Sutherland pulled the torch free and held it high as he stepped into the inky blackness. Moisture dripped somewhere in the distance. The rhythmic plunking echoed cold and hollow. The narrow passage oozed with a dank sliminess that greased every breath. He placed each step with care. The stones of the stairwell were not only slippery but crumbling at the edges. The deeper he went, the more satisfied he felt. This was indeed a fitting place for a man awaiting passage to hell.
“Help! Whoever brings the light, I beg ye to help me!” Chains clanked with a frenzied shaking. “Please! Help me!” Garthin cried out. His voice reached a high-pitched keen, ending with a sniveling sob. “Please dinna leave me in the darkness again. Please—have mercy on my soul.”
Sutherland held his tongue, savoring the sound of the man’s suffering. The torchlight flickered across the blackguard up ahead, spread-eagled in an upright position, shackled to the wall. With his head ducked and squinting at the sudden brightness, Garthin worked his hands back and forth, making his wrists even bloodier. With his clothes as ripped and soiled as a beggar’s, the guards had either beaten him or shoved him down the steps. The man already looked like he had been imprisoned for days when it had only been a few hours.
His chest heaving, he lifted his head and sobbed. “I did nothing to end up in this hole. Did the chief throw me down here because we wouldna leave?” Tears streaked down his grimy face. “The only reason I stayed here was for my mother. She overplayed her hand this time. Idiot woman steeped the wrong herbs and did her own self in. She’s the one ye want. Doesna give a whit about anyone’s life but her own. Killed every last one of her husbands, except for my father.” His chains rattled as he attempted a pathetic shrug. “Leastways, that’s what she always told me. The only reason I stayed with her was for coin.”
He swiped the tip of his tongue across his lips. “I dinna ken how to do anything else, and I’ve never been good at begging. Never managed to steal a damn thing without getting caught either. I’m useless! Hear me? Useless! And I proved I had nothing to do with any of those other things that kept happening to ye. I wasna even here when Lady Sorcha and Jenny got trapped. Didna do a damn thing in this godforsaken place but mind my own affairs and drink too much. Why—”
“Enough!” Sutherland had endured all the man’s babbling he could stand. “All here at the keep are loyal to the Lady Sorcha. All except yerself and yer mother.” He edged closer. “Nothing threatened either myself or my lady wife until she and I wed, then the ill events started that verra night. Ye were her last suitor, in what I can only assume was yer pitiful attempt at gaining coin, as ye put it. If not yerself plotting these wicked deeds out of spiteful revenge, then who?” It would be interesting to see just how good a liar Garthin was. His yammering had been very convincing so far. He hadn’t even attempted to paint either himself or his mother in a positive light. Of course, desperate men always told the most realistic of tales.
“How the hell should I know who’s been causing all the trouble?” Garthin glared at him as though he thought him addled. “They didna even tell me why they put me in this pit. I thought the lot of ye had left for MacCoinnich lands. What’s come about now? I was sittin’ in the pub, waiting for word that Mother had finally died. Guards came and grabbed me up. Beat me bloody, then shackled me to this feckin’ wall. Those bastards left me to rot without so much as a single word as to why.”
Damn, the man was a good liar. Sutherland meandered back and forth in front of him, holding the torch closer. He studied him. Panic and fear shouted from the fool. Of course, that was to be expected. Sutherland frowned, noting the soft fleshiness of one of Garthin’s grubby palms. He wondered if the man had even held a knife before or any kind of tool. The scoundrel’s hands didn’t look calloused enough to betray his use of the items he would have used to accomplish his evil deeds.
“Open both yer hands wide,” Sutherland ordered.
“Why?”
Was the man that great an idiot? He had no room to negotiate nor ask stupid questions. Sutherland shoved the torch closer to Garthin’s right hand. “Do it, or I’ll burn them open.”
Terror registering in his eyes, he splayed his fingers open as far as he could.
