Page 75 of My Warrior
But she couldn’t afford to give rein to her emotions. She had to think.
He’d come, not alone, but with a vast company of his knights. He intended to do battle then. Cambria bit her lip. If he brazenly assailed the keep, the Wolf might indeed ride victorious into Blackhaugh, but only to find that Owen had killed all of its inhabitants.
She had to keep him from attacking. But how?
Holden coiled his fists in the reins, and Ariel tossed her mane in protest. He immediately tugged the horse’s head back around, fighting to restrain himself, too, as he beheld Cambria in Owen’s clutches at the tower window.
Her face was discolored with bruises. Blood stained her cheek and arms. Heavy chains crossed her body.
His heart plunged to the depths of his gut. Beside him, his men gasped in outrage. It was only by great dint of will that he controlled a trembling of fury and bloodlust.
“De Ware,” Owen called out, “my thanks for the use of your wife. She’s proved a welcome…amusement.”
Holden kept his face a mask of grim control as he stared at the bastard, silently marking him for death.
“Indeed,” Owen taunted, “I may just have to keep her to warm my bed.”
Holden stilled his restless mount. By God, if that fiend had bedded Cambria, he’d string the devil up by his ballocks.
“What do you want, Fitzroi?” he said, amazed at the levelness of his voice.
“Oh, I already have what I want,” he sneered. Then the churl reached brazenly across Cambria’s shoulder and thrust a hand into the top of her shift to fondle her breast.
Holden heard the soft curses of his men about him, but he only set his teeth, silently swearing he would chop that insolent hand off before the sun set. Ariel stomped at the sod, expressing the rage Holden felt.
Then Cambria locked gazes with him, and the anger froze in his veins. Any other woman would have turned away in shame at what Owen forced her to bear, but his Cambria stood bravely, unflinching, the same way Holden had, taking that beating long ago for killing the hound. Her eyes communicated what she could not—that her will was strong, that while Owen touched her body, he didn’t touch her spirit, and that she would endure anything,anythingfor her clan. And in that moment, while the Scots breeze snarled his courageous wife’s hair and the sun shone down on her like an angel’s blessing, a clot of tears choked him, and he knewhewould endure anything forher.
She sent him a message then, not with words, not with gestures. He was too far from her for any kind of real exchange. But somehow she spoke to him.Let Owen do to me what he will,she said,but save my clan.
He nodded infinitesimally. He understood her silent plea. But he didn’t intend to surrender Cambria, no matter what expected. He intended to save them all.
He tore his gaze away. If he wanted to rescue his bride, he’d have to take desperate action soon. Wheeling Ariel about, he conferred with his men.
“We have to assume that Garth, Guy, and Myles are either imprisoned or dead.” The thought shook him to the core. He couldn’t afford to dwell on it. “I’m certain the same is true of the rebel Gavins. Surely none of them would stand for such…degradation of their laird.”
Stephen reined forward. “Can he be reasoned with? The king knows he was the rebel’s spy. His life is already forfeit. Perhaps he’ll surrender.”
“Nay!” Holden said, more harshly than he intended. “Nay, there’s no telling what the traitor will do. He might seek vengeance, slaughter whoever remains inside the castle walls. Or he might panic, flee with…a hostage.”
Though no one voiced it, every man knew who that hostage would be.
“Do we lay siege then, my lord?” Stephen asked.
“And starve our own people?” Holden shook his head. A siege would take far too long anyway. He didn’t want Owen alive one more day. “Nay, I’ll nibble at his bait, see what he intends.”
It was wiser to stalk Owen with stealth, to let him believe he had the Wolf on a short leash. But first, he had to get Cambria out of danger. He turned Ariel about and faced his foe.
“Fitzroi!” he called out. “If the wench has bedded you, then she’s spoiled goods.” Even at this distance, he could see Cambria flinch. He hated to hurt her, but it was the only way. “She’s served her purpose already. You can keep the whore.”
To Holden’s relief, his loyal men remained stolid on their mounts. They knew their lord well, that he would never speak ill of a woman. They recognized his words for what they were—a blatant piece of deception.
Owen, however, sputtered in surprise. He’d obviously expected jealous rage, not dismissal. The knife jerked ever so slightly in his hand, nicking Cambria’s throat. Holden’s heart leaped into his mouth.
But Cambria didn’t wince from the cut. She stared woodenly, as if the knife prick was nothing atop the deep wound Holden had just dealt her. Lord, he had to get her away from that monster before…
“What have you done with my men?” he bellowed. “Garth, Sir Guy, and Myles?”
Owen snatched up the suggestion as eagerly as a child after sweetmeats. “Your men? If you’d see them alive again, de Ware,” he said shoving his now useless prisoner aside, “there’s a demand I’d make of you.”
