The Birching Room

Lorne’s knees hit the damp earth of the clearing. He dropped his hunting bow into the dirt, ignoring the dead outlaws bleeding out in the grass. The foul stench of voided bowels and iron-thick blood hung heavy in the enclosed space.

Alasdair unclasped his heavy wool cloak and tossed it toward Lorne. He turned his back, keeping his eyes locked on the tree line to grant them privacy.

Lorne ripped his hunting knife from its sheath. Rowena lay pinned to the ground, her arms bound tightly to wooden stakes, her legs tied wide apart. Her dress was shoved up to her waist, her bare sex fully exposed to the cold air and the dead men beside her. Lorne sliced through the coarse ropes biting into her wrists and ankles.

Rowena snatched the heavy cloak and pulled it tight around her trembling shoulders, desperately covering her exposed breasts and naked thighs. A massive sob tore from her throat. She was saved, yet an overwhelming wave of dirty shame crashed through her. She felt diseased. The filthy touch of the outlaws lingered on her skin like a physical stain.

Lorne wrapped his strong arms around her, crushing her against his chest.

"Did the bastards rape you, Rowena?" he demanded, his voice a frantic rumble against her ear. "Did they penetrate you?"

Rowena shook her head, tears streaking through the dirt on her face. "Nay, husband. They were about to, but you stopped them before they could finish it. The skinny one... he shoved his dirty fingers deep into my cunt, and they pawed my bare breasts while they tied me down." She clutched the lapels of his tunic, her knuckles turning white. "Can you ever forgive me, love? Can you bear to touch me again after those filthy beasts mauled me? Or will you hate me now? I am soiled."

Lorne’s grip tightened around her waist. "I will always love you, Rowena. I canna help myself." His frantic tone hardened, cooling into a rigid, unyielding command. "But there will be consequences for this. You left the Keep without telling a single soul. You rode out without guards. It was expressly forbidden by Stellan, and by me."

Rowena blinked, the sharp shift in his tone cutting through her hysteria. "What consequences, husband?"

"You will know soon enough, my love."

Alasdair stepped forward, his gaze fixed respectfully on the tree canopy above. He moved to the edge of the glade, gathering the scattered herbs and medicinals Rowena had dropped. He stuffed the bundles into his leather bedroll.

"We will send men back for the bodies," Alasdair said, kicking the pudgy outlaw’s boot. "We can drag them to Dervaig and see if there is a bounty on their heads."

Lorne stood and whistled for his destrier. The massive warhorse trotted into the clearing. Alasdair lifted Rowena by the waist and set her sideways on the saddle. Lorne swung up behind her, taking the reins. Alasdair mounted his own horse, lagging several paces behind to guard their rear and give them room to speak.

They rode out of the thick brush. The rhythm of the horse jarred Rowena’s aching bones. She leaned her head back against Lorne’s chest, seeking comfort, but his posture remained stiff. A wall of solid, unforgiving muscle.

"Why did you disobey our orders and leave without your guards?" Lorne asked. The anger in his voice was cold and deliberate.

"I wasna going far from the Keep walls," Rowena said, sniffing. "I dinna understand why someone must shadow my every step."

"You have heard us speak of Ewan Ravenscroft, have you not?"

"Aye," Rowena replied. "Lord of Ravenscroft Manor. I have heard his name spat with disgust by everyone in the clan, but I dinna know the reason."

"He is an evil, vile man," Lorne said, his gaze scanning the rugged terrain ahead. "My father believed Ravenscroft murdered the prior owner of his lands and stole the property from the rightful heirs over a fabricated debt. And we know he covets our land next. Ravenscroft’s current property only borders Loch Frisa. It is landlocked. It offers no access to the open sea. Our territory borders Loch A Chumhainn and sits right beside the market town of Dervaig. We hold the sea access. We hold the trade routes. Ravenscroft is greedy, and he will stop at nothing to take what is ours."

Rowena shivered, pulling the cloak tighter around her neck.

"He would do anything to break this clan," Lorne continued, his voice a low, punishing growl. "If his men had found you wandering alone today, they would nae have thrown you in the dirt and raped you on the spot. They would have dragged you back to his manor. He could hold you for ransom. He could force Stellan to sign over our borders in exchange for your life. Or he could rape you repeatedly and cast doubt on the paternity of any child you might bear me. It is nae just you, Rowena. All of us are at risk. We dare send no one past the gates without a minimum of two or three armed men. Not even Stellan rides out alone. If Ravenscroft took you, you would be tortured and raped in his dungeons, and we could do nothing to stop it."

The reality of her foolishness settled heavy in Rowena’s stomach. The outlaws had nearly ruined her, but the threat of Ravenscroft meant the ruin of the entire MacKinnon clan.

"I am sorry, Lorne," Rowena whispered. "I dinna know."

"You could have obeyed without knowing," he snapped. "We dinna issue orders for our own amusement."

The wind picked up, howling across the moors. Lorne kept his grip tight on the reins.

"Ravenscroft razed the entire township of Achnadrish just to build his manor," Lorne said. "He pushed dozens of crofters off their ancestral lands. One of the old women held a legal deed to her small piece of property. She refused to leave. Ravenscroft rode to her door, tore the deed from her hands, threw it into the hearth fire, and told her to vacate in a week or die. Unfortunately for him, the local minister held the original deed in the church records, and the old woman only gave him a copy."

Rowena looked up at his stern jawline. "What happened to her?"

"When Ravenscroft found out he burned a useless copy, he went livid with rage. He couldna legally evict her. So, he built a massive spiked fence around the border of her property. He trapped her inside. She couldna enter the town, couldna fetch food, couldna trade. He starved her out until she finally surrendered and sold her property to him for a fraction of its true value. He is the most hated man on all of Mull."

"How can he do these things?" Rowena asked, her voice trembling. "How come no one can stop him? Is he not breaking the King’s law?"

"He is a rich and powerful man," Lorne answered bitterly. "He holds even richer and more powerful friends, extending all the way to the throne itself. If a serious crime could be proven with undeniable evidence, perhaps he could be taken down. But Ravenscroft is meticulous. He ensures no such proof ever exists. Any man who might testify against him turns up dead in a ditch or vanishes into the bogs."

The Keep loomed in the distance, its massive stone towers casting long, dark shadows across the valley. Rowena’s heart hammered against her ribs. The fear of Ravenscroft faded, replaced by a sharp, rising dread concerning her own fate. Lorne’s anger had not broken. His body remained tense, radiating a cold authority she had never experienced from him before.

They rode through the raised portcullis. The heavy iron gate slammed down behind them, the metallic crash echoing off the stone walls.

Lorne pulled back on the reins, bringing the destrier to a halt in the center of the bustling courtyard. Stable hands rushed forward. Alasdair dismounted and threw his reins to a young groom.

"Take good care of these beasts," Alasdair ordered. "They have been ridden hard today. Give them a heavy measure of extra oats."

Alasdair turned his back to the grooms and fixed his icy gaze on Lorne.

"I will find Stellan and let him know the search is over," Alasdair said, his voice flat and devoid of any familial warmth. "I will see you in twenty minutes in the Birching Room."

Rowena froze. The breath caught in her throat. The words hung in the crisp courtyard air like a death sentence. She stared at Alasdair’s retreating back, then twisted in the saddle to look up at her husband.

"Birching room?" Rowena asked, her voice cracking with pure terror. "I have never heard of a birching room in the Keep. What is it for?"

Lorne stared down at her. His eyes were devoid of sympathy.

"There has been no need for you to see the Birching Room before, Rowena," Lorne replied. "It is time now."