Chapter 27

CHAPTER 27

Agnes was ripped back inside, the stone and splinters of wood cutting her sides, and then she was thrust back into the brightly lit camp. The men's faces were drawn and pale, exhaustion stark on their brows, and then Flora appeared in a dressing gown.

"What is all this stramash?" she hissed. "D'ye mean to wake up all of the Highlands? And why is the English wench free ?"

Pip had Agnes by the hair as he forced her down to her knees in front of Flora. "She defied ye, Me Lady. Why wait for Jack?" He drew out a blade. "Let me kill her now."

"Nay, Pip, stay yer hand, let MacLarsen's enemy handle her," Malcolm warned.

"She insulted Flora," Pip snapped and threw Agnes down.

"Throw her back in the room, Pip. Stop this!" Flora cried.

"Nay," he said with a snarl.

Agnes stumbled back on the floor as the man bore down on her. But then he staggered back, as though someone had shoved him, and blinked down at his chest. A blade was now lodged there, deep, and blood began to pour from the wound. Everyone started, but none more than Pip.

He staggered back, hitting a table, and then looked at Flora. "Me Lady, help…"

Flora shrieked as his eyes rolled to the back of his head and he crashed to the ground. Agnes scrambled up, her eyes flicking to the door, where a dark figure loomed. For a moment, her heart lurched, but then he threw back his hood and grinned at her. He had a hawkish face, muddy brown eyes, and a wisp of fair hair on his head.

"I told ye that I would have the pleasure of killin' MacLarsen's wife," the man said as he stepped inside. Everyone drew back except Flora, who drew herself upright. "Renegin' on our deal again, Grierson?"

Jack.

"Nay, nay, the man fancied Flora—" Malcolm blustered from somewhere.

"I dinnae give a damn about the dead fool," Jack said and leered at Flora. "Ye ken how to use men, I'll give ye that, Me Lady." His eyes flicked to Agnes, who drew herself fully upright. "I'll miss havin' ye in me debt."

Flora seemed unable to speak, as did Malcolm, never mind the rest of the men in the room.

"I also wondered when I heard some maiden screaming into the night about Briorn bein' in danger. And me name." Jack turned his head around. Meanwhile, Agnes eyed the open camp door, trying to move toward it. No one was watching her. "Did I nae warn ye?"

The men behind him laughed, and Agnes took her chance, rushing forward, only for someone to catch her on the doorstep and slam her into the frame. Jack.

He caught her wrist and grinned down at her. "And here ye are, the little English bride who will bring Leo Aitken down to his knees."

"Never," Agnes spat, even as she shook from head to toe.

"Alas, dearie, I'm afraid that I saw ye on the road together on yer weddin' day." The man laughed. "I saw the way he acted around ye." He caught her by the throat. "Losin' ye will cut far deeper and hurt far more than any of those scars I left on him."

"You—" Agnes started and tried to kick or claw at him. But it was futile.

He laughed and squeezed tighter. "Och, ye have spirit. I shall enjoy breakin' ye down, lass. I've got some fine rooms I can lock ye in—and nay one will hear ye scream."

At that, Agnes tried to scratch him, tried to get away as a sob tore out of her. Terror lanced through her, and she knew that he would be a thousand times worse than the convent—that she would not escape, that she'd never see Leo again.

"Enough. Come now."

Jack shoved her forward, half-carrying, half-dragging her through the camp and out into the yard. His men were gathered, laughing and drinking, while their fierce horses stamped and snorted.

As Jack approached his horse, the beast reared and whinnied. Another man snapped a whip, and the horse fell to all fours, steam coming out of its nose, its eyes rolling.

" Stop ."

The word burst out of Agnes, who shook off her fear as she felt a righteous rage for the poor horse. "You'll hurt it. That is no way to treat a horse."

"What would a wench ken?" Jack said with a laugh.

"No wonder Laird and Lady MacLarsen knew you were not fit to breed horses, never mind look at them," Agnes spat.

Jack went still and then pulled out a blade. "Mind yer tongue, wench. I am nae like Aitken—I dinnae allow women to speak to me like that."

Agnes glared at him, and he shook his head.

"Who has that damned bag?" A man came forward, holding open a small satchel, while Jack suddenly pinned Agnes's hands behind her back. "Hold her."

"What are you doing?" Agnes cried and tried to wrench her hands free, but they caught her by the neck. "Let me go. Unhand me."

