to her moan his name, her hands toying in his hair. She arched her back, oh, how he loved it when she did that, raising her legs higher, as if she could not get enough of him being inside of her.

“Would ye wake up!”

The sudden anger made his eyelids fling open.

The dream dissipated fast. He was suddenly aware of the heaviness at the back of his head, the growing bruise and the feeling of ropes around his wrists. He angled his head, sluggishly, the effort ridiculously hard as he turned to face Ilyssa, blinking.

They were in the barracks from his dream, only the room was not lit with candles now. The very early-morning sun was just beginning to stream in through one high window. It was still grey, the day overcast with dullish light.

Ilyssa was white as a ghost, her eyes darting from side to side, her wrists tied around one of the weapons racks.

“Ilyssa?” Bran managed to say her name, his mouth dry. “How –”

“I was attacked as I tried tae go back tae the chamber,” she said in a rush, clearly reading his mind. “They brought ye here a few minutes later. Ye havenae woken all night.” She blinked. He saw the familiar sign of her fighting tears, but those tears she would not let fall.

He did his best to push himself up, a difficult task as his hands were bound around the racking on the other side of the wall. Dizzy from the blow to his head, he nearly fell over again.

“Oh!” Ilyssa gasped at his sudden movements, but he settled himself and nodded at her. “Bran, what dae ye think they want?”

“I have a good guess. I just hope I am wrong.” Bran cursed at himself, remembering Catreena’s warning that had perhaps come too late. He and Ilyssa had been too obvious. If the love between them was plain to see, and if Cillian and Laird Gilroy were so fixated on making this wedding take place, then they could be about to force the matter, before Bran could cause any further trouble and before Tad could return.

Bran’s stomach clenched tight with fear as he looked at Ilyssa, the tears still in her eyes. He could have promised her that nothing would happen, again, but he knew now how foolish that sounded.

This is out of me control.

He pulled sharply against the racking, his senses coming back to him fully, but the racking would not budge, and the ropes just cut into his skin.

“Bran. Bran!” She tried to get his attention. “The shadows.”

He turned around, in time to see the door was half open and two shadows were moving toward the opening. Two familiar figures walked in. The grandiose figure of Laird Gilroy was first, though he had taken off the fur cloak he so often wore hanging from his shoulders. Behind him was Cillian. The easy and charming smile he so often wore was a far cry from his expression now. He was glowering at Bran, as if he could kill him with one look.

“Ah, at long last.” Laird Gilroy held out his hands, his voice grand as if he was on a stage. “Ye have woken just in time.”

“For what?” Bran looked about the room. “Why are ye holding us prisoner here?”

“Imagine me surprise when me son’s new bride turned up already in love with another man. Besotted.” Laird Gilroy added this word with disgust. He walked toward Bran but hovered just out of reach so as Bran stepped forward, intent on fighting, the ropes held him back and Gilroy laughed. “Shared yer bed too, didnae she? Well, from what I hear, a bed wasnae so much involved.”

“They were in here.” Cillian spoke up. His glower now turned toward Ilyssa. “I saw them.” There was hunger in his eyes, a hunger that made nausea rise in Bran’s throat.

From the way Ilyssa moved back, skulking against the racks, she had much the same feeling.

We were seen.

Bran thought back to the way he and Ilyssa had made love in this room. It was with great passion, heat, and need, their hands unable to stop touching one another as their bodies came together. The thought that Cillian might have watched them from that high window repulsed him.

That was our own moment. Nae his.

“Well, shall we get tae it?” Gilroy turned to his son and clasped his hands together. “I’ll get the priest.”

“Priest?” Bran and Ilyssa said together. “Ye’re mad.” Bran put two and two together fast. “Ye cannae force her tae marry ye like this,” he said to Cillian. “Ye intend tae, dae ye nae? This ground isnae holy. It is nae law abiding, nae tae mention the bride is tied up.”

“We’ll make sure she agrees.” Cillian pulled out a blade. He cleaned it for a second on the edge of his jerkin, then he held it to Bran’s throat.

“Nay!” Ilyssa screamed so loudly that the walls of the barracks shook. Bran stayed as still as possible, staring into the cold eyes of Cillian.

“Kill me, and ye lose yer bargaining power,” he whispered to Cillian.

“We’ll kill ye,” Cillian assured him. “She can simply buy ye a few more minutes of life first. Faither, where is that priest?”

“Here.” Laird Gilroy returned, thrusting a man into the barracks before him.

The poor priest, an elderly and hunched man, with skin that sagged like old parchment, trembled from his head to his toes. He crossed himself, clearly praying for forgiveness for what he was about to do.

“Please, dinnae dae this,” Ilyssa begged of the priest, still down on her knees by the racking.

