Staring evenly at him, I jumped on the chance to distract myself from what I was about to do. “You’re Captain MacDonald’s . . . brother?” I asked, curious.
He nodded, curtly, as if annoyed I’d asked.
“Of course you are.” I chuckled, partially because I couldn’t picture my Captain as an older brother, and because it made so much sense for him to have been.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked defensively, leaning forward intently.
“Nothing.” Waving, I dismissed the statement. “You two are a lot alike, is all.”
“Hmm.” He sat back, folding his arms. “A compliment for me, not so much for my brother.”
All but glaring, he continued to watch my every move, seemingly oblivious to the busy city streets, full of life and passing us by. He didn’t strike me as someone who had lived in the metropolis for long, his Highland ways apparent in every move he made. Rowan wasn’t refined and smooth like most Parisians I met. Instead, he reminded me of my crew mates, men who worked hard and didn’t care one bit what anyone else thought of them.
However, he also possessed the kind stance his brother did, which surprisingly seemed to strip his fiercer aspects, such as his size and the curtness of his replies. I’d no idea what made me trust the two of them so implicitly, but whatever it was, the MacDonald siblings had it down to an art.
“I’m sure you’re as caring and thoughtful as your brother,” I replied evenly. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here to assist him take control of The Order.”
Rowan snorted, peering away from me at last and toward the window. “There wasna anything that coulda stopped me. I joined The Order almost a decade ago, after I learned what Willy was really up to.” He paused, as if he hadn’t intended to share the nickname, and then shrugged, not concerned. “He was verra upset when he found out. Told me I shoulda stayed home with my wife and our three bairns.”
“You’re married?” Surprised, I grinned. I’d never pictured Captain MacDonald as an uncle, either, but I could easily see him bouncing children on his knee and spoiling them mercilessly.
Nodding, Rowan dug into his sporran and produced a clipping of blonde hair, braided together and tied on each end with a plain ribbon. “My wife gave this to me when I joined The Order, right after we’d married. When our little ones were born, she took a strand of each of their locks and added to it. I carry it with me always, to remember them.”
The notion of it filled me with happiness. “That’s very sweet.”
He beamed, his tough guy act melting as he clutched the piece of his family. Then, he noticed what he was doing. Clearing his throat, he put the hair away, regarding me with a narrow stare.
“As I stated before, I dinna believe ye were going to talk to the Black Knight.”
I shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I?”
He frowned, his eyes flicking around, cautiously. “I heard . . . some of the things the man did, and yer husband doesna want ye meetin’ with him. The two of ye have a past, one most people should want to leave be.”
Pausing, I considered what he was saying. Captain MacDonald had obviously told him something about my past, but I wasn’t sure how much he knew.
“My husband is unaware of my current activities,” I replied carefully.
“Of course he is.” Rowan snorted. “If he was, he’d likely be banging on this carriage and swooping ye from it like a hawk with its prey.” He laughed. “That’s what I would do, if it was my wife.”
“I’m free to make my own decisions,” I replied, not appreciating the way he suggested Tristan wasn’t doing his duty as a husband, or I must be unfaithful because I didn’t do everything I was told, like a good wife. “And this is what’s best for my family. If that means my husband is in the dark about my business, then so be it.”
My reply surprised him, and he raised an eyebrow, studying me with a new appreciation. “Ye’re a lot like her, ye ken. Willy said so, but I didna believe him until now. No wonder he trusts ye to meet with the villain and get the information he needs.”
“Who?” I asked, confused.
“Isobel Delaney. The witch my brother loved—loves still, if ye ask me. Ye’ve got her sharp tongue and independent nature. Used to drive Willy mad, the way she insisted she do everything herself. Ye probably do the same to him, I imagine.”
The red-haired woman’s image surfaced in my mind, her spirit one I’d come across in Atlantis. Did Rowan know about that, too?
Before I had the chance to ask, or try to guess how much this particular MacDonald knew about me, the coach lurched to a stop and he stood, opening the door without a word.
