Ruthless Read Online Free Page B

Her throat gaped from ear to ear.
    A wail, long and piercing, warbled from
Muriele's throat. Pulling a knife from the sheath at her waist, she
cut the rope bindings and stretched her mother out on her back.
Tugging off her shawl, she wrapped the body then gathered her into
her arms and cradled her on her lap. Tears flowed down on the
unseeing face, beautiful still though bruised and cut. Muriele
rocked back and forth, unable to stop keening.
    "Will ye look at her? Ain't she a bonnie
one?"
    How had she become so careless? 'Twas the
Kinbrace patrol. They'd heard her cries and returned, knowing
they'd have more sport. The men slid off their mounts and circled
her.
    "This'n be younger, too."
    Hands reached to grab her, pulling her away
from the limp body. Muriele fought, hate for these human beasts
gave her strength. Blood smeared their clothing. Her mother's
blood. She kicked, scratched and bit anything within range.
    "Aye. Me cock's ready to crow again," one man
said, leering at her. His breath wheezed from his throat when her
foot landed a blow to his ballocks.
    She near bit the ear off a surly, stinking
lout trying to pin her arms to her side. Another darted close to
slip a rope over her head. He tightened the loop until the need to
breathe forced her to grab it. She used all her strength to keep it
from strangling her.
    Still, she fought on with her feet. After
what seemed an eternity, the man holding the rope spoke.
    "I be tired. Let's take her to the castle.
Ridin' will rest us." He snorted a laugh. "Runnin' will tire the
witch out."
    He pulled her over to his horse and mounted.
As he signaled his horse to a trot, she craned her neck to look
back at the still figure on the ground. Tears blinded her as she
ran. If she fell, she did not doubt he'd pull her along the rough
forest path all the way to Kinbrace Castle.
    o0o
    "How many times over the years have we
crossed this spot, Feradoch?" Magnus looked over at his blood
brother who flashed him a wide grin.
    "The tally stands at thirty and four, one
coming and one going for each of seventeen years."
    "Aye. After ye spend this fortnight at
Kinbrace, 'twill be the last of our yearly month together. Next
spring, ye'll return here for good and I will go to Clibrick.
Graemme will be pleased."
    "Your brother is far too soft. I can still
hear his snivels when we pledged."
    "Soft?" Magnus chuckled. "Graemme was five
years old at the time. Eight days past, he near beat ye with the
war hammer. Had ye not thrown dirt in his eyes, ye would have
needed to forfeit yer shield for the sennight."
    "He'll learn to keep his eyes darting from
face to hands. He won't make the same mistake again."
    Though Magnus had been gone all these years,
Graemme still greeted him with as much gusto as he had the time he
returned for his first fortnight visit. Magnus wondered why Graemme
had never formed a brotherly affection for Feradoch.
    'Twas strange. Feradoch was pleasant company.
A good warrior. A number of lasses at Clibrick frequented his bed.
At Kinbrace, he had a leman he'd sworn he first took when he was
twelve years old. He'd offered Magnus her services while he was
gone, but Magnus had the feeling had he availed himself of the
offer, his blood brother would have resented it.
    He spotted the towers of the castle beside
Loch Badenloch and settled the Norse helmet more firmly on his
head, knowing Olaf would scowl if he did not. Over the years, he
had determined his own father was too soft. Though the Morgan motto
was
With a Strong Hand
, he preferred
Either Peace or
War
of the Gunn's.
    He had oft learned the truth of it. Whenever
an outlying clan had a dispute, Olaf took Magnus to squelch them
into obedience. He enjoyed a good fight. The day he heard his
reputation in the Highlands had earned him the name Magnus the
Ruthless, he'd shrugged.
    They spurred their horses into a gallop,
racing to be first to enter the barbican. Side-by-side over the
wooden drawbridge the horses' hooves pounded so loud