He wiped at her wet cheeks with his thumb. “Tears help heal in their own way.”
Hannah let another tear fall, though not for her father. “I am so grateful you love me.”
Slain ran his thumb lightly over her lips. “Promise me nothing will ever change that.”
“I promise,” Hannah said and kissed the tip of his thumb. “You have no worry of that.” Yet Hannah saw worry swirl in his dark eyes. “I love you, Slain, nothing can change that.”
Hannah felt his doubt as he kissed her lips gently, and she wondered over it.
Slain had left Hannah sitting with Melvin. She wanted to be there if the man woke again and see if she could find out if what Nial had told them was all lies. He wanted to go see her father’s body and he wanted someone else to see it as well. He had sent a message before joining Hannah in the Great Hall.
Slain walked with his hood tucked down over his head to keep the rain from slashing at his face as he approached the cottage where MacFillan had been taken for preparation. There were things about the beatings and even Conlan’s stabbing that disturbed him, familiar things, and he wanted someone else to confirm what he believed.
“Is he here?” Slain asked Imus, waiting outside the cottage door for him.
Imus nodded and opened the door and entered after Slain.
Slain did not greet Roark, the man was far too engrossed in looking over the body to be disturbed. Slain had known Roark would waste no time in responding to his message and with Warrick’s warriors camped nearby it would not have taken him long to get here.
“I thought your message foolish, so I had no choice but to see for myself,” Roark said, not taking his eyes off the body that had been partially cleaned for burial. “Tell me about the other attacks.”
“Potsman was attacked and beaten about the face when he caught someone setting fire to a storage shed. The young lad, Conlan, suffered a stab wound to his side attempting to help Potsman. Conlan somehow managed to escape his attacker. I believe it was because the lad is quick on his feet. Both of them described their attacker as a dark shadow. The next person attacked Melvin. He is barely recognizable from the beating he suffered and barely able to speak when awake. If my assumption proves true, then I would say that Melvin managed to escape his attacker before he could stab him. That brings us to Ross MacFillan, my wife’s father. You can see for yourself he was not as lucky as the others.”
“He was stabbed, his death not quick,” Roark said.
Slain walked over to the body on the table and looked to where he knew the wound would be, then turned his eyes on Roark. “Now you know why I summoned you.”
Roark shook his head. “I cannot believe that one of Warrick’s warriors would do this. Every one of them has seen what Warrick does to anyone who betrays him. Yet the signs say differently.”
“I watched myself as Warrick had his enemies beaten until they were unrecognizable, stabbed in the side to die slowly, and those he deemed the worst offenders he had stripped of their garments so no one could identify them when they were dumped near their clan to die.”
“Warrick returned the brutality in kind,” Roark said in defense of the mighty warrior.
“In more cases than not,” Slain agreed. “But we both stand here and see with our own eyes what was done to this man and I have seen what was done to the others. All of it points to the attacker being one of Warrick’s warriors, and since you seemed as troubled by it as I am, I assume these attacks have nothing to do with orders from Warrick.”
“Not one,” Roark confirmed, “and I find it difficult to believe that a warrior in my troop would do this and yet…” He shook his head again. “The proof is before me.”
“Who and why? That is what I do not understand. Why chance Warrick’s wrath, if it is one of his warriors? The warrior must know that Warrick will see him suffer horribly before he dies. What could possibly be so important for him to take such a chance?”
“I do not know, but I intend to find out if anyone of them is foolish enough to do so,” Roark said and rubbed at his brow. “Warrick is going to be furious when he learns of this and if what you tell me of your wife’s suffering in his dungeon is true,” —he shook his head again— “he will unleash hell.”
“We should find out all we can before—”
“Do you suggest I wait to notify Warrick of what goes on here?” Roark snapped.
Slain’s response was sparked with anger. “You think I would condemn you to death?” It was Slain’s turn to shake his head. “You know better than that, Roark. I believe it would be best if we found out all we could before Warrick’s arrival since we both know this news will bring him here.”
Roark rubbed his brow again. “You are right. Warrick will come. He has debts to collect from you and Craven.”
“Craven is indebted to him as well? How is Craven? It has been a year now since he lost his wife, but I know how much he loved her. It cannot be easy for him.” Slain felt Craven’s loss now more than ever since he loved his wife and could not see life without her.
“Craven owes Warrick. He wed Warrick’s healer who set fire to his dungeon.”
Slain recalled his wife mentioning a healer’s help. “So that was how Hannah escaped. I owe the woman my gratitude and Warrick should consider the same since innocent people were being sold to the guard for disposal.”
Roark groaned. “Hell will be nothing to what Warrick will unleash when he learns of all this.”
“Then it is best if we can discover what goes on here and have good news for him.”
“Agreed,” Roark said.
“I wonder over the reason for these attacks. Potsman stumbled on the fire being set and Conlan came to his aid, so they were not planned. Those attacks were to protect the culprit from being discovered. Melvin may have discovered something himself and was on the way to tell me when he was attacked. As for MacFillan?” Slain’s brow wrinkled. “I wonder. Was it planned or had something happened that precipitated it?”
