Surrender (45 page)

His lips twitched and a wave of acid welled
up from his belly on hearing what could only be Feradoch's voice.
Though it was soft and silky at first, it became harsh and filled
with fury.

Below Graemme, a single torch held by Elspeth
lit the small dungeon. Before he left this place of torture, he
vowed to see her dead for what she was doing.

A few steps more and the scene below unfolded
like a nightmare.

His beautiful Elyne hung from shackles
against the moldy wall. Her cheeks flamed where Feradoch had struck
her

He reached out to rip Elyne's smock from her
body. When he cupped both her beautiful breasts and squeezed, only
Colyne's hand on his shoulder held him back.

"Ye are anxious for me," Feradoch
gloated.

Graemme's anguish at seeing the pain on his
love's face near made him cry out. When she spoke, it was the first
time he knew she truly loved him as much as he did her.

"Ye are crazed as yer leman if ye think ye
can take Graemme's place. Ye make my skin crawl."

She spat in her tormentor's face. Feradoch's
mouth contorted grotesquely. He balled his fist and struck her. Her
head banged back against the wall then fell forward, her knees
crumpled and her weight hung on the shackles around her wrists.
Streaks of blood trickled down her arms from where they cut into
her fine skin.

Graemme howled with rage as he leapt from the
side of the stairwell. He landed close to the cell. Feradoch turned
in surprise and ran toward him, screaming and drawing his
sword.

"Lock the bars, bitch!" Feradoch hollered at
Elspeth.

Colyne called out in his strongest voice, "To
Graemme! To Graemme! The dungeon!" He too jumped down the last
steps and ran to block Elspeth.

Afore Colyne could reach her, she used the
fiery torch to keep him back as she locked the cell's iron
door.

Over the years Feradoch lived within Clibrick
Castle, Graemme had trained with him. Each knew the other's
strength and weaknesses. Feradoch believed he was a superior
fighter and could best anyone. He made sure he won, for faced with
a loss, he resorted to every dirty trick he could. Graemme was
familiar with those, too.

With both hands on their fighting swords,
they circled the area until Feradoch struck out. Their swords
clashed together, screeching as the blades struck and slid down
their lengths. They twirled and struck again, but neither drew
blood. They danced apart and studied each other, then flew together
for another strike. Feradoch's blade came straight down in a
hacking motion, but Gramme turned his blade horizontally to block
him and surge upward, shoving Feradoch backward. They tumbled to
the floor, shoved apart and sprang back to their feet.

Both blades were free and they attacked
again. This time, Feradoch's blade swooshed through the air to
behead Graemme. Graemme, expecting it, quickly ducked beneath the
blade. As the blade sang in the air, Graemme felt his hair move. He
swung his own sword and slashed the skin across Feradoch's
thighs.

Feradoch screamed with fury and twirled out
of reach. Graemme had time to see Colyne out of the corner of his
eye. His friend was having a hard time keeping Elspeth from burning
him with the torch. Only his blade kept her back enough so she
couldn't reach him. It would be a mistake to make her drop it. Dead
leaves and branches on the earth floor accumulated over the years
would go up in flames.

Graemme heard the rest of the warriors
arrive. He was even aware of Squat's frantic barking. He thanked
God that Brian kept a good hold on him or, the wee dog might be
injured.

Elyne slowly raised her head and blinked,
trying to clear her blurry vision. What hurt the worst? The back of
her head, her cheek and jaw, or her wrists that felt like something
was trying to separate her hands from her arms?

Fuzzily, she realized 'twas her weight. She
shuffled her feet closer to the wall and forced her legs to
straighten. Where was that bastard Feradoch? And Elspeth? The woman
was not right in the head to prefer the evil, comely blond to
Graemme.

Finally, everything seemed to come together.
She knew where she was and what was happening so close to her
prison.

Saints help them! The crazy woman was trying
to set Colyne afire! She was swinging the torch like a fiery sword.
It lit even the corners of the room.

'Twas like her dream! Two wolves, one black
haired the other blond, struck at each other with their claws. Her
forehead wrinkled. She winced again. She must not move her head or
face. It hurt too much.

