Page 26 of The Highlander’s Fallen Angel (Brotherhood of Solway Moss #2)

“The higher the hill, the stronger the wind: so the loftier the life, the stronger the enemy’s temptations.”

John Wycliffe – English Theologian, 1320–1384

Tierney stood at the back staircase, listening to her parents descend. I should follow them. Kenan and the others could already be out of Eilean Donan. Ranulf could be downstairs, and no amount of armor would stop her nightmares that combined Wallace with Ranulf. The idea of seeing him again made her skin itch.

As if conjured by the thought, Ranulf appeared at the top of the main staircase at the end of the corridor. Tierney’s heart lurched, and she felt suspended in time as she took in the surprise on his face. Every muscle in her body contracted, and her fingers dug into the side of the door.

His surprise turned to predatory rage and promises of some type of deviant torture. “Tierney MacNicol.” He lunged forward, charging toward her down the corridor.

Her body, mostly bare, twisted to throw herself down the servants’ steps. There was no lock on the door, so she abandoned the thought of trying to hold the door closed. Run! She shot down the steps, her stockinged feet slapping the stones as she rounded the curve in the narrow spiral staircase.

With any luck, her parents had already run through the kitchen. That’s what Tierney planned to do. Was that plan number five still or had she moved onto plan number six? “Run, run, run!”

She was fast, but she’d given her mother her boots, so the uneven steps bruised her feet. And Ranulf was fast, too. By the time she’d reached the second-floor doorway, he was at the top of the stairs. There was no handrail to hold, and throwing herself down the stone steps that curved would only see her dead. So she continued as fast as she could while hitting each step evenly. Above her, it sounded like Ranulf was taking at least two at a time, his grunts and thuds echoing in the contained space.

Holy Joan, help me!

The door to the kitchen was ahead, but Ranulf’s huffs and curses were so close now that he was nearly upon her. If she could just make it to the kitchen, there would be witnesses to his crimes against her, because Tierney knew there would be crimes even if he was unaware that she’d already freed his prisoners.

The wooden door was before her, her fingers reaching for the handle, when she felt his hand graze her braided hair. Her hand pushed the handle down as her shoulder hit the door, and she flew through the space with Ranulf following her. The two of them tumbled over the brick floor, a jumble of scrabbling and cursing.

Gasps and brief screams overrode the hissing of the steam pots and sizzling meat on the hearth. The thumping of the bread halted, and at least one crockery bowl hit the floor, shattering.

“Ye foking bitch!” Ranulf yelled, yanking Tierney up, his hand grabbing her braid, coiling it around his fist. If she didn’t rise, he’d pull it right out of her scalp, so she got her feet under her. He pushed her against the plastered wall. “What are ye doing sneaking around Eilean Donan?”

“Trying to find my parents and the crew you detained,” she said. No reason to let him know she’d succeeded.

“Master Ranulf, what are ye doing with that lass?” It was the older servant that Tierney had met on her way up the steps when she’d been fully dressed.

“This is my betrothed,” he said, “so I can do whatever I wish with her.”

“I am not your betrothed, Ranulf. Get that through your numb head.”

He shoved her hard against the wall, and she was thankful for the leather corset that padded her, although her head would have a bump.

“Ye can’t treat yer…mistress, betrothed, or any woman like that,” the maid said.

“Hold yer tongue, woman, or I’ll see it removed.” Ranulf kept his focus on Tierney, his hand sliding down the leather armor. “And ye’re nearly naked.” His mouth curved into a leer. “Time to wash away any touch from that damn Macdonald ye’ve been foking.” Like she was a territory to be claimed by pissing or spreading his seed all over it.

Heart thumping wildly, she forced a grin. “You’ll find I’m locked up tight.”

Ranulf pushed his hand between her legs. The pressure nearly made her panic, but she breathed through it, knowing he couldn’t get through. He yanked on the leather at her pelvis. “What is this contraption?”

“Armor against your lust.”

He tried to pull the bodice down, but the thick straps over her shoulders kept it in place. If he yanked enough, he would be able to get that down, but there was no way he could access her pelvic region.

He leaned into her face. “Then I’ll cut it off ye.”

From what Tierney could see past his shoulders, the kitchen had emptied of witnesses. So much for getting help from the maids and cooks. She was on her own once again. Instead of accepting that fact as part of her life, sadness and then anger mixed with the fear within her.

