Highlander’s Broken Love by Fiona Faris

Chapter Five

“Then consider it done.” Laird Grier’s decision made Ian blanch. He grasped the bars even tighter, briefly wondering if he could break the bars with his bare hands and drag Elisabeth out of the cage from the other side. “Take her.” Two guards stepped into the cage, going for her arms.

“Step away, Hal. Now,” Ian turned his head to the guard beside him, who was still holding the dagger against his waist.

“Ian, what’s going on?” Kenny appeared at his side. The momentary distraction gave Ian all the time he needed. As Hal turned to look at Kenny, Ian lashed out. First, he elbowed Hal in the stomach, winding him completely. Then his grasp went for Hal’s wrist, bending it back so far that the dagger fell out of his hand and down to the ground.

“Kenny, get it!” he ordered. Kenny snatched it up from the ground, just as Ian pushed Hal against the bars, knocking him out.

He snatched the dirk from Kenny’s hands, added it to the belt latched around his waistcoat and then circled the cage. Elisabeth had been taken out now; she was being dragged across the open earth, her knees going through the mud as two guards each held up one of her elbows.

“Grier!” Ian snapped, rushing after him. “Ye cannae do this.”

“I give the orders here, Ian. Remember that,” Grier didn’t even look back to him as he said it.

Elisabeth was taken into the very center of the camp. There was an old well they had been using, beside which sticks had been driven into the ground to prop up buckets for collecting water. One of the guards threw her against the sticks. She fell into them, trying to grasp onto one of the sticks to hold herself upright, but she was down on her knees, winded and exhausted.

Her eyes were a bright blue, but the color was masked from view as those eyes flickered shut, a physical sign of how she was bracing herself against the pain coming shortly.

Ian felt something twist inside himself. She was so slim and delicate that she had no chance of fighting off men like this. What kind of man would he be if he just let this happen?

“Ian,” Alex was beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder, halting his movements as he attempted to follow. “What are ye doin’?”

“What does it look like I’m doin?” Ian asked, dumbfounded. “Ye want to see an innocent woman lashed like this? What if it was Delilah in that cage?”

“Of course, I daenae,” Alex said quickly, shaking his head. “But…is it wise to get involved? Grier already wants ye dead.” Ian turned his dark glare on Alex. “Daenae look at me like that, Ian. Ye gave me sound advice over the years. Ye showed me reason where I had none, remember?” Alex’s words cast Ian’s mind back to his own tale of woe and difficulty. He could remember advising Alex strongly on what was the best for his own safety, and that of the clan’s. “I am returnin’ the favor now,” he warned. “I thought ye were dead these last few years. Now I ken ye are alive, I daenae wish to see ye dead again. I am warnin’ ye. Ye get involved, ye give Grier a reason to harm ye.”

Ian appreciated the advice, but he didn’t care about the outcome.

“Then so be it,” Ian nodded. He pushed around Alex, walking toward the well where people were gathering. The light of the day was fading strongly now, streaking the sky with scarlet and orange colors. Soon, it would be dark.

“Get her ready,” Laird Grier ordered. “Jockie, ye can do the honors.” He passed a flogging tail into Jockie’s hands. Ian faltered slightly at the sight of it, for it wasn’t just one strip but multiple strips of leather attached to a bound handle. They intended to destroy their delicate hostage’s skin with such a horrific instrument of torture.

Ian could remember all too clearly what such a weapon had felt like across his own back. It had taken everything in him not to cry out at the pain or reveal the information his captors wanted. The thought of Elisabeth having to go through that was unthinkable.

“Ye cannae do this,” Ian stepped out in front of Jockie and Laird Grier. There was a woman by Jockie’s side, finishing some kind of bandage that went halfway around his head just to keep some cloth in front of his eye and staunch the bleeding.

“Ye have nay say here, Ian. Ye said so yerself,” Laird Grier snapped. “Now, stand aside, or ye will merely get in the way.”

