Gargouille Ch. 06

"Finally, their prize is unguarded," said a gruff voice.

She was powerless to struggle against the strong arms that held her. Fear cooled her blood and circulated with every rapid beat of her heart. Closing her eyes, she tried to recite the Lord's Prayer. She yelped in fright as the figure tossed her into the rushing waters, without care or pity.

While falling, Nicole caught the low branch of a nearby tree and clung to it with all the tenacity a deadly fear could inspire. The rush of the foaming torrent was in her ears, and its snowy spray covered her face, her clothes, and hair, as she swung over it. She closed her eyes and dared not look, but her lips continued to pray for help. And then, the branch snapped. She hit the freezing water with a splash and quickly sank underneath.

Nicole fought to stay above water but her heavy clothing pulled her under. She began to thrash, wishing she had taken her swimming lessons more serious. She cried as she sunk further. Suddenly, she felt powerful arms lifting her from the freezing water and cradling her as if she had been a babe.

Roan grabbed his mistress in frantic haste before she was sucked under again. He hastened towards the clearing and placed her on her back. With rapid speed, he tore her wet clothing off and wrapped his plaid around her. He placed a hand on her heart before he opened and rubbed her clenched fingers. He pressed his wet cheek to her cold face, and his ear to her mouth, to ascertain whether or not she lived. But, the motion of her limbs confirmed she did, as did chattering teeth.

Nicole's pulse throbbed, slowing down as panic ceased. She opened her eyes and stared at Roan. It took considerable effort for her to talk and despite him telling her not to, she did.

"Am I alive?" she croaked, coughing up small drops of water. At his nod, she shivered and buried her face in his chest.

Roan let out a harsh breath of relief, both for her and himself. The Lairds were still going to kill him, but he would die happy, happy to know the mistress was okay. He swelled with joy that she still lived and then flew with great speed to the mansion.

When Alana had realized the mistress was not in her room, she had suggested an immediate search for her and Roan had agreed readily enough. The alarm was raised speedily throughout whole household and the search had ensued.

When Roan arrived at the manor with the mistress in his arms, the hall was filled with members of the household. Alana rushed towards him and Roan watched as her face paled and her shrill scream pierced his soul.

Alana felt her heart literally stop beating when the young gargoyle came in with her new mistress and her mouth went dry with shock. The Lairds are going to blow the roof, she thought, as she stood visibly shaken. Then she took a deep breath and squared her shoulders.

"Take her to the master bedroom," she commanded, much to the astonishment of Roan. He quickly did as she requested.

Then Alana began to bellow out orders.

****

Three days of frustrated search had been for naught. It was only after Kieran had said, "We'll do this at another time. I would like to spend time with my mate. I didn't come here to spend the whole time flying around out in the mountains like a flock of wild birds," that the group had decided to call off the search.

As the men flew into their holding, they shifted to human-form soundlessly and descended near the entrance of the cove. The men heard a woman's cry as they put on some clothing. They frowned as Moira came rushing towards them and hastened to meet her.

"It's the mistress," she cried wringing her hands in earnest, "She had a fall."

The men froze in shock, staring at the cook in alarm.

"A fall?" Eyon repeated, he fixed his eyes on Moira very steadily. Had something happened to their mate? That thought hit both men like a ton of bricks.

Moira's tearful face told them all they needed to know. With an earth-shaking roar, both Lairds flew towards the house. Ignoring the whimpering servants, they raced up the stairs, their mate's scent leading them to her. With great anger, they broke down the door and stepping in, their sharp eyes scanned the room and its occupants.

They looked at Nicole on the bed and without hesitation, they rushed to her side. Holding her to his chest, Kieran kissed her forehead. "Sweet Jesu, Nicole, are ye okay?" His voice shook, he was crying. The last time he cried was at his mother's burial when he was ten and four.

Eyon was just as stricken, he was both angry and relieved. Angry that they weren't there to protect their most prized possession and relieved that she was alive. They held Nicole close, breathing a sigh of relief and sending up a prayer of thanks to the gods.