I don’t want to be alone.

She screamed, a ferocious yell, and Ranulf yanked her from the wall to push her over the edge of a table where the cooks had been working. Bending her backward, he shoved the heel of his hand against her mouth. Unfortunately, he’d caught her lips partway closed so she couldn’t bite him. She sucked large pulls of air through her nose and winced at the cut of Ranulf’s fingernails as he tried to move the leather armor from her crotch. Tierney moved her head left and right, trying to dislodge his hand.

If she could reach her dagger, she’d plunge it into him. It was tied into her garter just below her knee. Her fingers slid down the outside of her thigh as she tried to reach the blade.

Clink . Shite! The blade was now on the floor, far from her reach.

I need a weapon! Something. Anything.

Her wild eyes slid to the lumps on either side of her head. Bread dough. The cook’s assistants had been kneading dough for the daily bread. Without debating the effectiveness of bread dough against a violent foe, she grabbed one and used all her force to shove it into Ranulf’s face.

When he lessened his hold, cursing, she grabbed the one on the other side to join the first. Both hands full of floury dough, she shoved with all her might.

…

Murdoc’s voice was more curious than threatening, so Kenan kept his voice the same as he, Rory, and Cyrus slowly stood from their chairs. The three guards followed their example, as well as Henry.

“If the six of us fail to return from Eilean Donan—”

“Seven of us,” Henry put in rapidly, pointing at the three other warriors and himself.

“Then there will be war against Clan Matheson,” Kenan said. “And if ye think that we could not breach Eilean Donan, remember that my aged aunt did with no trouble at all.”

Murdoc let his gaze trail over them, weighing them, not just as warriors but as leaders.

Kenan continued. “We have a chain of commanders behind us, Murdoc. We have thousands of troops who will be fighting to keep ye off our isle, and quite a few who wouldn’t mind taking over Eilean Donan after ye’re routed, even if ’tis yer brother leading his attack. They all know the chief who sent him.”

Murdoc rubbed his short beard. “This all started with the request for a marriage alliance from Chief Douglas MacNicol. He did not wish to be aligned with the clans of Skye.”

“Now that ye locked him, his wife, and his crew up and stole his ship, I think he won’t hesitate to align with the clans of Skye out there in the harbor,” Kenan said, his gaze direct.

Please let Tierney be out there, too .

Even though he was furious with her acting on her own, the thought of her being harmed made his blood rush. He wanted to run through the castle searching to make certain she wasn’t there. I won’t leave Eilean Donan without her.

“Maybe we should involve Chief MacNicol in these discussions,” Murdoc said.

On the floor, Gilbert groaned. Murdoc looked to one of his men. “See if Wilcox is at home in the village.” Murdoc looked to Kenan as the man ran off. “He’s a surgeon for yer brother. Meanwhile, let’s find Chief MacNicol above.” He stood. “I wonder why Ranulf hasn’t returned.” He looked sideways at Kenan. “What were ye attempting to do with sending yer aunt in here?”

“Again, I don’t know what was going through her mind,” Kenan said, standing up to walk with Murdoc. Cyrus and Rory followed, along with Henry and the three guards. “She insisted on coming on the ships. Perhaps she truly had a premonition concerning ye.”

“’Twas a bloody bad warning,” Murdoc said as they walked, and he scratched his head. “I would like to hear more about uniting Scotland, how ye imagine that happening.” Murdoc stopped at the archway leading to the stairs and glanced at Kenan. “My cousin died at Solway Moss. ’Twas a ridiculous loss. Fifteen thousand Scots to three thousand English and yet we lost.” He rubbed his bearded chin. “Ye’re right that we need to align.”

“And yet ye are starting war with the MacNicols?” Kenan asked.

Murdoc’s lips pinched tight. “’Twas Ranulf’s plan to detain them when they sailed here. He was irate to find his betrothed handfasted to ye.”

“Tierney never agreed to the betrothal.”

Murdoc frowned. “Her father said she had.”

“Her father lied.” Outrage seethed inside Kenan. Did a father like that deserve to be rescued?

Murdoc’s face darkened. “I do not like liars.”

Before Kenan could agree, a woman ran around a bend in the corridor, her eyes wide and frantic. “Oh, Chief Murdoc, please come quickly.” She waved her hand, barely noticing all the men with her employer.