Expecting to see the beautiful courtyard of the Temple, filled with artisans and salesmen, booths selling everything from fabric to artwork, and the people of Paris wandering through the makeshift aisles, I was surprised to find myself in an alleyway.
“Where are we?” I asked, nervous.
Rowan smirked, understanding in his gaze. “Ye’ve only been through the main entrance.”
“There’s more than one?”
Chuckling, he motioned to the wall beside us. “This is the door Willy uses, or at least the one he used to, before he became Grand Master. It’s out of the way and leads directly to the Chapel, albeit through some twists and turns. It also happens to pass by the pit, which is where we’re going.”
He hooked his fingers into the bricks, sticking them in a spot missing the grout that held the rest of the partition together. “There’s a button here,” he explained, motioning me forward. “Ye’ll need to ken where it is, for when ye come on yer own.” He removed his hand and gestured for me to try.
Hesitant, I slid my fingers into the tight crack, nothing but brick against my skin. Then, ever so slightly, I felt something hanging, like a pin waiting to stab unsuspecting visitors. Pausing, I pressed against it, wincing at the prick. Just as I’d decided it was nothing other than a break in the stone, the stick moved, retracting into the wall with a tiny click.
The jaggedly-shaped entrance opened without a sound, the bricks swinging inward and creating a cutout in the wall that had been practically invisible. Darkness waited on the other side, a staircase leading into nothing.
“Dinna trip,” Rowan offered lightly, amused.
Giving him an annoyed glance, I grabbed my skirts and placed one hand on the cool stones, not wanting him to think I was afraid as I began my descent.
Because I was.
In fact, I was terrified—not of the stairs or the dark—but of the man I’d be meeting. My heart was galloping from beating so fast, the thuds of it pulsating in my ears. If anything, the darkness was a small mercy for me. I didn’t want anyone to notice I was frightened, not when I was going to go face Randall. What if they tried to stop me? Or worse, told him how I truly felt?
That thought stopped me for a beat. There was no way I was going to show any sign of weakness. Taking a deep breath, I steadied myself, ordering my body to calm, and continued.
Rowan’s footsteps sounded behind me, the only sign he hadn’t shut me in here to wander, lost. After a minute or so, I saw light ahead, and I knew we’d almost reached the bottom.
“This staircase isn’t as long as the one near the main entrance,” I noted, surprised. “Is this far enough underground to stay unnoticed?”
“Hell if I ken,” Rowan replied. “I dinna build it. I dinna visit often.”
“You don’t?” Taken aback, I stared at him. “Don’t you come here after every voyage, to make a record of the trip?”
He shook his head in the dim light. “I dinna serve on a ship. I’m stationed at a land post, at home in Scotland. I’ve only been here to visit the Temple twice, not including this trip. I’m here now, because my brother sent for me when he was elected two and a half weeks ago.”
“Which is probably the reason he hasn’t burned the place to the ground yet.”
Focusing ahead again, I caught sight of William MacDonald on the steps below, a wide grin on his f
ace. As he locked eyes with Rowan, the pair of them chortled, as if sharing some inside joke. He then motioned for us to follow, taking the lead of our threesome.
Smiling, I made my way to the landing, feeling the love between brothers. No sooner did I step onto the smooth floor, though, did the air turn icy and my breath catch, eyes widening at the sight ahead of me.
Another hallway stretched out to my left, long and dark, looming over me in a way that made my skin prickle. It was like every dungeon I’d ever seen in the movies, with cobwebs hanging from the ceiling and the sound of dripping water in the distance. A few cells were visible, the bars of the enclosures thick and heavy. They were empty, appearing to have been out of use for some time. At the end of the corridor, a huge, wooden door sat closed, a large lock barely glinting in the dim firelight.
“I ken ye are nervous, lass,” Captain MacDonald muttered quietly, standing behind me, Rowan doing the same. “But this is for the best.”
“I know,” I answered sharply, my voice a bit higher than normal.
“Aye.” His tone softened. “I ken ye do. Ye wouldna be here, otherwise.”