“I-I have nay choice.” The priests’ hands shook around his white robes. He glanced at Laird Gilroy who had taken out a short dirk of his own. He toyed with it in the palm of his hand, the threat obvious without having to raise it to the priest.

“Cillian. It’s time.” Laird Gilroy nodded at his son.

Slowly, Cillian lowered his sword, though he did not put it away. He moved toward Ilyssa and pulled her to stand.

“Nay. Nay! Take yer hands off her!” Bran raged. Ilyssa wasn’t strong enough to fight Cillian alone and was soon forced to stand in front of the priest, her hands still bound together, though they were no longer against the racking. “Release her.”

“D-dearly beloved,” the priest began, glancing petrified at Laird Gilroy before he went on. “We are gathered here –”

“Gathered!?” Ilyssa scoffed loudly. She tried to pull her arms out of Cillian’s grasp, but he held on tightly.

“Get on with it,” Cillian snapped.

Bran turned, his eyes darting all over the racking that held him in place. He could not bear this. He would not let it happen. He pulled sharply, throwing all his weight backward.

Somewhere in the racking, wood snapped.

“Faster!” Laird Gilroy ordered.

“Dae ye take this man tae be yer lawfully wedded husband?” the priest asked fast.

“Nay, I bloody dinnae – hmm!” Ilyssa’s mouth was blocked by someone’s hand as Bran continued to pull and tug against the racking. He kicked out at the wood, listening as something else cracked loudly.

“Aye, of course she does – it’s just nerves,” Cillian complained.

“Bloody likely,” Bran threw over his shoulders. With one last heave of his weight backwards, he managed to snap the wood out of place. His hands slipped off, the rope coming apart. He quickly loosened in his grasp as a weapon.

“Br – nn!” Ilyssa didn’t manage to say his name as her mouth was covered again.

Bran turned, whipping the ends of the rope in the air, intending to stop things then and there. He launched himself at Cillian, who threw Ilyssa into Laird Gilroy’s hands. Cillian advanced toward Bran with the sword as Bran came at him with the rope.

“Shall I go on?” the priest asked tremulously in the background though no one was paying any attention to him now. Ilyssa was fighting Laird Gilroy, trying to escape his hold, as Bran fought Cillian.

He managed to flick one end of the rope in Cillian’s face. It caught the end of his eye, drawing blood. Cillian screamed in pain then lunged forward blindly with his sword.

Bran caught the end of the sword by wrapping the rope around it, then tugged hard. The blade came away, falling to the floor as Cillian leapt back, blood now pouring down one cheek. Bran marched toward him, intending to deliver full punishment for daring to even think he could touch Ilyssa, when a gasp of breath made Bran halt.

I ken that fear.

He halted, his hands raised in the air as he saw Laird Gilroy had Ilyssa firmly in his grasp now, his dirk at her throat, her head tipped back on his shoulder.

“Make another move toward me son and she dies.”

Bran backed up at once.

“Nay,” Ilyssa whispered, the word barely audible at all.

Bran could feel his advantage slipping away now. Everything was doomed. If he could not save Ilyssa, then it was all for nothing.

“Dae away with him now,” Gilroy ordered, then we can have this wedding in peace. The priest prayed something to the ceiling once again.

Bran backed up, watching as Cillian advanced with a fresh dirk he pulled from the back of his belt.

“Say goodbye tae yer lover, Ilyssa.” Cillian spoke with a kind of darkened relish that made Bran want to spit on the ground beneath him. “After today, ye’ll ken nay other lover than me.”

A strangled cry of fear escaped Ilyssa as she fought against Gilroy, but he was too strong and held her in place with the blade at the curve of her throat.

“Ilyssa,” Bran called out to her, knowing he could not fight anymore if he wanted to save her life.

Better she is alive than dead. I’d dae anything tae avoid that.

She lowered her chin as much as she possibly could, but an inch. Their eyes connected across the space.

“I love ye.” He mouthed the words, not saying them aloud.

The tears she had been fighting for so long now spilled down her cheeks.

Bran looked toward Cillian prepared to die, the rope loose in his grasp. Cillian raised the dirk high.

Bang– a sudden thud sounded against the door.

Cillian stepped back, just a single step, that dirk still high and threatening.

Then it happened again. Someone threw their weight against the door, and it snapped, swinging open.

The tall and hulking figure of Tad stepped in through the door, and behind him was the small form of Catreena.

Tad’s grey eyes shot quickly between Cillian holding the dirk and Laird Gilroy who had the blade at Ilyssa’s throat.

“Release me sister,” Tad said in a dark voice that Bran had never heard before in his life. Slowly, threateningly, with clear intent, he drew a sword from his own belt. “I said, release her – now!”