The Chief Read online

  She looked around for help, but the place appeared deserted. Where was the guard? Would anyone hear her cries? Would anyone care?

  The way he was leering at her made her skin crawl. She could guess his intentions. “Let go of me, you filthy beast!” she shouted. She tried to reach up and claw at him, but he sensed her movement and pinned her arms against her body by wrapping her tighter against his.

  She fought to break free, but her struggles seemed to only make him angrier.

  “You little hellcat!” he said furiously. “Like it rough, do you?” He dragged her toward the keep, deeper into the shadows, and slammed her back onto the wall of the castle, knocking the breath from her. He had one hand on her head, one around her waist holding her arms, and his body pinning her to the wall, making it barely possible for her to breathe, let alone move.

  The sound of men’s voices gave her a renewed burst of energy. “Help!” she managed breathlessly, before he clamped a hand down over her mouth.

  But they’d heard her. “You over there.”

  Her attacker stilled.

  It had to be the castle guard. Tears streamed down her cheeks, relieved that this nightmare would soon be over.

  “Hurry up, will you?” one of the men said. “The lass is making a lot of noise and there are ladies about.”

  Her attacker chuckled. “Aye, she’s a real screamer.”

  The other men laughed and moved off, leaving her stunned. How could they just leave her? They didn’t care. She was nothing to them.

  It was up to her. No one would help her.

  Releasing his hand from her mouth, his grip on her hair tightened and he forced her face to his, resuming where he’d left off before the interruption. His mouth lowered and she cried out, “No!” She tried to evade him, twisting her head until tears came, not caring if he ripped out all her hair. But the harder she struggled, the harder his grip on her grew.

  Their teeth knocked, sending a blast of pain to her nose, as his mouth came down on hers with crushing force. The pungent scent of putrid ale assailed her senses. She gagged, revulsion rising up in the back of her throat as her stomach threatened to empty. He tried to force his tongue between her lips, but she clamped her jaw tightly closed.

  He grunted in frustration, his body grinding harder against hers, as he pressed his slobbery lips against her jaw. When he released her head she thought she’d won, but the victory was short-lived.

  She felt his hands tugging at her neck, felt his ragged nails against her bare skin as he held the edge of the neck of her gown and pulled.

  She heard the ripping sound of fabric an instant before the cold air blasted her bare breast. He groaned as his hand covered her and squeezed—hard. Horrified, she cried out at the brutal invasion.

  “God, would you look at these tits!” He sounded like a man who’d just found a bag of gold. “Big and round, just the way I like them.”

  Every ounce of her strength erupted in revolt at the feel of his disgusting hands on her body. “Don’t touch me!” she screamed, close to hysteria. Lashing out like a wild woman, she was able to free one of her arms long enough to drag her nails down his cheek.

  He howled out in pain and instinctively drew back. But the shock faded and his black gaze narrowed on her with chilling intent. He put his hand on his face, drawing it back to reveal blood. “I’m going to kill you for that, you bitch.”

  He came at her again and she darted to the right, trying to evade him. But he was too fast. He caught hold of her cloak and started to reel her in.

  Her heart raced as she summoned everything she had to try to get away, twisting, hitting, and kicking. But this time he was prepared. She fought against the feeling of helplessness that threatened to smother her, refusing to give up hope.

  She pushed against him one more time, stunned when he seemed to fly back in the air.

  Any thought that she might have been responsible was quickly doused when she looked up to see the guardsman who’d attacked her being held off the ground by the scruff of his neck like a pup by another man. It was too dark to see the newcomer’s face, but he was tall and broad—even more so than her attacker. For the first time in her life she was glad of brawn and muscles.

  “I believe the lass is not interested,” he said coolly.

  His voice was deep and razor sharp, holding the unmistakable edge of authority. Something about it made her skin prickle.

  “Who the hell do you think you are?” her attacker spat. “The lass is willing enough. An’ even if she weren’t, it’s none of your bloody business.” The guardsman who’d seemed as strong as an ox to her struggled to break free of the man’s hold, but he only tightened his grip, cutting off the guardsman’s breath.

  Her rescuer twisted the gasping man around to face him. “I just made it my business.” He threw her attacker up against the keep, much as the other man had done to her. His head collided with a sickening thud, followed by the sound of teeth rattling. Pinned by the neck, her attacker uttered an oath, his eyes widening with fear.

  “You’re one of MacRuairi’s men?” her rescuer said.

  Her attacker tried to nod, but he couldn’t move his head enough.

  “I know your face. And if I so much as hear of you touching an unwilling woman again, mine will be the last you ever see.” He sniffed as if he’d just gotten a scent of something vile. “I don’t care how drunk you are. Do you understand?”

  The attacker nodded mutely, obviously too scared to speak. He looked as if he’d seen a ghost—or the grim reaper himself.

  “Then go,” her rescuer said, releasing him. “Before I change my mind.”

  The guardsman, who’d seemed so overpowering to her, scampered away like a frightened mouse. When her rescuer turned his face out of the shadow to face her, Christina smothered a startled gasp with her hand, knowing why her attacker had fled in terror.

  —

  With still no sign of Nicolson, Tor had decided to seek out MacDonald and was making his way back to the keep when he heard grunting and caught sight of the shadowed figures against the wall. Though he preferred less public displays himself, privacy was a privilege afforded very few, and it wasn’t uncommon to see a guardsman take his pleasure with a lass anywhere that would accommodate.

  He ignored them as he usually did, until he heard a cry. His gaze sharpened, this time seeing the signs of struggle that hadn’t been apparent with a glance.

  The flash of anger struck him hard. Mistreatment of women did not sit well with him, but rape held a particular abhorrence since he’d learned of his mother’s fate. Men under his command knew he had no tolerance for abusing women in such a foul manner. Punishment would be swift and severe.

  The lass was putting up an impressive fight, but it was no contest—a fact that added to his irritation. Grabbing the man by the neck, he pulled him off her, threw him against the hard stone, and pinned him to the wall by his throat. He saw the moment of recognition and knew the man would not put up a fight. Too bad. He would have welcomed the excuse.

  His already dark mood had turned black.

  Once the guardsman had vanished into the night, Tor turned to the lass. She’d backed away during his exchange with the guardsman and stood just beyond the reach of the torchlight, huddled in the darkness. She was a tiny thing and he felt a fresh rush of anger, thinking of the size of the man who’d attacked her. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “I’m f-fine,” she said haltingly. She seemed to be fighting to control her shaking. Shock. He’d seen enough men experience such a reaction after battle. “Thank you,” she said, gathering herself together. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  He frowned. Something wasn’t right. Her voice. Soft and sweet, the gently modulated tones were not of the area and were unmistakably refined. A well-spoken serving girl? He stared hard at the trembling figure in the shadows, able to make out just enough to send a prickle of disquiet running along the back of his neck. “Come,” he said, holding out his hand. �