Roark asked the questioned that remained a complete mystery to both men. “Most of all, though, why would one of Warrick’s warriors be involved in this matter?”
Hannah sat staring at Melvin, though her mind was elsewhere. She was trying to comprehend the news that Nial claimed to be her father’s son. Nial was two years older than her and that would mean that her father knew Nial’s mother well before Hannah was born. Yet if she understood what her father had made mention of, he did not turn to another woman’s bed until after Hannah was born. It also continued to disturb her that he would not have told her there and then when they had spoken that Nial was his son. It would have been the perfect time to denounce her as his heir and claim Nial his son, especially since he had been so angry with her. Why had he not done that?
All lies.
It always brought her back to Melvin’s words and she wondered how many lies she had been told through the years.
Hannah had been so engrossed in her thoughts that she had not heard Neata enter the room so she jumped when the woman was suddenly standing in front of her with several poultices heaped in a basket.
“Go. I have work to do here,” Neata ordered.
Hannah did not hesitate. She took her leave so that Neata could see to healing Melvin.
She headed for the stairs in search of her husband when she noticed that the east wing door sat ajar. In all the excitement, someone had forgotten to lock it.
Never go in the east wing.
The warning, she had heard so often, rang clearly in her mind, but the need to learn all the secrets of the keep tugged stronger at her. Her decision was made without hesitation and she pulled the door open and stepped into the east wing.
Dim torches produced enough light to guide her way and she hurried her steps, not knowing how long she had before she was discovered. Her heart beat faster with every step she took, wondering and a bit fearful of what she would find behind the door at the end of the hall.
Her courage waned as she got closer and, fearf
ul she would turn and run, she rushed her steps and grasped the door latch and pushed the door open.
A chill hit her, shivering her down to her bones and nothing but darkness greeted her, much like it had when she had first entered the keep. Not a candle flickered or a hearth burned.
She stepped away from the open door and walked over to the nearest torch cradled in a wall sconce. The torch did not burn strongly, but it would be enough light to at least guide her. She had to stand on her toes to reach it and even that was a struggle, but she managed to get it.
Hannah gripped it firmly in her hand and the torch quivered as she approached the open door, her hand trembling so badly it was difficult to hold it still. For a moment she hesitated, the quiver running down through her legs and before she lost all courage, she plunged into the darkness.
Chapter 32
The torch only shed so much light and Hannah could not hold it high if she was to see where she walked. She caught sight of something and approached cautiously. The closer she got, she saw that it was a desk, pieces of parchment strewn across it. She held the torch closer to the top of the desk once she was upon it.
The drawing she had once seen in her husband’s solar lay on top of several other drawings. The one that had appeared to be a board with small spikes protruding out of it. Only now there were ropes attached to the ends. She moved it aside and looked at the next drawing. There were different size chairs and stools all with various size spikes sticking up out of them.
Her eyes glazed over for a moment, a memory flashing before her. A man being pushed down on a small stool, on the spikes, his screams echoing in her ears.
Hannah’s eyes sprang open.
Torture devices.
These were designs for torture devices.
She froze, thinking what this meant and something caught her attention in the darkness, and she raised the torch up slowly over her head.
Hannah stared in disbelief as she turned around slowly in a circle, staring in horror. On every wall hung some type of torture device. When her eyes fell on an unlit torch in a wall sconce, she hurried over to it and lit it with her torch and did the same to three more in the room. The last sconce sat empty and she filled it with the one in her hand.
Shock had her continuing to stare and turn, trying to comprehend what she was seeing and what it meant. She gasped a few times when she recognized some she had seen when held prisoner in Warrick’s dungeon. Ones that would have been used on her if she had not escaped. When her glance settled on the shackles and chains, she winced, remembering the pain those had brought her.
She continued to turn slowly, disbelief and horror growing in her, roiling her stomach and gripping at her heart. Never had she expected to find this. Never had she expected her husband to…
Hannah gasped when she turned to see the dark outline of a man standing in the open doorway until light flickered across him… Slain.
“You designed these,” Hannah accused, hoping she was wrong.
“Aye, wife, I designed them.” Slain admitted, hating himself for being the cause of the fear and horror that burned in her eyes. He had feared her discovering his secret, feared he would lose her love, and from the look on her face, he feared he had been right.
“Why?” she demanded, fighting the tears that threatened her eyes.
“War brings out the worst in people and torture is part of war.”
“Warrick made you do this?” she asked, wanting to lay blame on someone else, not wanting her husband responsible for all this horror.
“It would be easy for me to say it was his fault, but it would not be true. Torture devices have long been used. I took what I had seen and expanded on it. I created the first device of my own volition. No one forced me to do it. After the results proved more beneficial than expected, I continued to create them.”
“How could you? How could you do that to people?”
“I have seen far worse things done to people than these torture devices can do,” Slain said, unable to keep anger out of his voice or the horrible memories from his mind. “I hoped these would prevent more suffering.”