Nay. 'Twas not claws. Swords. Though they
snarled like beasts and their eyes clearly showed they intended to
kill, they were not wolves but men.

The shrill ringing in her ears was steel
striking steel.

Graemme had come for her! After she had shown
him naught but scorn since they met—even more so in the past ten
days! Yet, he cared enough to risk death to save her. When blood
streaked across his chest, she kept herself from crying out.
'Twould distract him.

Elyne's legs wobbled. Widening them a bit,
she leaned back against the wall for support.

As she watched, she caught her lower lip
between her teeth.

The men fought until both dripped with blood.
Graemme began to tire, but each time he glimpsed Elyne hanging in
the cell, fury spurred him on. Finally, Feradoch snarled,
anticipating a kill. Both their blades pointed to the ceiling,
ready to swing down on an unprotected shoulder. Graemme felt a
surge of relief. One day while Ranald was at Raptor, he had shown
Graemme a new maneuver. He prayed it worked as well now as on the
practice field with wooden swords.

When the blades clashed together, they slid
down to the guarded hilt, forcing their hands down. By this time,
their hilts were even with their stomachs. Graemme shoved forward
until Feradoch jumped backward.

He came at Graemme, his sword point aimed to
stab him in the heart. Graemme used all his strength to force the
blade up over Graemme's head. Turning slightly to the side, Graemme
used his elbow to push Feradoch's arm out and away, giving him
space. With a rapid move, he brought his own sword up beneath
Feradoch's chin and slashed it across his throat.

Feradoch's eyes widened in surprise. Blood
spurted in rhythm, splattering Graemme. The dying man's arms
dropped and his knees slowly folded until he crashed forward on the
floor. The surge of blood slowed as his heartbeat weakened.
Finally, it stopped.

Exhausted, Graemme fell to his knees. His
head was down as he gasped for breath.

The men surged into the dungeon, now that
they wouldn't be in the way. He saw a flash of hair as Squat headed
for his mistress' cell.

Elspeth evaded Colyne and ran with the
torch's flame aimed for Graemme's face. Elyne screamed from her
cell. He shook his head and looked up. His former love ran at him
with a crazed look. He still had hold of his sword, though the tip
rested on the floor. His lifted it to thrust the fiery torch out of
the way. But he didn't have enough time. She came too quickly.

His blade was halfway up. Crazed, Elspeth
didn't notice. Didn't stop.

With the fire still aimed at his face, she
screamed incoherently. Squat swerved from his path and charged at
the woman's legs. Just before she reached Graemme, the dog sank his
teeth in her ankle and tripped her.

Still screaming, she fell onto Graemme's
blade. As the sword stabbed through her belly, he heard the
sickening sound as it scraped against her backbone on its way
through.

The torch fell to the floor.

As the torch ignited the debris, the fires of
Hades broke loose in the crumbling dungeon. The dog howled when a
spark lit the hair on his crooked tail and men yelled and stamped
at the floor.

The only quiet came from the two dead
bodies.

And Elyne, for she had passed out.

Graemme gathered his senses and shoved
himself off the floor. Brian grabbed the dog and swatted at its
tail until the flame went out. Colyne and Graemme used their sword
hilts to strike at the lock on the cell door. Finally, it broke
open. The shackles were old. With one blow, they fell away. Graemme
kept his arm around Elyne's waist to keep her from slumping to the
filthy floor.

"Hurry, Graemme! We canna hold back the
fire!"

"Get yerselves out! We're right behind ye,"
Graemme yelled.

He handed Colyne his sword and swung Elyne up
in his arms. He prayed the bairn was unharmed. He ran, dodging the
flames until he reached the stairway. He didn't know which of his
men it was, but someone grabbed his waist from behind and shoved,
keeping him from stumbling over the side of the ruined steps.

Those who had already escaped grabbed his
shoulders and pulled him into the fresh air. Seeing his men were
safely above, he glanced down as fire enveloped the dungeon.

They ran from the ruins until they were clear
of the flames shooting up from the gaping hole.

"We didna take time to bring their bodies,"
one man said.

Colyne handed Graemme a blanket.

"Aye. 'Tis best they burn and are covered
with rubble," Graemme said as he sat on the ground and tenderly
covered Elyne's naked body on his lap.