After examining them both, Sutherland stepped back, and Garthin sagged as though he had fainted. Turning his back on the man, Sutherland scrubbed his chin. That lazy bastard had never done anything with those hands other than lift a glass. And if he had hired the evil deeds done, he would’ve risked discovery.
Sutherland prided himself on being a good judge of a man’s true character. His instincts had never failed him. Garthin had always seemed useless. So lazy, in fact, it took a good stretch of the imagination to envision him both plotting and putting into play everything that had happened to both Sorcha and himself. But if not Garthin Napier as their criminal, then who?
Rubbing his bleeding chin against his sleeve, Garthin sniffed, then stood as straight as he could, “Well? Ye look well enough. So, I’m guessing whatever ill-luck befell the lot of ye this time couldna have been that severe. Is that what landed me here? A man has a right to know what he’s accused of, ye ken?”
The man kept teetering back and forth between arrogant arsehole and blubbering coward. It was like two different souls possessed the body shackled to the wall, and both were halfwits. “Ye know verra well what happened.” Sutherland watched the fool, half-deciding the man’s ploy was to keep him talking so he wouldn’t be plunged back into darkness. He had heard the fear in Garthin’s voice. The bastard was terrified at what might be down here with him in the dark.
Sutherland decided on a test. While his thirst for revenge was strong, it did him little good to gut the wrong man. But he wouldn’t admit such logical reasoning to Alexander. His brother had no need to know that he might be right about a cool head winning the day.
“My wife is dead,” he snapped. “Her and Jenny both.” He prayed Garthin hadn’t seen Jenny ride into the courtyard. Surely, he hadn’t since he had said he’d been down in the village. “The nightshade ye put in their water bags killed them. We found remnants of the leaves and berries.”
“Dead?” Garthin repeated in a hushed tone. Even his swollen eye pried open a little wider. Then he had the gall to assume a woebegone look. “I am so verra sorry.” He bowed his head. “So verra sorry,” he softly repeated, but then his head bounced up and terror registered on his face again. The fool had realized what could happen to him for committing such a heinous deed. “But I didna do it. God strike me dead if I’m telling ye a lie. I dinna even know what nightshade looks like.”
“Liar!” Sutherland charged forward, brandishing the torch so close, it singed the man’s hair. “Who else would be an expert on such poison? Learnt it from yer mother, I’m guessing. Admit it! Admit yer guilt, and I’ll gut ye here and now so ye willna have to stand the darkness any longer whilst ye wait for us to decide how best to end yer life.”
From the sudden onset of a disgusting stench, Garthin had just emptied his bowels while also pissing down both legs. “I swear I didna do it! I’d never harm either of them. They both were a might snappish at me most of the time, but I probably deserved it. I can be a real arse at times. Please! Bring me a bible or Mother’s head, even. I’ll swear my innocence on them both. I dinna know a thing about poisons. Please! Ye have to believe me. I beg ye! I’m a dullard when it comes to herbs.”
The more the fool babbled on and on about leaves and berries and his mother’s mixing of poisons, the more Sutherland realized the wrong man was shackled to that wall. Of course, it would be more than a little foolhardy to release him just yet. Imprisoning Garthin could prove to be a benefit rather than a mistake.
Without a word, Sutherland unsheathed his dirk.
Garthin screamed and shut his eyes, twisting away as far as his shackles allowed.
“Coward,” Sutherland muttered as he made a shallow cut down the man’s exposed arm and smeared blood on both sides of his blade. “If ye wish to live, ye will
bide yer penance here in silence, ye ken?”
“Dinna leave me in the dark!” Garthin sniveled without opening his eyes. “Please! Have mercy! I am nay the one who killed them! I swear.”
“I said silence, or I’ll gut ye as I promised.”
Garthin bowed his head and shook with silent sobbing.
Sutherland had never been long on mercy, and he wasn’t about to start now. The fool might be innocent of this particular mess, but he felt certain the man needed punishment for something. A few days in the darkness wouldn’t kill him. It might even help the scum. He might emerge from the dungeons a changed man.