His uncle’s words gave him an idea. He looked back to see Elisabeth trying to fight off one of the guards, but it was no use. He had already tied one of her wrists around one of the sticks and was trying to tie her other wrist around the second. In this position on her knees, with her arms stretched out, her back was completely open. Within a few strikes, that whip would cut through the silk of her dress and the corset beneath.

“Step aside, Ian,” Jockie ordered this time, flicking the whip so much that it echoed in the air. “Let the Sassenach whore have her punishment.”

Ian looked away from Elisabeth and turned back to Jockie, standing his ground.

“Nay,” he said simply.

“What do ye mean ‘nay’?” Jockie scoffed. “I said, step aside.”

“Ye want to whip someone, then fine.” Ian held out his own arms. “I invoke the right to take her punishment meself.”

Ian was suddenly aware of just how many people had gathered around to watch, for they all fell quiet. He glanced briefly to the edge of the crowd. There he could see Kenny and Alex, watching him with their fists clenched.

“I daenae believe it,” Laird Grier chuckled and stepped forward, bringing the two of them face to face. “She is nothin’ but an English lass. A hostage taken for the advancement of our clan. Why should ye help her?”

“Ye want any more reason other than the fact ye are about to whip an innocent woman?” Ian asked, gesturing wildly with his arms. He could see enough women in the crowd grimace and shift to know how much this fact was hitting home. “Ye need nay more reason than that. The rest of me motivations are mine alone.” He wasn’t going to give Laird Grier the satisfaction of knowing that Ian could not bear the sight of seeing delicate Elisabeth subjected to torture. It would show a softness for her.

“Yer choice, Grier.”

“I am Laird Grier to ye,” he repeated the same phrase he had uttered earlier that day.

“Fine then, Laird Grier,” Ian had to stifle his temptation to scoff. “Ye and I both ken ye arenae goin’ to pass up on this opportunity.” He whispered the latter words so that only his uncle could hear him. “Let me take her place.”

He knew Grier would not be able to resist the idea of humiliating the rightful laird in front of the clan. It would also be an opportunity for him to lash out at the nephew he resented so much. Ian just didn’t care about Grier’s motivations. All that mattered to him was getting Elisabeth out of harm’s way right now.

“Release her,” Laird Grier ordered the guards. “Tie Ian up in her place.”

“Ian, think about this,” Alex stepped in the way, as though trying to stop it.

“It’s already decided,” Ian said, walking around him, eager to take her place.

“Ian, daenae do this,” Bhaltair’s voice came next, and he could see Kenny too, trying to intercept, but he ignored them all, pushing forward—determined to take her place.

Ian felt Hal take his arm and turn him back toward the sticks. He only glanced once at Alex and Kenny who were talking together in hushed tones, both shaking their heads. There was nothing they could do to stop this now. He’d volunteered for it.

As Elisabeth was released, she looked at him. Just before she was dragged away, their eyes locked, then she was gone from view, and he sank down onto his knees. He did not fight it, so he was quickly removed of his shirt and waistcoat, then his hands were bound. As the guards stepped away, he balled his hands into fists and gritted his teeth.

He would not cry out. He wouldn’t give Grier the satisfaction.

* * *

Elisabeth was forced to watch. She had one guard holding her body back with her arms pinned to her sides, while a second had hold of her chin and forced her to stare at the ensuing ferocity.

When Ian’s clothes had been removed, she had briefly marveled at the curvature of the muscle around his shoulders, but that thought was quickly lost. She had seen, even in the fading light of the day, just how many scars there were across his back.

His back was crisscrossed with scars. There were so many that his back was no longer smooth at all. In fact, some of the torture marks even looked quite fresh, as though they had scabbed over not long ago.

When the first whip came, she flinched in the guard’s hold. She felt relieved and thankful at what Ian had done for her and fearful for what was happening to him.