There were no cuts, no sign that she had been hurt in any way. He gave a silent prayer of thanks to whatever powers cared to listen. The anger drained from his body and fatigue returned. He sat on the mattress at Nicole's side and rubbed his weary eyes.

Slowly, Nicole opened her eyes as strong arms caressed her body. Her head was cradled against Kieran's chest as they both searched her body for signs of trauma. Nicole attempted to sit up, but their hands held her immobile. She looked up at Kieran, then to Eyon, and saw the despair in their haggard faces.

They could not remove their eyes or their hands from Nicole. Eyon was shaking, for the first time in his life he was afraid. He prayed for strength and control, as someone would die for this. Their mate looked so small and frightened.

Nicole watched the men as they fussed over her. She closed her eyes, praying to God in thanks, as she as been doing ever since Roan had pulled her from the icy waters. She hadn't wanted to die, not yet at least.

"Where was Roan? Ye shouldn't have been out alone," Eyon demanded, harshly looking over at a trembling Alana. Eyon then dismissed her, unwilling to continue the conversation with their mate in her presence.

Nicole opened her eyes, startled, for it was Roan who had saved her life. It wasn't his fault.

"It's not Roan's fault. I was pushed," she quickly interjected. Her lips trembled and then she started to cry. "I thought I was going to die."

Nicole shook as tears racked her body. She felt hands embrace her tightly, stroking her hair.

"Dinna cry, my love, we'll make it better. Do sleep now, ár Chumann, our sweetheart. No one shall harm ye, we're here," Kieran murmured.

"I'm sorry we had to leave. We dinna mean to put ye in any danger." Eyon attempted to get up, stricken.

He didn't want her to see him in such a state of weakness. He was supposed to be protecting her, not falling to pieces. Thankfully, Alana was gone. Eyon closed his eyes. By the gods, he needed to be strong. He glanced over at Kieran and saw that he fared no better.

Sensing their inner conflict, Nicole's fingers griped Eyon's arm before he could rise. "Stay with me, both of you. I don't want to be alone."

Nicole smiled, she was amazingly calm; one would not have guessed that she had a near-death experience earlier that day. But thanks to the change her body was going through since being mated by the men, she was able to withstand certain traumas to her body. Nicole wasn't even aware of the subtle changes, but the men were.

"Of course, my sweets," Kieran said, once again gathering her firmly against him with a sigh of pleasure.

Eyon climbed into the bed as Kieran positioned her comfortably and they sandwiched her soft body between their own. They remained with her until she fell asleep.

Hours later, they stood in the middle of the room, drawing deep breaths filled with anger and frustration, careful not to wake their mate. Their brains were finally able to function normally. Earlier, they had wanted to kill someone. To think that the assailant dared to come onto their property, it was unimaginable.

Kieran turned his face towards Eyon in silent understanding of what must be done. The look on Eyon's face was as murderous as his thoughts.

"Send for our doctor," Kieran said, looking over his shoulder at Aodh, "and bring me a phone."

* * * *

"Bring in those two," Eyon commanded his steward, sometime later in their study. Kieran was on his left, also facing the door. His father, Laird Callum, sat at the head of the table. Around the rest of the table sat some of their trusted brethren, those who had experienced the Viking era of bloodshed.

"Before we begin, may I say congratulations on finding a mate who accepts us for what we are," Seamus McFarlane remarked.

"Thank ye, Seamus. I hope the other females will be as accepting to our brethren as our Nicole as proven to be," Eyon returned.

"I hope so. Most humans are fickle and prone to deceit," murmured Kyle Donovan.

"No wonder ye spend yer lonely nights sating yer baser needs with a sheep," Seamus responded.

"Now, ye look here." Kyle turned to Seamus, his face crimson.

"Let's quickly get this over with. 'Tis an unpleasant subject as it is and I am sure my son and nephew will want to see to their mate." It was Eyon's sire who spoke this time.