“What is it, Hazel?” Murdoc asked, starting to follow her. She must be someone of rank in the castle for him to immediately change course.

“Master Ranulf is attacking…one of yer…ladies.”

“One of my ladies?” Murdoc asked. “Where?”

“In the kitchens.”

He began to stride down the tight corridor, and they all followed. “Which lady?” Murdoc asked.

“The one dressed like a lad in trousers and tunic,” Hazel said. “Well, she was dressed that way.” She waved her hands about in the air. “Now she’s wearing…I don’t know what it be.”

“Ye have a mistress who dresses like a lad?” one of the Matheson guards asked.

Murdoc looked confused. “I don’t believe so.”

“She said ye like her to…interact with the other ladies in traditional dress.”

Tierney . Kenan’s chest clenched. Who else would be dressed like a lad and give such an explanation? Kenan charged off into a full run toward the end of the corridor where several younger maids peered into the kitchen.

They squeaked and flattened themselves against opposite walls as he ran past into the room. He slipped on spilled flour and caught himself on a workbench, pulling his sword free. “Tierney?” he yelled.

Tierney didn’t look up as she pressed Ranulf backward over a low table, using her body weight to hold him down. She wore some sort of leather corset that came down over her back and arse, curving between her long, bare legs to continue up her front. But what was even more surprising was what she was doing. She held bread dough, shoving it into Ranulf’s face. The dough covered his mouth and nostrils as if she tried to push it inside him. Unless he could breathe through his wide eyes, the man was being suffocated.

Kenan saw one of his hands was stabbed to the worktable with a dagger so that only one hand tried to fend Tierney off, and her knee was planted between his legs. As she continued to shove the dough into his face, her knee also continued to push forcefully into his cock and ballocks.

“Well, shite,” Cyrus said, stopping next to Kenan.

Rory stood behind them at the doorway. “Doesn’t look like she needs much help.”

“Lady Tierney!” Henry admonished as he burst into the room, but she didn’t turn his way.

“Should we let her finish?” Cyrus asked.

But Kenan rushed past them, grabbing Tierney’s shoulders to pull her backward. She struck out at him with her fists, but Kenan caught her to him.

“Tierney. Ye won, lass.” He felt the frantic in and out of her breaths. As if finally registering that it was Kenan, she went limp, scarcely standing. Kenan held her to him, his fury at Ranulf barely controlled.

“I’m going to gut ye, Ranulf,” Kenan said, his voice low, menacing. “From yer ragged beard to yer cock. Ye foking evil bastard.” Rage burned all Kenan’s negotiating skills to ashes.

Kenan used one hand to yank his tunic over his head and pulled it down over Tierney’s head. It was long enough to cover her to her knees. Even her bloody boots were missing. Where were her clothes? Had Ranulf ripped them away? He wouldn’t have bothered with her boots.

Murdoc held his hands out as if trying to part the sea. “No one’s gutting anyone right now.”

Ranulf’s face was white with flour and pieces of dough. He gulped raspy breaths and sneezed, a chunk of dough flying out one nostril. “She’s mine! We are betrothed!” His words were breathless croaks.

“If ye wed her, ye’d be dead within a week,” Rory said.

“Och, Roar, less time than that,” Cyrus said. “Two days at most. One if Kenan’s aunt visits.”

“Marry me and give me Scorrybreac, or ye will never see yer parents again,” Ranulf said, spittle leaving specks on his floury chin.

Tierney straightened, turning in Kenan’s arms to cast a sneer at Ranulf. “I’m not marrying anyone, especially not you, you barbaric whoremonger who treats women like herd cows to be used and sacrificed.”

“Your parents will die by my blade tonight!” Ranulf yelled back.

“Bloody hell, hold yer tongue!” Murdoc yelled. “I’m the chief and won’t allow it.”

Tierney pulled away a bit, and Kenan dropped his arms. She leaned slightly forward toward Ranulf. “Keep them. My father abandoned me twice before and was trying to do it again. Keep them.” She turned, grabbing Kenan’s arm. “We are leaving.” She glanced back at him and then to the other non-Matheson men. “All of us.”

“Lady Tierney! Yer parents,” Henry said.