After the first whip, Ian did not make a sound. Jockie and Laird Grier looked at one another, stunned, then Jockie prepared himself, winding up the whip again before flogging Ian a second time. Still, Ian made no sound, yet now there were fresh whip marks across his back, and he began to bleed, with the blood trickling down his back in fresh rivulets.

Jockie appeared to be a man possessed as he flogged Ian again and again, drawing more and more blood. In the end, Elisabeth had to close her eyes. The thought of the man who had been kind enough to bring her food being degraded and hurt so infuriated her. Yet there was nothing she could do to stop it.

People murmured all around them. Some people in the crowd were cheering Jockie on; others were full of fear. Elisabeth tried to listen to their words, realizing just how divided a clan it truly was.

“He hasnae made a sound,” someone marveled nearby.

“That’s how he got his reputation in the prison,” the English voice made her open her eyes again. This time, she was able to twist her chin enough in the guard’s hold to see who had spoken. The voice belonged to Kenny, the man who had arrived with Ian. He was speaking to the Laird of the MacPherson Clan. “People used to talk of how he would never even flinch under torture, let alone speak and confess secrets.”

“Nay good can come from this,” Laird MacPherson said, his body completely still.

When the whipping came to an end, it was slow. A call went up from the crowd, pleading for it to finish.

“Ye have taken what ye wished for,” one of the guards shouted.

“Bhaltair, shh,” a second guard urged beside him.

“I willnae be quiet. Ye are beatin’ him until soon there will be nothin’ but bone left. Enough of this!” As Bhaltair called for the whipping to finish, more cries went up in a similar vein. With the clamor so high, Laird Grier was evidently going against the majority of his people. As Jockie raised the whip once more, Laird Grier stopped it.

“That’s enough, Jockie,” Laird Grier’s order made his son fall still. As Jockie lowered the whip, he looked toward Elisabeth. The darkness in his gaze made her flinch in the guards’ grasp.

“We should continue until he makes a sound,” Jockie said, though Laird Grier shook his head.

“Let yer cousin go and lick his wounds for a while. He’s got enough new ones to deal with.” Laird Grier turned away and headed back to his tent, closely followed by Jockie.

Kenny ran forward before anyone else could. As he made a dive for Ian, Hal tried to stop him, but Bhaltair was close behind him, holding back Hal’s arm before he could intervene. Kenny took hold of the binding around Ian’s wrists and untied them quickly, just as Laird Alex reached his side.

The guards holding Elisabeth began to drag her away. She fought against them. She wanted the chance to speak to Ian, to at least look at him and communicate, with her eyes if nothing more, how grateful she was for what he had done. Yet they did not let up.

She had one last view of Ian and heard but a few words exchanged.

“Ian, come back to the tent, we’ll get you cleaned up,” Kenny said.

“Nay,” Ian stood to his feet, his face impassive. “I’ll clean meself up.” He walked off, heading between the trees toward the sound of the river.

Elisabeth craned her neck, trying to see him again, but to no avail. She was dragged all the way back to the cage and thrown inside. As the key turned in the lock, trapping her inside again, she looked back to the well.

The crowd that had gathered were beginning to disperse as darkness fell, whispering or talking amongst themselves in hushed tones, as though they didn’t want to be overheard. In the crowd, there were the four men that had been round the fire with Ian earlier that evening, talking quietly, with some of them gesturing toward the river in the direction Ian had gone.

As the guards left Elisabeth alone in her cage, she looked down and found the plate on the earth where she had dropped it earlier. It was splattered with Jockie’s blood. Horrified and sick at the sight of it, she kicked the plate through the bars until it landed some distance away from the cage.

She sank down, sitting with crossed legs in a corner, resting her head against the bars. Now that darkness was falling, she knew she should try to sleep. After the day she’d had, she was exhausted and would do well for it, but she couldn’t. She was too scared that Jockie would try something again, and she was desperate to see the man that had looked out for her twice now.

As she tried to fend off sleep, her eyes kept fluttering open and closed, but she kept them trained on the gap in the trees where Ian had disappeared, waiting for him to return.