"Okay, let's get to the matter at hand," Kieran pressed. "Young Pierce has collected some information and it's very compelling and disturbing. I fear we may have to take the life of another gargoyle. I know we have banished him, but Eyon and I have been able to find out that there are witnesses to prove that he has been very active."

"What proof do ye speak of?" Kyle asked.

Eyon got up and walked over towards a shelf where he picked up some pictures and threw them on the table. Both he and Kieran watched as the men looked at the photos and then gazed up at them worriedly.

"I agree with the Lairds. By any means necessary, he needs to be taken down. We cannot allow years of hard work in building and mending years of mistrust with humans be all for naught. Hopefully, eradicating him means we will be able to find more suitable and willing mates," said Kyle.

There was a knock at the door.

"Enter," Eyon roared, as his anger resurfaced.

"It's my fault, my lords," cried Alana as she came rushing through the door, curtseying and shuffling her feet in obvious fear and distress.

Ignoring her, Eyon looked over her shoulder at Roan, who stood as straight as a reed just past the threshold.

"What happened?" Eyon thundered at a paled and drawn Roan.

"I- I was just in the kitchen, my Laird. I didn't know that the mistress had left- she was supposed to be asleep."

Impulsively, Eyon turned to the one of the men sitting in a stolid row beside him. "Tell me, Pierce," he began, "what is yer greatest desire at this moment?"

"To serve ye and obey orders, my Liege," Pierce replied promptly and with complete honesty.

"Do ye hear that, Roan?" Eyon's mouth was set in a grim line. "We obey orders and protect our women, especially the one that belongs to us."

Roan sighed and hung his head in shame; he had failed his Lieges as a guardian to their mate and as a warrior. He would take his punishment, as it was befitting to the crime. Roan knew the consequences were not harsh. If it were any other leader, he would have been dead by now.

"I am sorry," he said simply, resigning himself to his fate.

"Prepare a flogging," Eyon stated, motioning to the man standing behind Roan, who nodded and left the room silently.

Roan had their mate to thank. It was Nicole who pleaded for his life. She had threatened to make their lives a misery if they took Roan's.

"I beg of ye," Alana persisted. She liked the warrior and couldn't bear to let him be flogged for her negligence; she was supposed to be a better guardian to her mistress.

Eyon gave her a hard stare and said nothing. The strain and hopelessness of the last three days had aged him visibly. There were new lines in his face and his eyes were haggard. He needed to sleep.

"Leave us," snapped Kieran, stung by her plea for the knave. She nodded and left, fearing to take any more liberties.

All the men's jaws were set as they watched the young gargoyle heading off for his punishment, which would be overseen by Laird Eyon. A hundred lashes, it was to be.

****

Aryan McCarran sat tiredly on her bed. Sleep evaded her as she contemplated telling her father about Royce. Thinking about Royce brought a smile to her face. He often told her how beautiful she was. She had always hated her beauty, the sexual stares and remarks made her uncomfortable, plus her godfather, Bhaltair, always looked at her in a manner that made her cringe. She had large grey eyes, full lips and high cheek bones. She was tall, as were her clansmen, but fragile and delicate in appearance.

She had been betrothed to the Lairds by agreement of their families. When she was old enough to understand what that meant, she was unhappy. Yes, she wanted a mate, but the thought of being married to Laird Eyon and Laird Kieran had terrified her. Aryan figured her fears were normal. The pair were so formidable and scary and she was such a coward. She sighed out loud and shivered. Aryan was afraid of them and trembled in their presence. The joining would never have worked out well.

She remembered Bhaltair breaking the news, telling her she was no longer betrothed to the Lairds. He had searched her face intently for any sign of emotion, which she had hid well. He was up to something sinister. She had noticed him sneaking around Manig of late.

Aryan clenched her fists. "How I loathe that craggy-faced tyrant, the bleeding whoremonger," she hissed.