“Stay if you’d like to wed Ranulf, Henry, otherwise move your arse out of here,” she said.

As much as Kenan wanted to bloody Ranulf, Tierney was already rushing through the kitchen to the door in the outer wall. Something had happened. Tierney had surrendered her clothing and had completely changed her plan to save her mother.

Kenan caught Tierney’s hand at the door. “Were yer parents in need of clothes?” he said close to her ear.

She met his gaze. “They were stark naked.”

“Rachamaid dhachaidh,” Kenan said, and his men followed. Even spluttering Henry walked briskly after them, unwilling to be left behind.

Out in the dark, without light from the new moon, the orchard trees almost blended in with the shadows. The slight glow of torches from the small wall around the bailey cast the only light.

“The sea gate is through the orchard to the west,” Tierney said.

“I know.” His voice was terse, still full of anger against Ranulf, against Tierney for acting on her own, and against himself for ignoring her own plans.

Tierney was moving slow, picking her way around the roots of the trees, and he remembered her lack of boots. Without a warning, Kenan picked her up and began to run toward the sea wall. “I hope there is a dinghy waiting or ’twill be a cold swim.”

“There should be,” she said, her arms holding around his neck. “I can—” she started, but he cut in.

“Not without boots.”

“I’ll keep up.”

“For all the gold in Christendom, just hold yer tongue and let me help.” He headed toward the darkness along the barely lit white stone of the crumbled wall, which must be the old sea gate.

“So you happen to have all the gold in Christendom?”

“Nay, but I knew ye couldn’t hold yer tongue.” They climbed over the fallen rocks at the sea gate. “My hands are full. Make a bird call.”

“A bird call?”

“Any bird.”

Tierney held her hands to her mouth. “Hoot, hoot.”

He would have laughed at the odd sound, but he was concentrating on keeping his footing on the boulders while carrying her.

“Cora makes much better bird calls,” she said.

Lanterns flickered from three dinghies sitting just off the shore.

“I will teach ye,” he murmured. The woman was clever, courageous, and able to escape deadly predicaments. Maybe she would need him for making proper bird calls.

He set her on the shore and helped Jok, Tomas, Bartholemew, Cyrus, and Rory pull the thick ropes that the men in the dinghies threw to shore. One of them was Jacob Tanner, his gaze scanning the shadows until they fell on Tierney.

“But yer mother,” Henry said. “At least ye would negotiate to save her.”

“She’s already on the Tempest ,” Jacob said, “along with Chief MacNicol.”

Tierney climbed into Jacob’s boat without a word for her father’s old advisor.

Kenan followed her. “Take us to the Tempest ,” Kenan said.

“No,” Tierney answered. “I prefer to have a few hours before confronting my father. To the Sweet Elspet , Jacob.”

Jacob and the other rower pulled hard on the oars.

“Bloody foking hell, Tierney,” Kenan said, his words a lowered yell. “Diplomacy was never yer plan.” Kenan stared out at the ships lit on the surface of the dark loch. Relief to have her safely heading to his ships warred with his anger at her for putting herself in such danger.

“If you’d listened to my plan, you would have realized that.”

“The goal was not bloodshed, only diplomacy.”

Tierney snorted. “Ranulf doesn’t respond to diplomacy.”

Anger shot around inside Kenan, poking holes in his relief. “Murdoc Matheson wants peace for Scotland,” he said through stacked teeth.

She turned her face to him. “By invading Skye to take over Scorrybreac? By abducting the chief and lady and crew? By stealing our galleon?”

“’Twas Ranulf who convinced Murdoc to detain the crew and yer parents. Murdoc felt that a true betrothal had been broken. Yer parents would have been released by the end of the evening. My plan was working. Negotiating was working.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You have no way of knowing that. He could have been lying, waiting to kill you all.”

“A chance I was willing to take. Rory, Cyrus, and I knew that before we walked inside Eilean Donan. But without taking a chance on peace, it will never happen.” He shook his head as she stared at him, her face belligerent in the light of the torch. “Tierney, ye are all about being independent, taking risks great enough to see ye dead.” He leaned in to her face. She didn’t back up. “But ye don’t work with anyone, don’t trust anyone, and that’s dangerous. Not only for ye but for everyone in yer path.”

Tierney turned her face away to stare out over the sea. For once, she didn’t have a reply.