“How could suffering prevent more suffering?” Hannah asked, shaking her head.
“By learning things before they happened and saving people from being brutally slaughtered.”
“What about the innocent ones?”
Slain knew she was referring to herself and she had every right to. “There were no innocent ones and I do this no more.”
“Do not lie to me. She went to his desk and held up a drawing, shaking it at him. “I saw this in your solar shortly after my arrival and you have added to it.”
“That was the other thing Warrick wanted from me, to create something he could use himself on someone. It is made of leather and can easily be used by one man and I finished it in case I had no choice. Then I met you and learned of your suffering. That ended any thought of giving that drawing to Warrick.”
“Then why keep this place? Burn these things and be done with it,” —she gasped, the drawing falling from her hand to the floor— “you plan on using some of these.”
“That had been my plan, but no more. It is a quick death I will deliver to Nial and be done with it, so that we may live in peace.”
“Peace?” Her voice trembled. “How could there be peace with these horrible devices in our home, not far from our bedchamber?”
“I keep them as a reminder of what they cost me… my soul.”
“Your soul is not lost to you, but I will be if you do not rid the keep of these horrible things,” she threatened.
“You will not dictate to me, wife,” he commanded.
“On this I will,” Hannah said, the tears she had kept at bay shining in her eyes along with defiance. She took strong steps to the door, to her husband, intending to push past him. He had a different thought and grabbed her arm. She yanked it free, stumbling and turning as she did.
Slain did not hesitate to grab his wife around the waist and swing her around as he shifted his body to keep her from falling into the spiked devices on the wall. He saved her, but one of the devices with long protruding spikes caught his shoulder, tearing his shirt and ripping at his flesh.
He let out an oath.
“You are hurt,” Hannah said with alarm.
“More than you will ever know,” Slain said through gritted teeth.
A section of the wall suddenly opened and in stepped Roark. He looked from one to the other, then settled a look on Slain. “This is important.”
“I will send Helice to tend your wound,” Hannah said and eased out of her husband’s arms, though she felt his reluctance to release her.
“No, you will tend me when I finish here. We have things to discuss. Go wait in our bedchamber,” he ordered.
Hannah nodded and hurried out of the room, Slain closing the door behind her. She was far too distraught to do as her husband said. She was also upset that he had gotten hurt protecting her. He had not hesitated to keep her safe and had done so without thought to his own safety. That he loved her and would do anything to keep her from harm was not in question.
She made her way down to the Great Hall in search of Helice and found her coming out of Conlan’s room.
“The lad does well. He is sleeping,” Helice said a scowl crossing her face. “What is wrong? You are pale and upset.”
“Slain needs you to tend him. He suffered a minor injury. He is in the room at the end of the east wing. Roark is with him,” she said and went to turn away.
“You discovered his secret,” Helice said.
Hannah nodded.
“Now what will you do?” Helice demanded. “Run away in fright? Stop loving him?”
“I will never stop loving Slain,” Hannah snapped.
“Yet you look ready to run.”
“I wish he had told me from the beginning.”
“And what would you have done?” Helice shook her head. “You would not have bothered to stay here and discover Slain
’s true worth. You would have condemned him and hated him without giving him a chance. You have come to know him and love him. He is a good man. Do not make him pay for something that has already cost him dearly.”
Hannah turned away without a word and left the keep through the kitchen, grabbing a cloak from the hook as she went. Once outside, she stopped and glanced around. She had no desire to speak with anyone. She wanted to be alone to think or perhaps it was better if she did not think. So much had happened today that she felt overwhelmed and there would be more to come, Nial would make sure of it.
She made her way to the nearest barn and was not surprised to find it empty. Her husband had purposely made it appear as if he had nothing, not horse nor weapon, and certainly no warriors to defend his clan. She could only imagine the army of warriors he had put together and with Warrick’s warriors here to help, Nial did not have a chance. Her husband would defeat him and take his life.
A shiver ran through her. Nial was not foolish and he was good at making people believe him. She had believed him when her father had brought his new wife and step-son home. He had been kind to Hannah, at least she believed so until her father started accusing her of things she had not done. That was when she learned how well Nial could lie.
That no longer mattered. Slain would protect her just as he had done a short time ago.
Hannah found a small stool and placed it by the door to sit. The rain had stopped, but the clouds remained. She looked out over the land, the village, a short distance away, clansmen going about their chores, children at play, women in chatter. This was her home, her clan, her family. Here was where she would raise her children, live her life, love her husband until she took her last breath, though her love for him would never die.
She could never stop loving Slain. It was not possible. Her heart belonged to him. The thought had her recalling a remark her husband had made.
I fear you will stop loving me.
Had he been worried about what would happen when she discovered his secret? She was upset to learn it. Actually, it had shocked her to see all those torture devices. It had flooded her with memories. Ones she wanted desperately to keep locked away. But not once while in that room did she feel hatred toward him. Not once had her love for him been in question.
Embraced by a Highlander Page 27
