His Bonnie Bride by Hannah Howell (best mobile ebook reader .TXT) 📗

"Robbie, you and Donald circle round behind our wounded knight. Jaime, you stay here. Iain and I will circle round behind Mistress Eldon. With the stream as our ally we will entrap the pair."

Free of Sir Hugh's grip, Storm glared at the hunched-over man unsympathetically. "Joys, is it? Spare me that. Ye'll get no pleasures from me, Sir Hugh, now or ever, so I suggest ye hobble home. We both know my father would ne'er agree to our wedding. Ye'll nay dishonor me to ensure the match."

"You are a cold-blooded bitch, Storm Eldon," he snarled. "You are enough to freeze a man."

"Not like my dear stepmama, eh, Sir Hugh?" she sneered.

"I don't know what you are talking about," he said with an overdone confusion.

Storm's laughter was derisive. "Think ye that I've not seen the pair of ye slipping off to dark corners to grope about like frenzied animals? I daresay our esteemed steward would be interested to hear how ye visit Lady Mary's chambers of a morning. My God, I doubt the heat of him has ere left the bed."

"We do nothing wrong," bellowed Sir Hugh, silently cursing his luck at having been found out.

"No? Playing backgammon, are ye? My, I have not realized what a physical game it was ere now. All that grunting and moaning and crying out. 'Tis the tossing of the dice, I imagine."

Iain watched, bemused, as Tavis buried his face in his arms to stifle his laughter. It was a rare thing for Tavis to laugh. As his eldest brother had grown he had become more solemn, even hard and cynical. Many had ventured a guess as to why the man had become that way, but no one really knew, for Tavis was a private man, keeping too much inside of himself. Suddenly Iain decided he would say nothing, whatever Tavis had planned for the lass. She could prove the tonic needed to lighten Tavis's soul.

With a bellow of rage, Sir Hugh lunged at Storm, sending them both to the ground. She realized her taunts had driven him into one of his furies. Fighting him with all her strength was useless, and she knew it, but did not cease. Suddenly she was firmly pinned as he straddled her, one of his strong hands pinning hers above her head. He smiled coldly and she fought her fear.

"Not so haughty now, are you," he sneered, his free hand nimbly unlacing her gown.

"Ye do this, Sir Hugh, and I shall see ye dead if 'tis the last thing I do."

Her voice was so low and cold that he hesitated briefly before laughing. "I'm sure you'll try." He stared at her heaving breasts and then roughly parted her unlaced bodice, exposing their alabaster firmness to his greedy eyes. "God, but you are well made, wench." His hand reaching to cup one, he suddenly found a sword at his throat and felt another at his back. "Sweet Jesus, what ..."

"Get up very slowly, Sir Hugh. Lay one hand on the lass and I cut your throat," came a deep, soft yet icy voice with a definite if subtle Scottish accent, a voice that teased a memory free in Storm's mind as she waited for Sir Hugh to get off of her.

Sir Hugh blanched as he faced skewering from both sides. The moment her hands were released, Storm drew her clothing together and struggled to redo her laces. By the time Sir Hugh had slowly risen to his feet, she had accomplished enough to give her the barest semblance of modesty. A hand grasped her arm and pulled her to her feet. She was not overly surprised to find herself facing Tavis MacLagan as, for reasons beyond her, she remembered him well. The head-to-toe black he was adorned in hindered her recognition not at all. It was his voice and eyes that she had most recalled.

"We meet again, Mistress Eldon," Tavis drawled as he sheathed his sword and began to redo her laces.

She eyed him calmly but with humor. "I see ye have as much skill with laces as ye did with braids."

"Do you know these men?" Sir Hugh asked with some incredulity, for he knew they were Scots.

"Why, aye. This is Tavis MacLagan, and the man next to him is his brother Iain. Seven years past they held me, Andrew, Robin, Matilda, Hadden and Haig for ransom. How healed the laird's wound?"

"Quickly and neatly, mistress," Iain replied with a grin. "Ye have a good memory."

"Ah, well, it was an adventure of the best sort for a child. Exciting yet leaving no scars."

"What do we do with this?" asked Robbie, nudging Sir Hugh with his sword.

Tavis's eyes narrowed as they rested on the Englishman. "Strip him and bind him o'er his saddle."

Dislike of the man and temper aside, Storm felt for the shame that would bring Sir Hugh. "Oh, sir, can ye not leave him his attire? It will be shame enough for him to be sent back across his saddle."

"I need no wench to plead for me," snarled Sir Hugh.

Goaded, Storm glared at him. "Fine. Return to Hagaleah with your backside out for all to see. I daresay most of the women will recognize it well as it's occupied most every hedge, bed and hayloft there."

Flushed with impotent rage, Sir Hugh sneered, "A man needs some relief when he makes the folly of pursuing the cold-blooded spawn of some Irish whore."

With an incoherent sound of rage, Storm lunged at him, the long fingers of her delicate hands curved into talons. As he stepped back to avoid her, Tavis grasped her from behind. His strong arms wrapped around her slim form like the bands of a cage and he held her until her struggles ceased. He was surprised at the strength she displayed, for she barely reached his shoulder and was as slim as a reed.

Calming down as the red mist of rage cleared from her brain, Storm felt the tight bonds encircling her