on Toran, who had pressed his bare chest to the tree and wrapped his arms around it. The muscles of his back rippled in the sunlight and exposed scars of battles or beatings past. She couldn’t breathe. Her heart was pounding so loudly, surely they heard it and knew she wasn’t sleeping.
Stop! She wanted to scream. Bloody stop! Beat me instead!
Tears threatened, and she held them at bay. If even one fell, she wouldn’t be able to wipe it away, and the moisture would only blind her to what was happening. Dirk’s hand pressed firmly to the small of her back, a measure of support she couldn’t seem to take any comfort in. Yet she was glad he held her down, for she wanted nothing more than to leap from her prone spot and draw her sword.
Perhaps that was why her cousin did it.
The dragoon’s black boots hit the ground, and he walked slowly toward Toran, his riding crop tapping against his leg. The first slap was hard, and she clenched every muscle, including her jaw to keep from screaming. The crop sang through the air again and snapped against the golden skin of his back, bringing with it an angry red stripe.
Five more cracks of the crop brought five more bright red stripes across his skin.
When the dragoon paused, Toran started to pull away from the tree, and she breathed easy knowing the beating was over.
“Oh no you don’t, savage. We’re just getting started. Take off your belt.”
“What?” Toran asked, his voice tight. Not since they’d met had she heard this tone from him. It was a new level of dangerous that snaked down her spine. He’d not yet turned around, and she feared what would happen if he did.
“I said take off your belt.” The audible click of a flintlock pistol cocking made Jenny want to throw up.
Beneath her Dirk’s legs stiffened, and his horse sidestepped so her view was only of the men’s feet. The dragoon swung on him. “Move and I’ll shoot ye in the head.”
Dirk managed to relax, but Jenny couldn’t.
Toran didn’t move, and the crop whipped against him. Jenny bit the inside of her cheek so hard that she tasted the familiar metallic tang of blood.
“Take off your belt or I’ll have it cut off and you can ride home with your ballocks hanging out.”
Toran was slow to take off his belt and pass it to the bastard. Once he did, the dragoon snapped it hard against Toran’s back, muttering a derogatory expletive as he did it. Jenny lost count of how many times the bastard hit Toran, but with every crack, her nerves frayed more, and she was grateful to not be able to see him. By the time the man let the belt drop to his side, he was panting, and she could see droplets of blood sprayed against the ground.
Not a single sound had passed Toran’s lips as he stood there taking the beating that had been meant for her.
Jenny was on the verge of sobbing or vomiting, her mouth filled with blood from the effort to keep herself silent. Her back was covered in sweat, and Dirk’s hand was still pressed firmly in place. When she’d not found comfort in his touch before, she did now.
The belt fell to the ground beside the blood-spattered boots of the dragoon, who walked away.
“Be gone with you,” he said in a near wheeze as he got himself back onto his mount. The clomps of their horses thundered in her ears as the dragoons disappeared back down the road.
None of them moved, not even Toran. When Jenny pushed away from Dirk, she could see the mangled mess of his back and how he pressed naked to the tree, eyes closed as if in a dead faint.
Archie was the first one to drop to the ground, running toward his cousin, pressing his fingers to Toran’s neck and calling his name.
Toran’s eyes blinked open, and he stared at his cousin. A soft groan escaped his lips, the first sound he’d made since questioning the dragoon about his belt.
Och, but she couldn’t imagine the pain he must be in, and she felt the phantom stings on her own flesh.
She jumped off the horse and started for him, but Dirk grabbed her by the arm and shook his head. No matter how hard she yanked, Dirk wouldn’t let go. Toran needed her. This was her fault, and as she stared at his bloodied body, rivulets of red sliding