The Striker Read online

  Not wanting to make it worse, he didn’t tell her about Fin.

  What am I doing here?

  Margaret stood on the ramparts staring forlornly out to sea, wondering how her life could have changed so much in one year. She wasn’t the “fair maid” of Galloway anymore, she was the abandoned wife of an outlaw. She wasn’t living with a father and eight brothers who loved her, she was a pariah among strangers—most of them hostile. She wasn’t the laughing, lighthearted hostess who’d presided over her father’s table with confidence, she was the “unfortunate” mistake who sat below the salt and rarely spoke to anyone other than Tilda. And she wasn’t the lady of the castle who was busy helping to run a fiefdom for her father, she was the formerly irreverent girl who’s work at a convent was the only thing that kept her from going mad with boredom.

  And what was it all for? Was she waiting here for nothing? Where was Eoin? When would he come back? Would he come back?

  After the way they’d parted the last time, she wasn’t sure he’d want to. It had been nearly a month since that horrible night when her husband had appeared like a phantom in the dark to tell her of his plans. She deeply regretted some of the things she’d said, and the way she’d responded to his news with demands. But she’d been upset, frustrated, and desperate for him not to abandon her once more in this miserable place where she was cut off from everyone and everything that she loved—even the husband who’d brought her here.

  But it had been his words that haunted her. How could he suggest—even in anger—that she would wish for his death to escape this marriage? She loved him. She only wanted to be with him.

  But he was right. What choice did she have? She turned away from the sea to return to the tower. No matter how much it beckoned, she could not leave.

  She didn’t understand how everything could have gone so wrong. How could the marriage that had seemed so romantic and perfect feel like such a mistake? It seemed as if nothing had gone right since the moment they’d spoken their vows in the cottage. The world had turned against them. And there was nothing romantic about being married to a man whose misplaced loyalty had taken him away from her side for a year.

  All for a lost cause. She still couldn’t believe that he’d chosen to stay with Bruce. Even Eoin’s foster brother had surrendered to the Lord of Lorn. Fin, John MacDougall’s newest toady, had arrived at Gylen Castle as its keeper a week ago. With the MacLean laird and his son being declared outlaw rebels, the clan’s lands had been forfeit to the crown—the English crown. As sheriff of Argyll—the English king’s authority in the area—Lorn had given Fin command of the castle.

  At first Margaret had been horrified by the news of Fin’s return, until she’d learned the reason why. Fin had been given Marjory as a bride. The marriage that Eoin’s sister had always wanted would be hers as soon as the banns could be read.

  Margaret tried to be happy for her. She desperately hoped that she was wrong about Fin. He seemed to be doing his best to avoid her, for which she was grateful—and relieved.

  It wasn’t until the night of the betrothal celebration that Margaret learned he’d only been biding his time. Despite the happiness of the bride-to-be, there was a pall cast over the occasion by the absence of the laird and his sons—none of whom had been heard from since Eoin had left. Though the clansmen had been forced to swear to their new overlord, their loyalty was still with their laird, and they looked on Fin as something between an opportunist and a traitor.

  Fin had assured them that he’d only done it to protect them—and that Eoin understood—but Margaret didn’t fully believe him. She sensed that Lady Rignach didn’t either but had chosen to make the best of the situation by pretending to do so.

  The celebration was a stilted, awkward affair that was continuing late into the evening out of duty, not desire. Feeling the absence of her husband and finding it hard to hide her misery, Margaret slipped out of the stifling Hall into the stables to bring Dubh a special treat—an apple pilfered from the feast.

  She didn’t realize she’d been followed.

  “What are you doing out here?”

  She startled at the sound of the voice behind her, and recognizing it as Fin’s, her heart immediately started to race. Racing that spurred when she glanced around and realized he’d cornered her in the small stall and gotten rid of the stable lad who’d been sitting near the door. The door that was now closed.

  Straightening her spine, she squared her shoulders to face him. “Giving Dubh a treat. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” she said, trying to brush by him, “I told Tilda I’d be back in a moment.”

  He caught her arm. “Not so fast. We have a few things to discuss, you and I.”

  The pounding of her heart echoed in the growing pit in her stomach. She could smell the heavy scent of whisky on his breath, and his eyes were wild with a drunken haze. Every instinct in her body seemed to ring in alarm.

  Being alone with Fin always made her nervous, but being alone with a drunken Fin made her terrified.

  “How did you do it?” His eyes scanned her face, and then dropped to her breasts, where they lingered with an unmistakable glint of lust before returning to her mouth. “How did you beguile him into marrying you so quickly? You’re beautiful, but he’s never been distracted by a pretty face. It must be something else. Did you get on your knees? He’s always had a weakness for a lass who sucked his cock. But then what man doesn’t?” He laughed crudely.

  Margaret gasped, so shocked and outraged she didn’t know what to say. Did women . . . ?

  She wrenched her arm away. “How dare you! When Eoin comes back—”

  “Comes back?” He laughed harder—crueler. “Eoin’s not coming back. Haven’t you realized that yet? If he comes here, he’s a dead man. Hell, he’s probably a dead man already.”

  Anger dulled some of her fear. She hated hearing her own fears echoed by this brute. “How can you say that? He’s your friend.”

  Fin sobered just a little. “Aye, but he made his choice. I made mine. We’ll both have to live with them. I’m surprised you are still defending him, considering.”

  “Considering w-what?” Margaret hoped her voice wasn’t shaking, but her heart was in her throat. He’d blocked the only exit to the stall with his body and was now backing her against the back wall.

  He smiled, but it never reached his drink-crazed eyes. “Considering that he left you here unprotected.” He leaned down, and she shuddered as his whisky-laden breath crawled over her skin. “You are a beautiful woman. Many men would be tempted—”

  “Then they would be fools,” she said, standing up straight, refusing to be cowed. “If my husband does not return to avenge my honor, I assure you my father and brothers will.”

  That gave him pause. But then his eyes narrowed on her once more, like a hawk with its prey in sight. It seemed he was no longer biding his time. “Your father and brothers are a long way away, but perhaps if you look around there is someone closer to home whom you can rely on.”

  “Who?”

  “I might be persuaded. With the proper enticements.” If the look he swept over her body left her any doubt of what he meant, his next move did not. He reached for her, drawing her up so quickly she didn’t have time to react before his mouth was crushing hers.

  He tasted of whisky and lust, and she would have gagged had she been able to breathe. He was just as big and muscular as her husband, and the assault of such a powerfully built man filled her with terror, but she was prepared. Vowing that she would repay her brothers if she had the chance for insisting she learn how to defend herself, Margaret lifted her knee between his legs. Hard.

  He crumpled like a poppet of rags, crying out in pain. She didn’t waste time, but drew her eating knife from the scabbard at her waist and held it to his neck.

  “If you ever touch me like that again, I’ll kill you.”

  The lust was gone. It was pure hatred that glared in his eyes now. “You’ll regret that, bitch.”

  She