His Highland Pledge (The Clan Sinclair Book 4)

by Celeste Barclay

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Magnus massaged the area around his aching wound. He was sure that infection was setting in despite having the gaping incision seared close. His head felt hot again, and his skin was clammy. Or it could have all been from his days spent below ground in the rat-infested dungeon he now called home for his indefinite future. The first couple of days were easy compared to now. He was left in virtual solitude. His only visitor was the guard who brought him water and gruel once a day. If it was possible for water to be stale, then what he was served would qualify. He was not convinced that water was all he was receiving. The gruel consisted of fatty putrifying meat and some other substance with a runny consistency. He ate and drank only enough to keep himself alive. They searched him and removed most of his daggers before they threw him into his cell. There were a few left on him in places the guards had not thought to look. This made him grin. Not for the last time did he marvel at the differences in culture between the northern and southern halves of his country. Anyone from his region would have known where to look for his extra blades.

  His cell was swallowed in darkness, so he did not fear pulling one of these extra dirks loose from within his stocking. He kept it gripped in his hand while he dozed. When he felt the razor incisors of a four-legged intruder, he stabbed the rodent and flung it across the cell. He attempted to estimate the size of his cell without moving. He determined how wide it was by how long it took for the flying carcass to hit the far wall. His cell was tiny.

  Magnus spent as much time as he could asleep those first few days. His body resigned to not leaving the dank underworld, his mind released him to restorative sleep. He never would have bedded down there voluntarily, but it was better than being dead, he decided. However, not even sleep was a reprieve from the ever-present fear for Deirdre. His gut churned with the need to know where she was and how she fared. He was beside himself that Hay or her parents might mistreat her.

  The sound of Hay’s voice was a double-edged sword to Magnus when the man’s jeering tones roused him on the fourth day. Hay’s presence meant he was not terrorizing Deirdre, but his presence meant that Magnus’s reprieve came to an end.

  “How low the mighty have fallen. You seem to be quite at home within this squalor. Mayhap it reminds you of home? The king contends you should be moved to a chamber rather than keep you here, but I argue against casting pearls before swine. What need do you have in the niceties of a chamber? After all, you are being branded a traitor for defying our king.”

  Hay turned to speak to someone that Magnus could not see. The door to his cell scraped open and Magnus hurried to slip his dirk back into the sheath on his hip before the light from the torch landed on him. He raised his arms to block out the offensively bright light and succeeded only in offering something for the guard to grab onto. They hauled him to his feet and drawn out of the chamber. Magnus waited for his eyes to adjust before lifting his head to stare at Hay. He knew there was not much he could do, but he had not lost his ability to intimidate most men with his sheer size and singular focus. The guard pulled him along by his bound wrists, but Magnus continued to stare at Hay without speaking. They led him into a large chamber with a high wooden table in the center. Magnus did not need any hints to understand where he currently stood. Rather than look around at the instruments of his upcoming torment, he continued to stare down Hay.

  Magnus would not look away, and his stare finally drew Hay in. Their eyes locked, and Magnus saw something flash through them. There was malice and cruelty, but there was also a moment of uncertainty. It was gone before he could be sure.

  “My wife sends her regards,” Hay taunted.

  “I hadnae heard ye wed the Kerr bitch. My felicitations.”

  “I may fuck her, but I would never marry her. No. no. Deirdre was asking about you. She wondered what became of you.”

  “So, it is my name she calls out?” Magnus’s gut clenched at the thought that this vile man may have violated Deirdre. He would fish for information if he had to.

  “She screamed, but it was never your name.” Hay threw back.

  Magnus ground his teeth together as he waited for the next volley of words. Instead, Hay nodded, and a second guard appeared. Between the two, they led Magnus to the table. One man kicked the back of Magnus's knees, forcing him to the table. They tugged him onto the wooden platform and stretched his arms and legs to the shackles that hung from the sides. The weight on his injury was more excruciating than the torment that began immediately. A cat o’ nine tails swished through the air, cracking seconds before it landed across his back. Magnus arched in pain but refused to make a sound. The whip landed twice more before Hay paused to hurl more insults.