Her voice cracked, but there was a tinge of steel there that made even Jack pause.

"Ach, ye truly are a MacLarsen, ain't ye?" He made a disgusted sound. "I may have to kill ye sooner, lass. Cannae stand a single Aitken." A blade grazed her ear, and she somehow didn't flinch. "Brave thing. We'll see how ye feel about that in a moment after I cut off all this lovely hair."

Agnes froze. "What?"

Her hair tumbled down as Jack pulled out the pins, and then he grabbed it, wrenching her head back.

"I'm sure Leo will recognize his pretty wife's hair and weddin' ring. I'll make sure to write to him, to tell him of ye screamin' in me hold?—"

Agnes screamed again.

Jack stumbled back, dropping the blade and shaking his head. "Ach, ye daft, mad wench! I'll?—"

He went still and turned as a sudden shower pelted down. A gasp escaped Jackhis lips, and he scrambled to reach for his sword, his movements fast and jerky, but he was too slow.

"Ye are a dead man," said a dark and deadly voice, and a shadow seemed to emerge from the trees. "Ye have been for seven years—Jack."

And the Laird names his enemy, a voice seemed to speak from all around them, as well as inside Agnes's head.

Jack let out a gurgle of terror and drew back, about to flee, but a sword flashed and he was gone—dead.

All around Agnes, men ran to their horses, but there was a flood of arrows and more flashes of blades, and she saw MacLarsen men slewing all of Jack's.

"Go to the trees," said a dark voice next to her, and she jolted to see Leo standing there. "And wait for me there."

Only, her husband didn't seem to be all there, part of him lost in shadow, as though the mask were consuming him. She knew it to be a trick of the light, and yet as she tried to reach for him, he moved past her.

"Nay, Agnes. Stay out here." A flash of stormy gray stopped her in her tracks. "I dinnae want ye to witness the Beast killin' those who dared hurt ye—who locked ye away after I promised?—"

"Leo, no," she whispered.

No.

Agnes again reached for him, but he had gone inside the hunting camp, and a scream came from inside. She thought she heard someone call her name from behind her, but she paid it no heed. Not when she sensed Leo was about to lose the pieces of himself that he'd held together for seven long years.

Jack was dead, but the scars he'd left were not just wounds. She knew that now. And so had he—that's why he'd wanted to kidnap her, to cut her hair.

"Who raised a hand to me wife?" Leo thundered as Agnes darted in after him. "Who thought to give her to me clan's enemies?"

Malcolm surged forward with a snarling laugh. "Me, and I'd do it again?—"

He was dead before he could finish the sentence, and Flora screamed again. Her other men were jumping out of a window, shouting and shoving as they fought to get free.

"What are ye doin', Leo?" Flora cried. "Ye are killin' our men!"

Leo stilled and stared at her, and for a moment, Agnes thought he might become fur and claws, as he'd once said to her.

"I am Lady MacLarsen, and these are our men." Flora stormed toward him. Her hair was tumbling down, spittle forming at the end of a mad smile, and she suddenly snatched the knife off Pip's corpse. "I will be, dinnae ye ken that, Leo? It should have been me. I am meant to be Lady MacLarsen!"

"Never," Leo spat.

Flora swayed and looked at Agnes. "Ye stupid English wench," she screamed. "Ye ruined everythin'."

Leo gasped and turned, reaching for Agnes as a blade whipped through the air. Agnes turned and cried out as it cut across her shoulder.

"I told ye to wait outside," Leo cried and rushed forward. A shaking hand went to her shoulder, pressing on her wound. "Nes, leave. Now. "

Agnes looked up at his dear face, and a sigh of relief escaped her lips. He was Leo again, no longer falling into shadow. "I'll be all right?—"

"Here." Leo shoved his hand into his sporran and pulled out a strip of cloth, which sent a shock of warmth through her. It was the strip of cloth from her dress, from the Lowater. "Hold out yer arm?—"

"Leo, watch out," Agnes cried and shoved her husband back as Flora raced toward them.

He staggered and went to step in front of Agnes, reaching for Flora, who let out a wail.

"Nay." Flora's eyes darted to his shoulder, and glee lit up her face. "If I cannae have ye, neither will she. Nay one will."

And Agnes let out a cry as Flora drove the dirk into Leo's shoulder, in the same place the bandits had.