What followed was half-description, half-argument as Bronwyn and Stephen talked of the clan that had been the enemy of Clan MacArran for centuries—until a few months ago when a truce had been made. Bronwyn’s brother Davy had married the daughter of the MacGregor.
As they talked, they walked along the treacherous cliff road, one side high rock, the other a sheer drop. Elizabeth, caught close to Miles, beside Stephen, Bronwyn ahead of them, listened with no little fascination to the exchange between the married couple. They argued heatedly but with absolutely no animosity. The men behind them talked among themselves, so this bantering was obviously not new to them. Bronwyn taunted Stephen, called him several names and Stephen merely smiled at her and told her her ideas were ridiculous. Of all the marriages Elizabeth had seen, the husband would have blackened the wife’s eye if she’d said half what Bronwyn was saying.
Elizabeth glanced at Miles, saw he was smiling benignly at Bronwyn and his brother. Kit began to enter the argument, taking Bronwyn’s side, running ahead to grab her hand.
“He’s your son.” Stephen laughed, looking at his brother.
Because Stephen looked toward Miles, toward the rock wall, he saw the rocks tumbling from above—aiming for Elizabeth. With a knight’s instincts, he acted as quickly as he thought, making a leaping grab for Elizabeth. The two of them slammed into the rock wall, Stephen’s big body pinning Elizabeth, crushing her as the rock fell behind him.
Elizabeth also reacted without thinking. For a few moments, her guard had been down, but with men behind her, beside her, she’d remained nervous. Her senses did not register the reason for Stephen’s abrupt attack but only knew that once again a man was threatening her.
She panicked. Not just a small uproar, but Elizabeth let out a scream that startled the already nervous horses. And she didn’t stop with one scream, but she began clawing and kicking like a caged wild animal.
Stephen, stunned by her reaction, tried to catch her shoulders. “Elizabeth,” he shouted into her terrified face.
Miles had been struck on the shoulder and back by falling stones, knocking him to his knees. The moment he heard Elizabeth’s screams he went to her.
“Goddamn you!” he bellowed at his brother. “I told you not to touch her.” With a hard push he shoved Stephen away, tried to catch Elizabeth.
“Quiet!” he commanded.
Elizabeth was still in a frenzy, scratching Miles, trying to tear away from him.
He caught her shoulders, gave her a sharp shake. “Elizabeth,” he said patiently, loudly. “You are safe. Do you hear me? Safe.” It took another shake before she turned eyes to his—eyes such as Miles had never seen before, frightened, terrified, helpless eyes. For a moment they looked at each other and Miles used all his strength of character to will her into peacefulness. “You are safe now, my love. You’ll always be safe with me.”
Her body began trembling and he pulled her into his arms, held her close to him, stroked her hair. When he glanced at Stephen standing near them, he said, “Leave a horse. We’ll follow later.”
Elizabeth was hardly aware of the funeral-quiet procession passing them. Her fear had made her weak and all she could do was lean against Miles for support, while he stroked her cheek, her neck, her arm. After many minutes, she pulled away from him.
“I have made an ass of myself,” she said with such despair that Miles smiled at her.
“Stephen didn’t understand when I told him not to touch you. I’m sure he thought it was mere jealousy.”
“You are not jealous?” she asked, pulling away, trying to change the subject.
“Perhaps. But your fears are more important than my jealousy.”
“My fears, as you call them, are none of your concern.” She succeeded in pulling completely away from him.
“Elizabeth.” His voice was pleading, very low. “Don’t keep all this inside you. I’ve told you I’m a good listener. Talk to me. Tell me what has made you so afraid.”
She caught the rock wall with her hands behind her. The solid mass felt good, gave her a feeling of reality. “Why have you sent the others away?”
A flicker of anger crossed his eyes. “So I’d have no witnesses when I ravished you. Why else?” When he saw that she wasn’t sure he was being sarcastic, he threw up his hands in despair. “Come on, let’s go to Larenston.” He grabbed her arm much too hard. “You know what you need, Elizabeth? You need someone to make love to you, to show you that your fear is much worse than the reality.”
“I’ve had many volunteers for the task,” she hissed at him.
“From what I’ve seen, you’ve known only rapists—not lovers.”
With that, he practically tossed her into the saddle and mounted behind her.
Chapter 8
ELIZABETH PUT HER HAND TO HER FOREHEAD AND OPENED her eyes slowly. The big room where she lay upon the bed was empty, dark. It had been many hours since she and Miles had ridden into the fortress of Clan MacArran. It was an ancient place, set on the edge of a cliff like some giant eagle using its talons to hold on. Some woman who looked as old as the castle handed Elizabeth a hot drink laced with herbs, and when the woman’s back was turned, Elizabeth dumped the drink into the rushes behind a bench. Elizabeth had a knowledge of herbs and she had a good guess as to what the drink contained.
The gnarled little woman, whom Bronwyn called Morag, watched Elizabeth with sharp eyes and after a few moments Elizabeth feigned sleepiness and lay upon the bed
“She needs the rest,” Bronwyn said over her. “I’ve never seen anyone go insane quite as she did when Stephen pulled her from under the falling rocks. It was as if demons had suddenly entered her body.”