  “Thank you for breaking her in for me. She is skilled in servicing a man. I must credit you for a job well done. And despite being a bit overused, her sheath is still tighter than my fist.”

  Magnus sucked in air through his nose and tried to ignore the grating sounds of his tormentor’s voice. Hay walked to him and leaned in close.

  “I had no idea that all of her tasted like apples. Quite a tasty morsel. I rather enjoyed my apple tart.”

  Magnus growled, and Hay laughed.

  “With four siblings, I would think you’re used to sharing.”

  The whip hissed as it cut the silence before splaying Magnus’s back open again. His leine was in tatters, and he could feel the threads sticking to his newest wounds. The pain in his back distracted him from the pain in his leg. He was sure it was not a mercy. Hay nodded once again to a guard who ripped the back of Magnus’s shirt clear of his back. The chill breeze that came from somewhere Magnus could not identify eased some of the sting in his exposed skin. No one ever lashed him before, but he had survived his share of beatings in the lists and in battle.

  The leather throngs continued to bite into his back, lash after lash, but Magnus no longer listened to the droning taunts that Hay doled out. His mind drifted to various memories he collected over the three years of his courtship with Deirdre. He thought of the conversations they shared about her studies, most often held among the leaves of her favorite climbing trees. His mind jumped to the numerous jokes they shared in their missives. He remembered their first kiss in the Graham library. He remembered how she tasted the first time he brought her to climax. He let his mind wander to the first time they made love. He lingered there as he pictured them in the cave. That memory morphed into the one at the boulders. He forced himself to keep his mind on Deirdre and not the torture he endured. It was only when Hay’s voice flagged, and frustration filled it that Magnus brought himself back to the present.

  “I suppose you never knew she carried your child all those years ago.” Magnus’s head jerked up as his reverie, born out of mental necessity, came to a screeching halt. “Oh, so you did not know. Such a pity you could not enjoy that child or the one she just lost.”

  Magnus howled as a pain slashed through him far more potent than anything physical.

  “You did not think I would allow her to bear me a bastard. I thought I was being kind ridding her of the parasite rather than drowning it at birth.”

  Magnus felt a violent need to punish the man course through every muscle, bone, and synapse of his body. He funneled all his strength into ripping one then the other arm cuff loose. He strained to free his legs and rocked the table until it almost overturned. The guardsmen who had been silent witnesses rushed to seize him and subdue him, but Magnus was beyond the point of any self-control. He reached to his stocking and pulled a dirk free. He reared onto his knees and swung. His wide wingspan allowed him to slash closer to one guard than any of his captors expected. The guard jumped back and would have landed against the door if it had not swung open.

  “Hay! I will kill ye!” Magnus’s head whipped around at the sound of his brother’s voice. “The king didna authorize ye to torture ma brother. Ye dinna want to obey? Neither do I.”

  Magnus watched as Tavish stormed into the chamber with his sword dra
wn. Hay circled the whip in the air before attempting to lash out at Tavish. Hay wasted the time spent building the whip’s momentum because Tavish thrust his sword into his side.

  “Magnus, would ye like the honor of killing this pile of dung, or can I just be done?”

  “Neither.” Tavish glanced at Magnus.

  “Neither? Why the hell nae?”

  “I have just the perfect place for him to visit.”

  “Purgatory?”

  “It shall feel more like hell.”

  “Then it willna be a visit. More like a new home.”

  “That’s aboot the right of it.”

  Throughout their banter, Hay pressed his hand to his side. His knees weakened as the torture device fell to the floor beside him. He slowly sank to the ground and then keeled over.

  “Tav, did ye kill him? I told ye nae to do that.” Magnus could see Hay’s back still rising and falling, but it was his turn to be tormentor rather than tormented.

  Tavish looked for the guards, but both men fled some time during the confrontation. Tavish rushed to unfasten Magnus’s legs and helped him from the table.