Aryan closed her eyes briefly. She felt annoyed rather than distressed at Royce for not having the courage to face her clansmen.

"Bualadh craicinn báltaí,"-Fucking pussy- she hissed softly.

Aryan gnashed her teeth together in silent rage. She was thought to be submissive and obedient and she wasn't about to break tradition by swearing and ranting out loud, it was unheard of. Not that she was totally soft; she was able to speak her mind when necessary. She glanced towards the door several times, expecting to see her housemaid, Nettle, who was more than likely out rutting with some knave.

Aryan felt tears well up in her eyes and quickly brushed them aside with the back of her hand. How I long for someone to talk to, someone who would understand what I am going through. Aryan felt lost and confused.

Suddenly, she heard a loud commotion followed by banging at her door, which pulled her from her thoughts. She jumped to her feet and quickly rushed to open the door, fearing the worst.

The Lairds' steward, Aodh, was standing at her door. "The Lairds have summoned ye," he said urgently.

Aryan blinked in confusion. "The Lairds summoned me?"

"Aryan!" Aodh snapped, "Gather what ye need and come now."

"Of course, Aodh," she responded and quickly gathered her shawl before rushing out into the night, with Aodh leading.

They arrived at the manor within minutes. Approaching the large conference room, Aryan knocked on the door.

"Enter," she heard a familiar voice state from the other side.

The scene was not unfamiliar to her. Inside the room there was silence, and she was greeted by fifteen pairs of menacing looking eyes; most of the men sat around a large table.

"Come forward, Aryan," said Eyon. He stood by the fireplace and turned to her when she walked inside. "Gentlemen, I should think ye all know Aryan."

"Aye," said the rumbling voices.

Aryan eyed the men as she pondered the reason for her being summoned. She wanted to scream loudly. It had been a reluctant journey, but the summons was one she couldn't ignore. How could she? They were the clan's Lairds, not coming was too impossible to consider.

"Quit lollygagging, Aryan, and take a seat," Eyon instructed.

She trembled at the harshness of his tone and prayed that the meeting would be over soon. Aryan wanted to run, but, of course, she could not do so. Instead, she walked over and sat down timidly, lowering her lashes, certain her fear would be seen.

"Have ye been in contact with yer brother?"

Her eyes widened as she looked up. "I—, "she trailed off.

It was not in Aryan's nature to lie, but she wanted to protect her brother. Neal was not the monster they thought him to be and so, instead of revealing the conversation they had shared, she squeaked, as fear tightened her throat, "'Tis been a month now."

Eyon stared at her, his mouth a firm, hard line. "Where is he, Aryan?"

"I dinna know," she faltered, tears blurring her vision.

That was partially the truth. She really didn't know where Neal was, but he had told her not to worry and that he was safe and near.

"Ye're lying, Aryan," Eyon barked, "I see it in yer eyes."

Aryan suddenly felt strangled. The tears welled up and spilled down her cheeks. She shook her head in denial. "He is not evil. It's lies, all lies," she wailed.

"Have ye seen Brae? Do ye call the person responsible for that good?" Eyon hissed, fighting to control his anger. He was angry with himself for not protecting Aryan from her brother's corruptive lies.

She gasped, horrified. "It wasn't him! Neal would never..."

"Why? Because ye say so?" Kieran snapped. His voice cut through the air, sharp as a whip.

He sighed as Aryan collapsed on the floor, wailing. Under normal circumstances, they may have given in, but not today, after all that had transpired. He turned and called for his steward. As Aodh entered, Kieran told him she was to be confined to the lower back quarters.

A pregnant silence followed as a weeping Aryan was led from the room.

When they were gone, Kieran turned to Eyon as the room erupted in shouts. They both looked over at Laird Callum, who held his bowed head in his hands. Both men sighed. What next?

Please leave a feedback, be it good or bad. Ever so sorry this chapter took so long to be posted. I hope chap 07 will reach you the readers sooner.

Cheers!