His words incited the anger our previous meetings had borne. Glaring at him, I huffed. “I also wouldn’t have to do this if you would have killed the bloody bastard in the first place, instead of shutting him away like a coward.”
Rowan hummed in warning, only to be silenced by his brother.
“I will remind ye, Madame O’Rourke,” Captain MacDonald replied, annoyance in his words. “Ye came to me for assistance. It is not my fault ye dinna like what I decided to do.”
“And I’ll remind you,” I snapped, “your plan is worthless without my help. I warned you weeks ago, keeping Thomas Randall alive is the biggest mistake you’ll ever make. I still believe that to be true, despite being here today.”
“Then why did ye come?” Rowan demanded, ignoring his Grand Master.
Sighing, I closed my eyes, willing myself to be calm. “Because,” I replied, smoothing my skirt as I stared down the hallway. “If I can’t see him dead, then this is the next best thing.”
“What, ye mean to kill him yourself? The traitor canna die, as ye surely ken.” Rowan laughed, as if he believed me crazy.
“No, he can’t,” I whispered. “But he can suffer. And I will make him ache like he never has.”
The heavy, wooden door swung shut, the sound echoing off the cylindrical, room. A single torch lit the place, casting shadows across the long hole in the middle of the space. The emptiness stretched across, a horrible abyss, the bottom not visible. There were only two landings in the area—the one I stood on and another directly across the tube from me.
And Thomas Randall was sitting on the latter.
I didn’t know how they‘d gotten him over there, or how I would ever get to him, if I wanted to. All I could see was his dirty face, leering as he stood, excitement flashing across his features. He wore no chains, no cuffs, or any type of binding, as I believed he should be. He was in the same clothes he arrived in, the fabric torn, blood-stained, and reeking of body odor so strongly I could smell it from my position. His long, black hair was unkempt and greasy, the finishing touch on his haggard appearance. If I hadn’t known any better, I would’ve thought he was undeserving of such treatment and in need of help.
“Sammy!” He was short of breath, like he’d run a mile and suffered from a faint case of asthma. “You came!”
Suddenly, I was very grateful for the distance between us. I had the distinct impression he wanted to hug me, as if we were long lost friends and I was here to tell him good news.
The sensation caused panic to rise, my plans of a cruel interrogation fleeing. “What do you want with me?” I asked abruptly, fighting my urge to take a step back.
He laughed. It sounded boisterous and unbothered, the timber of his voice bouncing off the stone and assaulting my ears repeatedly. My skin felt icier just listening to it.
“What I’ve always wanted.” He sat, teetering dangerously close to the edge of the ledge. The height of his position didn’t seem to bother him as he crossed his legs, placing his hands on his knees, blowing a strand of hair from his face.
Memories of my nightmares surfaced, images of Randall insisting I belonged to him and that the gods had fated us to be together. He alleged I was destined to be by his side, because I’d come through time by the very means he wished to dominate. It was as if he thought, since I’d been found worthy, he’d be chosen as well, simply due to association.
Grimacing, I retreated, leaning against the door. The rough, wooden panels anchored me, reminding me I desired to be strong and defiant. Randall had never shown a romantic interest in me, until after he ingested the blood of the gods, which meant this whole new side of him could be an act. The image of him attempting to control me made me furious. I was finished letting him lead me around, destroying my life for his own purposes. Squaring my shoulders, I glared, taking a steadying breath.
“Whatever your plan is, I don’t want any part in it.” A shiver of pride moved along my spine as I heard my commanding tone. The sound pushed me forward, until I could stand straight on my own, fists clenched. “I only came to get the names of the Black Knights.”
He frowned, shaking his head. “I don’t want to talk about them. I want to talk about you and me.” In an instant, he was grinning once more, like some loon with multiple personalities, badly in need of medication.
As I watched, grinding my teeth, I tried to ignore my kinder side. After all, I’d seen him suffer in my dreams. I’d been shown a vision of him, forced to eat another human when he clearly hadn’t wanted to. The blood that ran through his veins now was so powerful that it was driving him to madness. He was doing things I’d never seen from him before. Anyone who viewed him long enough could easily interpret his actions as a cry for help.