  “Och, Magnus. Ye’re in a right state. I dinna ken what to say.”

  “That’s a first,” Magnus’s quip lost its bite as he groaned in pain.

  “We need to get ye to the healer sharpish. Ye dinna look well.”

  “Ye must be pleased aboot that. Ye might finally be the handsome brother if never the tall one.”

  Tavish barked out a laugh. The four brothers were all a similar height and build. It was obvious that Magnus was the broadest of them all, his frame larger and bulkier, but Tavish was barely a hair’s breadth shorter than the other three. It was an endless source of teasing among the men, despite Tavish bearing the closest resemblance to their father, who was a veritable bear with a barrel chest and thick limbs. There was nothing to underestimate about Tavish when it came to him compared to his brothers. They were all deadly with their charm and their weapons.

  “Ye canna be that close to dead if ye still have yer sense of humor.” Tavish supported Magnus as they moved to the door.

  “Are ye sure ye didna kill him?”

  “Bah, the wee mon just canna handle a little twinge. It isnae like I ran him through. Naught but a scratch to the ribs. Probably just canna stomach the sight of his own blood.” Tavish used his boot to roll Hay over. Blood was visible on the man’s doublet, but Tavish was correct. The wound did not look that serious. “Someone will find him here soon enough.”

  They walked from the chamber only to encounter the two guards who seemed to find their courage.

  “Where do ye think ye’re going? This mon’s a prisoner of the king.”

  Tavish moved to walk past them as Magnus leaned heavily on him, but the men stepped in front. Magnus and Tavish looked at one another. Magnus was in no condition to fight. The strength used to free himself from his bindings had been for nothing once his brother showed up. Exhausted, he simply wanted to lie down, even if it was in his cell. He shook his head slightly, and despite his disbelief, Tavish relented.

  “Vera well. I will go to the king directly. When I return for his release, ma brother will have been given real fresh water nae the pish ye give prisoners.” Tavish’s words echoed throughout the catacomb of cells. “Do ye understand? I dinna need to be clearer, do I?”

  The guards saw Magnus rip free of the restraints and how Tavish fought Hay. They did not need further convincing. They nodded and led the way back to Magnus’s cell.

  “I will be back as soon as I can, little brother. Dinna fash. Ye’ll nae even have time to miss me.” Tavish grinned as the guard shut and locked the door between them.

  “Tav, what aboot Deir?” Magnus asked as Tavish turned away.

  Tavish paused and looked back at him.

  “I dinna ken. Nay one has seen her in days. Her parents insist that she is unwell and confined to her chamber. I have heard otherwise. I believe she isnae here anymore, but I dinna ken where she is either.”

  Magnus swallowed as he took this in. Perhaps Hay had not molested her, but perhaps she was ill too.

  “Tavish, wait. I need ye to give something to the king.” Magnus dug into his sporran and pulled the sealed vellum out. “It’s our marriage decree.”

  Tavish nodded once and rushed from the dungeon.

  Did she really lose our bairn? Did she survive? Deir, where are ye? I will find ye, and once I do, I willna ever leave yer side again. I dinna care aboot aught else but being with ye. Da can keep me training the men and overseeing the armory, or I will become a farmer, but I amnae leaving ye again.

  Magnus felt the blackness creeping around the corner of his eyes, and it was not the lack of light in his chamber. His head floated above him, and his body felt lighter than it should have. He rolled to his side, trying to keep his weight off his thigh and his back. He moaned once before surrendering to the abyss.

  “Uncle Hamish, I saw Magnus,” Tavish confided as he took a seat next to his uncle in the Great Hall.

  “Aye,” Hamish said under his breath as he brought his mug of ale to his mouth.

  “Hay got to him.”

  Hamish lowered the mug and looked at his nephew.

  “Cat o’ nine tails.”

  Hamish swore loudly. He pushed the bench back so hard that it wobbled even with Tavish’s weight to hold it in place. He stepped over it and walked purposefully to the dais. Tavish was not far behind.

