Desperation clawed at her. She knew no one in the castle but her mother, and Isla was otherwise occupied. Eilidh had helped in the kitchens earlier with the hope of being offered a few morsels of food. But after the incident of the spilled ale, she had been sent away with nothing—no food, and less friends.
There was no one to save her from the brute.
“Ye dinnae enjoy me touch?” he growled into her ear, causing goosebumps to appear on her skin. He forced her to look at him. “Because ye’re a bonnie lass, ye think ye’re a lady. Is that right?”
He laughed, a deep mocking sound that embarrassed heruntil her toes curled in her boots.
“Come with me,” he wheezed, pain ricocheting through her as he tugged her forward by her hair. “Ye’re goin’ to apologize properly in me chambers.”
“Milaird, p-please! I ken ye deserve better. I cannae please ye, in… in that manner.” Her voice rose with desperation as they neared his rooms.
“Ye just need to lie there, wee lass…”
He yanked harder, but the pain of having her hair pulled was the least of her concerns. It hadn’t been that long ago that she had turned five-and-ten. How could she lay with a man old enough to be her grandfather? How could she lay withanyman at all at her age?
She couldn’t do it. She wouldn’t let a man turn her into a replica of her mother. It was bad enough that they shared the same cursed features. She angled her elbow and pounced on the Laird's ribs. He let go of her with a pained yelp. Eilidh swayed on her feet, dizzy from the sudden release. The Laird then struck her across the face.
Eilidh saw stars. She stumbled and collided into the wall, but forced herself to remain standing.
“How dare a filthy thing like ye lay ye hands on me!” he roared, storming over to her.
She was paralyzed by cold fear. She trembled as she realized she was truly doomed. He raised his fist to strike her again, but she blocked him with her arm. It angered him even more. He slapped her arm away so hard that she barked in pain.
She bit her lower lip, refusing to give him the pleasure of seeing her cry. He lunged for her gown's sleeves, but Eilidh deflected, deciding to make a run for it.
Before she took a step, he drew her back with a fistful of her gown. Eilidh heard the rip in the thin material, leaving oneof her breastsexposed to the night's air.
When he saw her, the Laird grunted like a bull. With one hand, he grasped her wrists and reached for a cold, hardened nipple. Eilidh curled her back, tucking her trembling flesh away from his grasp. He tightened his grip on her arms, closing in on the spot where he had struck her first.
“Dinnae touch me!” she cried. She kneed at his groin and missed. He struggled with the other part of her dress, growing more excited, more agitated. Eilidh worked to release her hands, but her efforts were futile.
She jerked her legs in wild kicks, fighting for release. He brought his mouth close to kiss her, but she bit down hard on his lip and he yowled. Blood trickled down his jaw, disappearing into his bushy beard. She saw in his eyes that he was tired of her struggling.
Suddenly, he hoisted her over his shoulder. Terrified, she opened her mouth and let out a blood-curdling scream, viciously scratching at his back, at anywhere her fingers could reach.
The Graham men took their rest in the other wing of the keep, and the guards who were supposed to be patrolling the halls had been all wearied from the earlier feast. Her voice bounced around the empty halls. Frustrated tears streamed down her cheeks.
“Who goes there?”
The Laird continued barreling down the hall, not caring about the voice. Eilidh screamed, “Help! Help me please! He’s goin’ to kill me!”
There was no sound for a moment, at which point her hope died in her chest. Then, heavy footsteps stomped toward them. They drew closer, and Laird MacAdam took up a run.
“Laird MacAdam?!” she heard from the end of the hallway.
It was the youngest Graham son. The one who had offered her a shy smile at the feast. He was taller than the other two sons, with long blond hair and fierce green eyes.
“Drop the lass this instant!” he commanded.
The Laird turned around. “Lad, who do ye think ye’re talkin’ to?”
Eilidh stopped thrashing as he reared up to them. “The lass doesnae want to be with ye. Let her down.”
MacAdam grinned. “Have ye gone ravin’ mad, Caelan?”
Eilidh felt him tugging on her waist, refusing to let her go.
“I dinnae ken how ye act in yer clan… but here, we dinnae force lasses to do our biddin’. Put her down!”