Page 25 of Dorchad

I bet he’s all talk. He scares everyone too much for them to cross him. Well, not me.

Once Rebecca reached the gate the two guards standing inside raised the metal grating just as they did for everyone else. Dorchad must have assumed she’d follow his orders, she thought as she smiled at them and walked through to the outer bailey. From there she just had to present herself at the second gate, but once she reached it a big guard stepped out to block her path.

“You shouldnae leave the stronghold alone, Mistress,” he told her.

“I’m not leaving,” she assured him. “I’m just stepping out for a few moments. I’ll be back before you know it.”

The guard stared down at her for so long Rebecca almost gave up and turned around to head back. Then he finally stepped aside and began spinning a huge wheel that lifted the heavier metal grating on the outer gate.

Stepping through to the forest outside made Rebecca want to skip with delight, but she controlled herself and walked sedately out to the trail that wound through the trees. This was the path Lucy had told her would lead down to the water’s edge where the willows grew. She couldn’t see them yet, but it would only take a minute or two to walk down there.

As she made her way along the trail Rebecca noticed for the first time how dark the woods were becoming, thanks to the dense canopy overhead. She also heard rustlings and other sounds that made her wonder just what sort of wildlife the clan encountered out here. After five minutes of walking she still didn’t see the water, and wondered if she’d gone in the wrong direction. Lucy could have been talking about a path outside a different gate, of course.

“What a pretty wench to come our way,” a gravelly voice said behind her.

Rebecca turned around slowly as more men in filthy clothing emerged from the brush. With their matted hair, pinched faces and scrawny builds, they didn’t resemble any of the MacRune. All eight had knives of various sizes in their fists, and looked at her as if she were a hot fudge sundae with extra whipped cream.

The biggest one used his free hand to rub his crotch. “I’ll fack her first.”

In that moment she knew there were things worse than death, and wished she had accepted the dagger that Lucy had offered her. She couldn’t fight off eight men with one blade, but she knew exactly where to stab herself so that she’d be dead before she hit the ground.

“If you touch me, you’ll die screaming,” she said in her calmest tone. “I belong to the MacRune’s second, Chieftain Dorchad.”

All of the men froze, and two turned as if to run away.

The big one swore at them as he bent down to pick up a large stone. “Hold your ground, lads. She lies. The village sluts claim Dorchad MacRune’s been gelded.”

“Just for landing here he’ll end us all, Douglas,” one of the others said.

A rider on horseback suddenly burst out of the forest, knocking aside two of the brigands and chasing the others back into the brush. Douglas rushed at Rebecca, grabbing her and dragging her back against him like a body shield. She struggled until he put his knife to the front of her neck..

“Test me, and I’ll take your head, hoor,” he told her, and tightened his arm around her body as the rider reappeared and trotted toward them. In a louder voice he shouted, “Stay back, or I cut her throat.”

Seeing Rebecca in the hands of a blade-wielding brigand tore at Dorchad with a thousand talons of white-hot rage. She looked so small and helpless, her bright beauty a candle that could be snuffed out in the next instant. The thief had crossed the wrong MacRune, and he’d assure he suffered greatly for such. But why had she been captured? Had he not warned her to remain inside the stronghold? Why had she ignored his orders?

I shall deal with her later.

His dark blood surged through his veins, as cold and ruthless as life had forged him. Watching the woman he desired being touched by a man who would end her in a blink calmed him, strangely enough. He had been born to become a murderous bastart.

’Tis time I cease battling that inescapable fate.

“Cut her as you wish.” Dorchad reined in his mount and vaulted off the saddle, advancing on them. “She’s of no use to me.”

The filthy mortal put his mouth next to Rebecca’s ear as he demanded, “Beg him for our lives.”

“Why?” She looked into Dorchad’s eyes, her own filling with regret as she said to the thief, “He really doesn’t care about me. He cares about making you suffer as much as he can. You should leave me and run away now.”

For a long moment it seemed that the mortal fool might cut her throat and take his chances. Dorchad almost wished he would. Now that his dark Fae side had been roused from its long slumber he needed to kill something slowly. There stood on the island an unused shelter where he could imprison and torture this eejit for weeks. Yet that would mean losing the wench, who surely did not deserve such a pitiful end.

The blood of his mortal màthair, the only thing she had ever gifted him, still fought against his sire’s taint, it seemed. Inside him a warmth enveloped the frigid killing need, tempering it with emotions he did not wish to experience.

“Choose,” Dorchad said to the thief. “Only ken what I shall do to you once that wench no longer stands in my way.” He smiled.

The man paled, and suddenly shoved Rebecca away and ran.

Dorchad caught her before she fell. Holding the small, slender body in his arms made him realize just how frightened Rebecca was. She shook so much her teeth chattered, and she clung to him with icy-cold hands. He allowed her to do as she pleased, for he too had to endure his own desire to give chase and hack the thief to pieces. He’d hold her steady for a time, calming her until she quieted. Then he would take her back to the stronghold and lock her up somewhere he could put her in shackles and post guards to keep the silly wench from risking her life again.

Rebecca stepped back, her hands falling to her sides. “I’m sorry, I should have listened to you–”