Page 29 of The Laird's Wicked Game
Kylie’s throat constricted.
Curse ye, Maclean … why do yer sons have to watch this?
Ailean stood to her right, his body rigid as he viewed the punishment. Kylie restrained herself from reaching out and putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder though. Ailean was two years Lyle’s elder, and likely wouldn’t take kindly to being fussed over.
The chieftain of Dounarwyse had made it clear that every resident of this broch would observe Tormod MacDougall’s punishment, and banishment. It was a warning, that rape—attempted or otherwise—wouldn’t be tolerated.
Nonetheless, with every lash of the whip, muffled gasps escaped the watching crowd.
Kylie’s gaze shifted to where her sister stood silently to Ailean’s left. Makenna had folded her arms across her chest as she looked on. Her face appeared hewn from stone this morning, every line of her body tense.
The whip lashed once more. A crisscross pattern of bloody welts now covered MacDougall’s back. The man clung to a pole in the center of the barmkin, a guttural sound ripping from his throat with each cut of the bullwhip.
Bile surged up, stinging the back of Kylie’s throat. She could understand why her sister might want to witness MacDougall’s punishment, but she had no wish to view such violence.
She’d witnessed floggings before—for both her father and late husband had dealt out justice in their keeps—but the sight of it had always turned her stomach. She started to sweat then, nausea rolling over her once more.
If this continued, she’d be sick.
Mercifully, Maclean ceased the whipping then. Breathing hard, he lowered his arm and stepped back.
An uneasy silence followed the flogging. Many of those gathered around the perimeter of the barmkin shifted uneasily, their gazes downcast now.
Heedless to their reactions, the laird nodded brusquely to the guards who’d been looking on. They untied MacDougall and started dragging him across the barmkin toward the gates.
However, halfway there, the disgraced warrior surprised everyone by digging his toes into the cobbles. He then half turned, his gaze seizing upon where Makenna stood next to Kylie. His pale eyes sliced into her. “It isn’t over between us, lass,” he rasped, his voice carrying over the silent barmkin. “Ye shall see me again.”
Makenna didn’t move, didn’t flinch.
“Enough,” Maclean snarled. “Get him out of here.”
And with that, the guards hauled the warrior away, across the barmkin and under the archway that led out of the fortress. There, they unceremoniously dumped him on the other side of the lowered drawbridge. He was still in clear view of all, and as Kylie looked on, MacDougall slowly, and painfully, pushed himself up onto all fours before staggering to his feet. The man was barefoot and clad only in a pair of braies. A freshly scabbed cut was visible on his right forearm. She’d heard he spent a rough night without food or drink in the oubliette—Dounarwyse’s dank ‘bottle dungeon’, which could only be accessed by a trap door—and he now was leaving the broch with nothing, not even a pair of boots.
“Tormod MacDougall is hereby banished from Dounarwyse.” The laird’s gruff voice echoed through the morning air, drawing everyone’s attention once more. “And if he ever returns, his life will be forfeit.”
Another brittle silence followed this proclamation. The faces of those gathered around the edges of the barmkin, all of whom had witnessed the warrior’s punishment, were set in grim lines. Kylie wagered that few of them were sad to see MacDougall go. However, the flogging had put them all on edge. It was a reminder that although their laird was a fair-minded man, he was capable of brutality too.
Across the yard from where the sisters stood, Tara held both her daughters close—her youngest slung across her front, the eldest perched on her hip. Her face was strained. Like Kylie, she hadn’t wished to subject the bairns to such a sight. Arabella started to weep softly before Tara whispered soothing words. Then, casting the laird a look of censure, she retreated inside the guardhouse with her daughters.
It was time for Kylie to go back indoors as well. She was just about to murmur something to her charges—although neither of them would be in the mood to study plants this morning—when Maclean crossed to them, his long legs eating up the ground.
A moment later, he was standing before Kylie and his sons.
“We could all do with getting out of the broch for a while,” he announced gruffly, his gaze sweeping over Lyle and Ailean before it rested upon Kylie’s face. “I was going to leave it to later in the week … but let’s take that ride up to Dùn da Ghaoithe.”
12: THE UNRAVELING
A STIFF BREEZE pushed at Kylie as she climbed the last scree-covered slope to the top of Dùn da Ghaoithe. She could see why it had been named so—it certainly was exposed up here.
It had been quite a climb to reach the top, although the exertion was a welcome distraction after witnessing the violent flogging. The atmosphere within the broch had been tense when they’d ridden out, and it was a relief to depart for a short while.
Breathing hard, she stopped then, pushing away a strand of hair that had come free of her braid, and surveyed the panorama that stretched around her. She could see for miles in every direction from up here. To the east, the bulk of the mainland shadowed the sky, while to the southeast, she made out the proud outline of Duart Castle. Swiveling around, she surveyed the wood-clad landscape farther north before casting her attention southwest to where the isle’s largest mountain, the mighty Ben Mòr, reared up. Her skin prickled then.
What a beautiful isle this was. To think this was her home now.
“What do ye think?”
Tearing her gaze from the view, Kylie focused on Maclean. The laird had stepped next to her, while his sons clambered over rock below them. Dùn da Ghaoithe was a high, rocky ridge with deep corries on either side. Both Lyle and Ailean were excited to finally visit it. Intrigued by the lads’ squeals, Maclean’s collie joined them. Storm’s tail wagged as he sniffed at clumps of heather before he lifted his leg upon a boulder.