Sutherland turned and started the long climb out of the darkness. Every moment he wasted in this pit was a moment that Sorcha was left unguarded. He had a useless son of a whore to catch and, hopefully, that bastard would get careless and reveal himself if he thought they had relaxed their guard now that Garthin would be reported as executed.
The guard waiting at the door gave him an approving nod when he showed him the bloodied blade.
Sutherland adopted his cruelest smile. “That one’ll die slow. Pay no mind to any noises ye might hear.” He wiped his dirk clean and shoved it back in its sheath.
“That willna be a problem.” The guard chuckled as he heaved the door shut and locked it. “The pit’s as good a grave as any, and the rats’ll eat good for days.”
Chapter Thirteen
As he headed back to the privacy of their rooms, Sutherland thought about the snare he’d formed once he had decided Garthin was innocent. He studied it from every angle. Never one to plot or plan a battle, he wanted to ensure he hadn’t missed a single detail. During his days as a mercenary, he’d earned the reputation as the fighter who always charged in first and asked questions later.
That habit had served him well enough in the past, but he would leave nothing to chance this time. Not with his dear one’s life hanging in the balance. He felt certain when he shared his idea with Alexander, his brother would see through any oversights he might have made. Magnus would help, too. Both were known to be meticulous warriors who rarely missed foreseeing the smallest detail.
He spotted Magnus up in the gallery and waved him down. The man was a great deal like his falcon. He sought heights whenever hunting his prey.
“Did he confess?” Magnus asked as he emerged from the stairwell.
“Follow me.” Sutherland refused to speak out in the open. No one could be trusted except for a certain few. Without another word, he headed for the steps to Sorcha’s floor. When he opened the door to the sitting room, he was met with a trio of grim faces.
“What is it? Is she worse?” He charged toward the bedchamber.
Alexander grabbed hold of his arm and stopped him. “Nay! She still sleeps.” Stepping closer, he bared his clenched teeth. “Mercy and Jenny are with her along with Catriona right now. Thankfully, all our women are safe in that room. At least, for the moment.” He released him with an irritated shove. “Ye’ve always been short-tempered, but I canna believe ye couldna hold yer rage long enough for the man to be brought before their chieftain. This is not Tor Ruadh. Ye canna behave as though yer will and yer word rule here. I know she’s yer wife, I understand yer pain, but ye overstepped this time, brother, and in so doing, put us all at risk.”
“Even I wouldha had better sense than to do such,” Graham said from his post beside the hearth. “Yer headstrong ways will be yer undoing, Sutherland. For her sake, ye need to do better.”
Sutherland turned to Chieftain Greyloch. It hadn’t taken the guard at the pit long to report back to his chief. The man must’ve run like his arse was on fire and taken back passages to reach Greyloch first. “I would hear yer thoughts on the matter, Greyloch.”
The chief strode forward with both hands fisted and ready. Sutherland braced himself. He didn’t wish to fight the man, but he’d be damned if he would stand there and take an undeserved beating.
“Ye had no right to gut that useless bastard without me being present,” Greyloch growled. “Ye’re nay the only one here thirsting for revenge, ye ken?” He widened his stance and drew back his fist. Teeth bared, he lunged at him. “Ye had no right!”
Sutherland sidestepped the blow, catching hold of both the man’s fist and the front of his tunic. “If the lot of ye can halt yer damning of me long enough, I’ll tell ye what truly is and how I plan to catch the real bastard responsible for my beloved’s accident.” Hooking his ankle around the chief’s, he shoved the man off balance, forcing him to stumble into a nearby chair and fall onto a well-cushioned couch. “Things are not always as they seem—especially in the middle of a well-planned snare.”
Greyloch scowled up at him as he floundered to rise from the overabundance of pillows. “The dungeon guard told us what ye did. Told us how ye came out of the darkness with blood on yer knife and a satisfied smile on yer face. Are ye calling one of my best men a liar?”