She groaned and kept her eyes shut tight like
a fearful bairn.

"Give her a drop of water," Colyne said as he
handed his flask to Graemme. "She looks ready to pass out
again."

Elyne had a dreadful ache in her head.
Someone was kissing her. Though sloppily.

"Squat, not the lips, ye mangy cur." 'Twas
Graemme's voice.

Someone had wet a cloth and washed over her
face. It felt delightfully cool. Opening her eyes, she blinked.
Obviously, 'twas Squat with the sloppy kisses, for he kept shoving
at Graemme's hand holding the wet cloth.

Why was Graemme's chest so bloody? And his
kilt?

She blinked again.

"Ye were injured!" She scrambled around and
tried to get up, but he tightened his arms around her. "Let me go,
ye dimwitted lout! Dinna ye know ye can bleed to death without
someone tending to ye?"

She grabbed the sides of her head, for pain
shot through it when she moved.

"Hm. Still calling me by delightful names are
ye, my sweet talking wife?"

"Why is the bairn afeared to show
himself?"

Graemme stopped pacing to stand in front of
Ranald. Chief Angus grinned at his son. Magnus had the nerve to
laugh aloud. They had all gathered in the bedchamber across from
Graemme and Elyne's while Muriel and Catalin helped Grunda with the
birthing.

"She has only been in labor since the
midnight hour. The sun is just overhead. Birthing is hard work and
takes time," Ranald answered.

"Waiting is hard work, too. She should be
more considerate and not worry me so. I've a good mind to go back
in there and tell her!"

"Brother, did a chalice striking yer forehead
not give ye a clear message?" Magnus' eyes twinkled. "If I were ye,
I wouldna go in there again."

Graemme didn't answer but marched over to the
door and swung it open. He had not gone inside the birthing chamber
more than three steps afore Elyne knew he was there.

"Ye misbegotten, randy goat of a man! I
should have let Father pin yer balls to the barbican!"

She stopped to howl out in pain. Once it
eased, she screamed at him again.

"Get a leman! Ye'll never swive me
again!"

Muriele was standing near Elyne's head,
holding it up for her to take a sip of water from a pewter cup.
Then Catalin moved from behind Grunda, to see who had entered. He
backed up. His eyes widened as he got a clear view of his wife's
struggling body. He saw the bairn's head bulging, trying to force
itself out of an opening clearly stretched so tight he envisioned
her body splitting in two.

He turned to flee through the door. He nearly
made it.

Elyne's aim was as good as it ever was, even
though she was screaming obscenities at him he had never heard.

The pewter cup hit him squarely in the middle
of his back.

Catalin giggled. "Best ye not come back for a
while, Graemme. She's, uh, a little angry at ye now."

"Told ye so, brother," Magnus bent over
laughing.

"Come, sit," Ranald patted the bench beside
him.

Three huge gulps of his wine later, a
blood-curdling scream near made Graemme pass out. He started to run
to his wife, but Ranald's firm hand kept him seated.

"Tis the sound of the final labor pain. Be
patient. Catalin or Muriele will appear soon to tell us whether ye
have a son or a daughter."

Graemme slumped back on the chair when a
sound like a small kitten sounded from the room.

Another howl of pain, every bit as loud as
the previous one, made him straighten. He wanted to go in there in
the worst way, but Ranald still held tight to his arm.

"Uh, that sounds familiar. But ye'd best wait
and let them clean her up. Ye go in there now, and ye're liable to
faint." Ranald smiled and slapped him on the back.

"He's right," Magnus added. "Birthing is a
bloody business. She's pretty messy right now, too. She won't
appreciate ye seeing her afore she's cleaned up."

Graemme gulped down another swallow of wine
then put the chalice down to hold his head. He heard the door open
and close and peeked between his fingers to see Ada carrying a
bundle of sheets out of the room. Noting they were soaked with
blood, he stifled a gag.

The next time the door opened, he didn't dare
look for fear of seeing a bloody pallet or such. Instead, he heard
steps coming toward him and a small sound.

He straightened and opened his eyes.

Catalin and Muriel stood before him, beaming.
They each held a bundle.