Cien couldn't remember the last time he'd rode as hard as he rode now. The MacPhearson keep was a two day ride. He'd forced his men and himself to make it a matter of hours. Their horses were winded, he knew, and they grew tired. He knew that as well. He also knew if he kept pushing as hard as he was he was going to lame his horse, or that of one of his men, and thus, put them in harms way.
But he couldn't slow down.
He kept his eye on the horizon watching in the direction of the keep for smoke. His rational mind told him they would wait to burn her, as it was raining like all the Saints were tearing. Mayhap they were, he thought bitterly. He had shed his share while he rode.
With single mindedness he rode. He had to reach the keep. He had to save her.
~~~~~~~
They'd thrown me in a chamber up stairs, though quite honestly, I didn't know why. Tilda was dead. I closed my eyes, and could see them again. What they did to her.
Bile rushed up my throat and I heaved up into the rushes. I heaved until my sides were sore and my body exhausted. I leaned back, pulling my legs up to my chest and cried. Why had he done that to her? I wanted to scream. Why had he killed his own cousin, and them let them befoul her in such a way.
Exhausted, I lay back on the straw pallet and replayed the scene in my mind.
When I hadn't given them enough pleasure, kicking and stomping me, they turned to her. She lay motionless, dead, behind the horse, who was anxiously prancing about. One of the soldiers, the dirtiest one with the scraggly beard, untied her hands and I thought briefly that they were going to bury her.
I was wrong.
They untied her arms from the horse and let her body drop with a sickening thud on the ground. It was then that scraggly beard dropped down on top of her and assaulted her sexually. I felt my stomach lurch again in protest, but had no energy left to vomit. Had nothing left to vomit.