“Nay. Those facts as he related them are true.” Sutherland turned and motioned toward the sitting room door. “Magnus, please bar the door so none can enter.” He nodded toward the far end of the room. “And I prefer we speak over there. Away from the door. And with lowered voices, mind ye. So, none may hear our words.” He ripped aside the tapestry covering the secret passage that Mrs. Breckenridge and the maid had used earlier. Running his hand across the wall, he searched for any peepholes or cracks that would enable someone to spy upon them. Once satisfied that the room was secure, he let the wall hanging fall back in place and joined the others.
“Garthin Napier is as alive and well as any of us,” Sutherland said in such a hushed tone that the men all stepped closer. “He isna happy with his current situation, but I can tell ye with certainty that he isna the man responsible for any of the accidents. Not mine nor Sorcha’s.”
“Innocent?” Greyloch said. “Are ye certain?”
“Aye.” Sutherland poured himself a drink, then passed the bottle to Magnus. “The rat bastard is a thief, a coward, and an idiot, but he isna the man bent on killing Sorcha or myself.”
“Then why did the guard report him dead?” Graham asked.
“Because that is what I wanted the guard to think.” Sutherland took a slow sip to give his words time to sink in.
Alexander grinned. “I’m proud of ye, Sutherland. I never thought ye had it in ye to plan such a trap. Tell us the details, so we might help.”
“I want our true criminal to believe that we are all at ease now since I executed Garthin and ordered his body left to rot on that wall in the pit.” Sutherland nodded first at Alexander and then at Graham. “The two of ye, along with yer lovely wives, will go on with yer plan to return to Tor Ruadh. Today, in fact, if ye think that possible. I want all to know ye feel more than comfortable leaving because ye saw with yer own eyes that Sorcha wasna badly hurt after all. Everyone needs to believe that she and I will follow in the wagon tomorrow—or maybe even the next day. It depends. I havena decided on the definite time frame yet. Garthin is alive, but he willna stay that way if I leave him down there verra long without food or water.”
“I can order one of the maids to care for him without anyone being the wiser,” Greyloch volunteered.
“No.” Sutherland pointed at the chief to drive his words home. “No one outside of these two rooms is to be trusted. No guards. No maids. No servants. If word gets out, all our work will be for naught. Understand?”
“I understand,” Greyloch said. “No one outside of these rooms.”
Sutherland could tell by the chief’s tone that he didn’t like the loyalty of his people questioned, but it couldn’t be helped. “We dinna have any idea who is responsible. No one can be trusted until our trap is sprung, and we have our scoundrel.”
“And the rest of yer plan?” Alexander encouraged.
“Watch the wagon. Catch the bastard in the act of tampering with it.” Sutherland emptied his glass, poured himself another, then held it high in a toast. “Then snap the son of a whore’s neck with my
bare hands. Simple, aye?”
“The wagon we loaded for today is already back in the stable since we had no idea how long we might be delayed. What if that wagon has already been tampered with? It would seem strange for us to prepare another one as bait.” Magnus made his way over to the window, frowning as he took in the view down below. “The loaded wagon needs to be checked and taken when Alexander and Graham leave. Lady Mercy and Catriona could drive it with their mounts tied behind.”
“But why would they suddenly wish to drive the wagon rather than ride their own mounts as they did the first time they left?” Greyloch shook his head. “As crafty as this arse worm appears to be, he would see it as contrived and steer clear of any further attempts for a while. We wouldna catch him.”
“Lady Mercy could feign sickness, say she’s feeling poorly after today’s traumatic events.” Sutherland arched a brow at Graham. “What say ye?”
Graham nodded. “Aye, that would work. Those who dinna know her well enough think her weak because of her blindness. They have no idea that my dear sweet love is as fierce as any warrior.”
“And that would leave Sorcha and myself with the need for another wagon,” Sutherland explained. “Because we shall tell everyone that even though my dear one is recovering nicely from her wee spill, she’s still not up to riding just yet. Too sore and such. We might even let everyone know about her arm in a sling. That would add to the picture of us needing a wagon for her to have a much easier trip to Tor Ruadh.”
The Bard Page 18
