Page 77 of My Warrior
He’d believed he possessed Cambria. She was his vassal, after all, to command as he did his knights. He was the lord of Blackhaugh, and her world should rightly center on serving him.
But that wasn’t the truth of it at all. His lip curled in irony as he dismounted to retrieve his helm.Hisworld was the one turned all awry. Cambria could lead him a chase, pricking him like an irremovable thorn and attacking him with the most irreverent tirades. And yet he never felt more alive than when she was working her wiles on him, grappling with him over the Scots’ cause, challenging him with her dagger-sharp wit, taunting him with her glorious body.
The past few days had been pure hell without her. Merely gazing upon her made his heart quicken. Every turn of her head, every spark in her eye, each gesture that was unique to her captivated him. Nay, he admitted, clutching his helm beneath his arm, he wasn’t lord and master to Cambria Gavin. He was the willing prisoner of her heart.
And, by God’s grace, when he had pummeled Owen’s men into the dust, he’d sweep her into his arms, surrender the key to his soul, and hold on to her forever.
The cruel syllables echoed over and over in the empty shell of Cambria’s heart—spoiled goods…keep the whore…
He couldn’t have meant it, not the man who’d melted her with a kiss, who’d chased away her nightmares in his arms, who’d vowed before God to keep her and honor her. Yet his heartless words bruised her far worse than any blows from Owen’s fists.
Had she mistaken their silent exchange? She’d sworn in that one moment when they locked gazes that they’d understood each other, that together, somehow, some way, they would overthrow Owen.
Perhaps she’d been wrong. He’d been so angry with her the last time they spoke. Perhaps the Wolfhadonly used her to gain control of Blackhaugh. Perhaps shehad“served her purpose.” It was too awful, too painful to consider.
Besides, a greater challenge awaited her.
Owen had unlocked her shackles and cast her chains to the floor, replacing them with a coat of mail, gauntlets, and a surcoat.
Half-hysterical laughter threatened to issue from her mouth as she realized Owen’s intent, but in the next heartbeat, the brute stifled it with a wad of cloth stuffed between her lips. Her eyes watered as he shoved the rag deep into her mouth, making her gag. Then he tied it in place with a strip of linen, pulling it so tight that she imagined her lips would crack. Over it all, he plunged a heavy steel helm, and Cambria battled panic as she strove to breathe in the suffocating bascinet.
From the shade of the dovecote, Katie watched, her chin a-tremble, as the bastard Englishman dragged Cambria to the middle of the courtyard. The old servant chewed on her fist to stop the foolish tears that would do the girl no good, fighting back the urge to rush to her mistress’s aid. She hadn’t laid eyes on Cambria since the lass’s untimely arrival, but by the girl’s staggering gait and the droop of her shoulders, Katie knew she’d been mistreated.
It vexed her to be so helpless. Owen had given the women the run of the keep—the bastard needed their services—but he’d threatened to slay Cambria at once if any of them left. Katie had thankfully been able to make frequent visits to Malcolm in the dungeon. But the situation was no better. Even if she’d been able to steal the dungeon keys from Owen, which was impossible, since he slept locked in the tower, there was nothing any of them dared do while he held their laird prisoner.
And now the monster was sending the poor lass out to battle her husband, the Wolf, who would likely cut her down in the wink of an eye before he even knew whom he attacked.
Katie couldn’t bear it. She’d already witnessed the deaths of Cambria’s mother and father. She couldn’t stand idly by while Owen destroyed what little was left of the Gavin clan.
As Owen tried to maneuver the unwieldy charger in the middle of the courtyard, the sun caught on the dull iron ring of castle keys dangling from his belt by a leather thong. They jangled against his thigh, taunting her. She gnawed at her lip. If she could get to them, somehow cut that tie…
Her heart batted against her ribs like a trapped sparrow, but she stepped from hiding and crossed determinedly to where Owen fought to control the nervous steed.
Sweat beaded the man’s brow, and his face bore a deathly pallor. He reeked of the infection in his leg and the wine he constantly consumed to dull its ache. He was not long for this world, and with a vengeance that surely damned her soul, Katie wished the man would die on the spot. But he only limped forward, jerking hard on the horse’s lead.
She came up behind him, her heart pounding so fiercely she feared he might hear it. Biting her lip to stop its quivering, she slipped an embroidery needle from her pouch. Before she had time to regret her actions, she jammed it hard into the charger’s flank.
The horse screamed, rearing in protest, and Katie was nearly trampled. In the confusion, Owen staggered back with a curse. Swiftly, before he could regain his presence of mind, Katie drew her eating dagger and sliced forward.
The knife grazed his side, scarcely breaking the skin, and he snarled more in fury than pain. But he wheeled on her with eyes as black as the devil’s. The last thing she remembered was the crack of his fist exploding against her chin and splinters of light like a chapel window bursting in her face.
Cambria’s eyes flooded with tears of anguish and rage. Her poor beloved Katie. The old maid lay still as death on the sward, her russet skirts sprawled on the ground like a withered rose.
Owen grabbed Cambria’s arm, and she tried to wrench away, wanting nothing more than to beat him to a bloody pulp. But she didn’t have the strength to finish him off, and she couldn’t afford to rile him. He’d only take his anger out on her clan anyway, as he’d already done with Katie.
So she cast one last despondent look at the servant who had raised her, the dear woman who’d sacrificed herself for the laird.
Then a dark glimmer within the folds of Katie’s skirt caught her eye. Cradled in the servant’s still palm were the castle keys.
“Mount!” Owen growled.
A slender blade of hope pierced her bleak despair. But there was no time now, no chance to take advantage of her discovery. She wasn’t even sure Katie was alive.
“Mount!”
Cambria swallowed the impulse to stand her ground and did as she was told. The sooner she was out of the keep, the sooner her clan would be safe. Still, her limbs felt leaden as she climbed into the saddle, albeit more from the burden of duty than from the weight of the armor plate Owen had forced her to wear.
Owen seized the reins so she couldn’t possibly spur the horse to trample him. Then he issued a dire threat.