  “Laird Sutherland, I see you found your other nephew. Quite the family reunion here at court,” the king smiled but it did not reach his eyes.

  “I would like to reunite with ma other nephew. It seems ye saw fit to see him tortured. I would like to ensure he will survive.”

  “What?” The king slammed his hand on the table as his goblet crashed down. “You are accusing me of torture. On what grounds?”

  “On the grounds that Tavish just came from the dungeons where he found Magnus beaten and lashed by a cat o’ nine tails.”

  “I did not authorize that.” The king looked around and frowned. “Hay. Where is Lord Hay?”

  The king’s face turned purple with rage when a page leaned in to whisper in his ear.

  “That man oversteps for the final time. Fraser, you have a fair amount to explain when this is said and done,” the king looked at Deirdre’s father who sat a few men down. Looking back at Hamish and Tavish, the king looked slightly embarrassed.

  “It seems Lord Hay took matters into his own hands. No one was given instructions or permission to abuse Magnus. Tavish, it seems you have handled the matter of Lord Hay.” The king turned his head in dismissal.

  “Yer Majesty, I amnae even nearly done with the matter of Lord Hay. I amnae content to leave ma brother to fester and die, either. He is badly beaten and in need of a healer. This never should have happened. Ma brother and his wife are legally wed. I have the proof here.” Tavish pulled the parchment from his sporran and stepped forward.

  The king frowned at his uninvited approach but nodded when a page took it from Tavish.

  “Bishop Mackenzie?” The king muttered as he examined the scroll. He pulled the wax seal loose and unfolded the document. He scanned through, but then reread it with more care. When he had read it three times, he lowered it and looked around. Everyone at the dais knew of the situation, and silent faces stared between the king and Tavish and Hamish.

  “There is more here than just the formal statement of a marriage. Tavish, it would seem all you stated upon your arrival is accurate. Bishop Mackenzie has provided multiple dates to corroborate your accounting of Magnus and Lady Deirdre’s relationship. In the eyes of the church, the couple has been married for the past seven years. Their exchange of vows before the bishop was a reaffirmation of their union not the initiation of a new one.” The king stroked his chin before leaning forward to look at the Fraser again. “I cannot set aside, nor do I want to, a union blessed by God. There is sanctity in marriage, and this marriage has weathered enough s
torms. That said, Tavish, your father will pay a bride price to the Frasers that is well past due. You shall give the same amount to the court as recompense for the time spent providing for Magnus’s wife as she served the queen.”

  The statement was outlandish and unreasonable but a small price to pay for freedom.

  “Name the price, Sire. I believe I can have it arranged before morn.”

  “How can you be so sure you can afford such terms?”

  Tavish looked at the king, his patience was not his virtue.

  “When Magnus didna return when expected, we feared something happened to him. Our fears are justified. Ma father sent me with a ransom chest in case I should need to buy his freedom.” Tavish looked at Laird Fraser and then back to the king. “I came well prepared.”

  “Very well. Retrieve your coin, and I will have Magnus sent to his chamber. He is free from the dungeon, but until you settle the bride price, he remains in royal custody.”

  “Vera well, Sire. Will ye send his wife to him now? I understand she has been poorly, but I am sure they would prefer to recover together.” Tavish’s pointed questions had many people looking around to see if Deirdre was present.

  “I will have her sent to him forthwith.”

  “Your Grace,” Fraser cleared his throat, “that will not be possible. At least not immediately.”

  The king raised one eyebrow.

  “Your Grace, Lady Deirdre is not at court right now. She resides where we believed she would live with her husband. Or rather Lord Archibald,” he amended.

  “Where exactly is she?”

  “Crichton, Sire.”

  “That is the other side of Edinburgh!” The king slammed his hand on the table again. “Fraser, you are testing my patience.”

  The king waved a man over from the far end of the dais.

  “Have Magnus freed. Give him food, clothing, whatever aid he needs. See his horse is ready whenever he decides to ride out.” The king looked haggard when he glanced over at Hamish and Tavish. “This wrong will be righted.”