Page 41 of Taming the Highland Misfits
“Ya wee bitch!” Alec clamped his hand over Isla’s mouth, freeing one of her arms.
She bit down on his fingers and heard him grunt in pain, but by this time one of her hands was free to grab a handful of his hair and pull it with all her might. Isla was able to use both of them now, since he had let go of her to pull his hair out of her grasp, letting out a string of curses as he did so.
However, just as she was about to try to push him away, Isla felt his hands going around her neck in a steely grip. She tried to breathe, but it was impossible as his thumbs pushed harder and harder against her windpipe. At first she coughed, but after a moment even that was impossible. She clawed at his hands, drawing blood and eliciting more curses, but it was no good. He was determined, and had begun to laugh, a growling, sneering sound. Isla felt herself becoming limp as the strength oozed out of her body.
Her eyelids drifted closed and she dropped her hands, then suddenly it was all over. The pressure on her throat disappeared and she opened her eyes, then gulped in great lungfuls of lifegiving air. She heard a bang as Alec’s head hit the floor, and then Finley was growling: “come on, ye coward! See if ye can fight a big man instead o’ a wee lassie!”
* * *
When Finley heard the commotion outside, then Isla’s desperate scream, he sprang into action. He shouldered the door open then threw himself inside the house, following the sound of the scuffle to guide his way in the darkness. Alec Crawford sounded like a wild beast, grunting, growling and breathing heavily in harsh gasps as he pushed Isla against the wall, pressing all his weight onto her.
Finley was angrier than he had ever been in his life, and it was rage that propelled him now as he threw himself against Alec, then whirled him around and threw him to the floor. His startled scream ended suddenly as his head hit the floor.
Finley dived onto him, punching him mercilessly in the ribs and stomach, taunting him as he did so. Alec gave a few feeble moans but put up no resistance, and after a few more blows, Finley decided that his enemy had had enough; he was completely unconscious.
He sprang to his feet and rushed over to where Isla was standing, bent double and coughing uncontrollably. “Isla—Isla, are ye all right?” he asked fearfully. “Did that bastard hurt ye?”
Tears were streaming down Isla’s face as she coughed, in a harsh, hacking bark that made Finley cringe inside. He bent down to look into her face in the half-dark, saw the gleam of the tears, and pulled her gently into his arms. For a moment, Isla continued to cough, then gradually stopped as she leaned against his shoulder.
“Thank you, Finley,” she whispered. “I think you just saved my life.”
“I saved his as well, because if he had hurt ye, I would have killed him,” Finley said grimly. “Gold or nae gold.” He let out a great sigh of relief, then he bent down and picked Alec Crawford up from the floor, apparently with little effort, and hefted him over one shoulder. He left through the broken door, which was now hanging by one hinge, then slung the limp body onto Duff’s back.
The Lonely Shepherd was only a hundred yards down the road and they covered the distance as quickly and quietly as they could.
Isla was shuddering, as the shock of what had just happened finally hit her. She had been so, so close to death. She put her fingertips onto the two painful spots on her neck; there would be bruises there in the morning, but that was the least of her worries.
As she looked at the slack form of Alec Crawford hanging over the horse’s back, she wondered if he was dead. Finley’s big hands were like clubs when he clenched them, and Isla was quite sure that he was capable of killing a man with his bare hands. Isla knew that Finley had left the bandit life behind him, but he could have killed Crawford without meaning to, unaware of his own strength.
She was shaken out of her morbid thoughts as they arrived at the tavern, but just as Finley stopped to survey the building, thinking of the best way to enter, Iain Crawford stepped out of the shadows.
He peered at Duff and squinted at the figure slumped across his back, then lumbered up to the horse and turned around to Finley. “Have ye killed my Da?” he roared.
“He isnae deid,” Finley replied casually. “Just restin’ a wee while. I put him tae sleep.”
Iain stared at Finley for a moment, then put his head down like an enraged bull and charged at him. Had he connected with Finley’s body, Iain’s sheer weight would have knocked him flat on the ground, but Finley sidestepped neatly and landed a crushing blow on the corner of his enemy’s jaw. Iain went down like a fallen tree, landing on the hard ground in a limp heap of flesh.
Finley rubbed his knuckles, which were throbbing painfully, glanced down at Iain’s bulk, and turned his attention to opening the door.
Isla looked around desperately to see if there was another way in, and spotted just what she was looking for. A window was open, and she knew that it was in the passage that led to the front door, not in any of the bedrooms, so no one would be disturbed if she gained entry that way.
“There is an open window there,” Isla told Finley, pointing. “I think I can get in that way.”
Finley smiled at her. “Good thinkin’, Isla,” he said approvingly.
Isla needed a little help to get through the opening, which was just above head height, so Finley made a cradle with his hands so that she could step on it and scramble through the window. She had had enough violence for one night, and had dreaded the moment when Finley would kick the front door in, likely waking everyone in the tavern. This was the best way to proceed.
She tiptoed to the front door and unbarred it, then unlocked it, and Finley came in with his burden. Alec was still unconscious, his arms hanging limply down Finley’s back, but Isla could see to her relief that he was still breathing.
They crept down to the cellar and Isla retrieved the key from its hiding place behind a secret panel in the wall that slid open when she touched it. She opened the cellar and lit the lantern that always stood ready by the door as Iain had shown her before.
Finley dumped Alec’s unconscious form on the floor none too gently, then went outside to find Iain. He had to drag the big man’s unresisting body into the tavern, since not even he, strong as he was, was able to lift it.
“Can ye get the rope in my saddle bag?” he asked Isla. “I dinnae want these swines tae wake up while I am busy.”
Isla went to do as she had been bidden, then stopped to take in a breath of the fresh night air. She was just managing to hold her composure together while they worked to find out the truth, but she wanted it all to be done and over with. It had been a horrific evening, and all she wanted to do now was go home, fall asleep and find out that it had all been a horrible nightmare.
However, she found the rope and took it to Finley, who tied up the father and son to a wooden pillar that supported the roof in the middle of the room. He bound both their hands and feet so that any chance of escape was impossible, and he looked up at Isla.