I didn’t want to feel badly for him. I couldn’t bring myself to be sympathetic and speak with him, as if he were any other person. I refused to let him manipulate me, to steal the anger I so rightly held against him. His blood may have turned on him, but I would not turn on mine. It cried out, wanting justice for the vast amount of people who had fallen under Randall’s orders, for vengeance against my own tortuous meetings, for peace that would only come with his passing.
Thinking of the injustices he’d committed, my fury grew. Snarling, I stared him down, words flowing from my mouth without a single thought.
“There is no ‘you and me.’ There is no you. You are nothing. You will be nothing forever. As time passes, your memory will fall into dust, and not a soul will care to discover who you were, or why you acted as you did. You will have no victory and there will be no one to remember your death.”
It was a sharp declaration, delivered through clenched teeth. The sound was almost a hiss, the venom in my voice heavy. My pent-up frustrations and rage flew into it, and the sound surprised me. I’d managed to steal his mantra—victory or death—without planning what I was going to say in advance. That alone felt powerful, like I was a force that couldn’t be stopped.
Randall didn’t flinch. The madness in his gaze slowly faded, replaced by the haughty, calculating stare I’d seen almost every day when he was masquerading as a Templar. His smile turned, darkness washing his features as he watched me.
I matched his glare, refusing to submit. Folding my arms, I gave him my best scrutinizing look, daring him to tell me differently.
“I liked you better as a man.” His response was calm, despite the anger.
I almost laughed, remembering when I was undercover on the Adelina, impersonating a member of the opposite sex. Tristan and Father Torres had known who I really was, the latter of them crafting a fanciful tale of how I’d survived my tongue being severed by aborigines, and was therefore a mute. Randall hadn’t believed the story for a second, constantly attempting to reveal me to the rest of the crew, but his plans failed in that regard.
Snorting, I shook my head. “You didn’t like me much
then, either, if I recall.”
His mouth twitched. “No, I didn’t.”
Silence grew between us. I was sure Captain MacDonald and Rowan were watching us, frustrated by my inability to get him to confess anything. Still, I was sure he would talk at some point. It was part of his plan, whatever it was. At the end of the day, I intended to discover why he allowed us to capture him and why he agreed to do everything the Grand Master asked.
“Give me the names,” I ordered.
“Do you want to know what I’ve been doing since we last saw each other, in Arizona?” He was baiting me. I could hear it in the way he phrased the question, like he was dangling meat on a hook, sure I’d bite if he got close enough.
“Plaguing my dreams . . . suffering . . . eating people. That’s about it, isn’t it?” I dismissed his attempt. “No. Tell me who your followers are. I don’t care what you’ve been doing.”
“I think you do.” His calculating stare remained. “In fact, I know you do. You’re wondering how strong I am—how much strength runs through my veins. Could Tristan beat me in a fight? Probably not. I would tear him to shreds and eat his heart, as I did to the woman in Greenland.”
My entire body stiffened.
“She was charitable to me, unfortunately for her.” He closed his eyes, sharing the memory even though I wanted to run and escape it. “After you cut off my hand, and I was forced to absorb the godly essence to live—” He glared at me then, his nose twitching. “I took the Norse ship and let it fly wherever it wished. When I nearly froze to death, I woke to find her over me, strange words falling from her lips.”
His stare intensified as he continued. “She nursed me back to health—cared for me in a way no one else has. After I drank the rest of the blood, I realized I needed something more than food to satiate my hunger.”
Unable to help myself, I looked away. “Don’t,” I whispered, already feeling sick. I’d seen what became of that woman. The shamans of Atlantis showed me, attempting to warn me of what he was becoming. Sometimes, I woke to the scent of fresh gore and the sound of his muffled sobs as he chewed on her.
Stolen Away : A Time Travel Romance (The Swept Away Saga Book 4) Page 13
