His Bonnie Bride by Hannah Howell (the beginning after the end read novel .TXT) 📕

of any feelings Tavis might harbor for her besides lust. The things she had done to aid Colin would be enough to make a MacLagan take up the cudgels on her behalf. Though she would sorely like to see Sir Hugh rent six ways to Sunday, she felt escape was more practical at the moment.

The ride to Caraidland was pure torture from the moment Tavis set her up before him until, with dawn's light, they rode into the inner bailey of the MacLagan keep. There were but eight men, and they rode at a steady pace, none too eager to be caught by a large force from Hagaleah. After a while Storm found herself encased in a numbness; the pain still radiating through her had put her into a state of semi-consciousness. Only now and again did she have to bite down a cry as a jolt caused a shaft of agony to stand out against the sheet of pain she had adjusted to feeling.

When Tavis handed her down to Sholto in a rapidly filling bailey she found her legs unable to support her. For a moment after she had collapsed against him, Storm watched in groggy fascination as Sholto's handsome face shimmered and faded. She had the sinking feeling she was going to faint, but lacked the strength to fight it. All her resources had been used up in surviving the night's ride.

"I do apologize," she said with a formal politeness that was rendered ludicrous by her pain-filled thread of a voice, "but I fear I am about to swoon. Please do excuse me."

Sholto tightened his grasp, his arms encircling her as she gently lapsed into unconsciousness. His hands came in contact with a suspicious wetness as they lay upon her back beneath the heavy curtain of her unbound hair. As Tavis dismounted and stared, Sholto pulled one hand into view. Even in the gray light of a new morning there was no mistaking the blood that coated his hand.

Wasting no time, Tavis pushed aside her hair and ripped open her tunic. While he gave a chilling growl, many another's hand went to his sword hilt, faces tightened with anger at what they saw. Few of them could lay claim to never having raised a hand against a woman, for theirs was a rough life with violence as an integral part, but the visual proof of the brutality visited upon the tiny lady touched them all. It mattered not that she was an Eldon. No man had a right to treat a woman so.

"I will kill him," Tavis hissed as he stared at Storm's bruised and bloody back.

Iain winced as he studied her wounds. "The bluid comes mostly from the reopened wound. Few of these other marks have broken the skin. Whoever did this was nay out to scar her."

Taking her limp body into his arms, Tavis strode into the keep. He neither noticed nor cared who followed him. That the girl had been carried back was enough to draw Colin, who paused long enough to send a maid for a woman who might have some skills in healing. Once in her chambers, Tavis and Iain busily divested Storm of her clothes as Sholto collected whatever he thought might be needed to aid the unconscious girl.

"Sweet mother of God," Colin murmured hoarsely as he moved to the side of the bed and put a comforting arm around the shoulders of a pale, silently weeping Phelan.

There was little of Storm that was not bruised. Colin was able to read the marks like a book. Whoever had done it had plainly used his fists first, resorting to a rod or soft whip afterward. The only good he could find was that few of the marks would leave a bad scar.

"I cannae believe she endured the ride here," murmured Iain as he began to wash her clean of her own blood. "She ne'er said a word, yet it must have been a torture. Who could do this to such a wee lass?"

In a tearful voice that, nonetheless, was filled with hate, Phelan replied, "Sir Hugh and that Sussex bitch." He took a deep, shaky breath as his hand gently touched Storm's bruised face. "I was not fast enough."

"Ye couldnae have been any quicker, laddie," Colin said in an attempt to soothe the stricken boy.

"There's nothing broken," Tavis announced softly, "and there isnae any sign of rape, Phelan."

"She said that had not happened," Phelan remarked, looking improved in spirit.

"Laddie, a man who'd do this to a wee bonnie lass would do near anything, and I cannae believe she didnae swoon somewhen whilst this was being done to her." Colin sighed. "Aye, I only hope that she did."

A small young woman named Jeanne, the maid Colin had sent to find someone, burst into the room. Behind her strode a sturdily built woman of indeterminate age who was the wife of the stable master. While Jeanne's sympathetic dismay was evident, the older woman's plain face registered little emotion. With admirable efficiency, she cleared the room and turned her undivided attention to doing what could be done for Storm which, unfortunately, was not very much. Her injuries were the sort that had to heal on their own, fading with time.

The MacLagans and Phelan retired to the hall. Though they were all grim-faced and angry, none suffered from the seething rage that Tavis did. That for once he cared and cared deeply about what happened to a woman who warmed his bed he put down to the fact that Storm warmed it very nicely, as well as the fact that she simply did not deserve such brutal treatment. A small voice that hinted that he was being obtuse was ruthlessly ignored. No man could look at the destruction wreaked upon that alabaster skin and not be moved.

When the woman left Storm she tersely reported to the MacLagans that she had tended the reopened knife wound but that there was little else to be done. The pain would