And he would’ve, had the second warrior not regained his wits and slammed something hard into the back of Merrick’s head.
Darkness was all he knew.
Chapter Fourteen
There was no lock on the outside of the laird’s chambers, and that took Saffy all of a moment to determine. After the brutish Lindsay warrior threw her into the room, he growled at her to stay put if she knew what was good for her. Was that supposed to intimidate her into staying?
It didn’t.
Forcing herself to take deep breaths, she counted slowly to one hundred, then backward just for good measure. Each moment she spent in this room Merrick was a moment closer to death. But she had to be sure there were no guards waiting for her in the hall.
Finally, she cracked the door open to check.
The hall was empty.
Releasing the breath she’d been holding, she pressed her back to the wall beside the door and surveyed what she had available to her.
Assets?
Ye’re in Merrick’s chambers, which ye ken far better than Lindsay will.
A good point.
Ye’re free—despite what Lindsay might think—while Merrick isnae.
A chilling reminder, but which made her more determined to get herself out of this mess and help him.
’Tis possible ye’re the only one who can save Merrick and the bairns.
Well, that last one wasn’t much of an asset…more of a terror. Leave it to her mind to point it out.
First things first. She crossed directly to the large trunk under the window and levered the lid open.
Although his larger blades, shields, and axes had their places of honor of the walls, this was where the smaller dirks were kept. As his squire, she’d sharpened and polished each one, and knew she could wield them much easier than one of the bigger weapons.
Maggie’s small dirk was still tucked into the waist of Merrick’s braies she wore, but having a second would be wise.
She’d just started to lower the lid when she heard voices outside, and hurried to stand.
“Make sure my brother is well-secured in the dungeon. I want to save his death until his people are watching. There must be no doubt I am in charge here.”
There was a murmur of assent, but Saffy’s mind was still focused on Lindsay’s words.
Her heart had leapt at the knowledge Merrick was still alive, and knowing what was to come only fortified her resolve.
As the door opened, she backed against the wall beside the small table where she and Merrick had played chess many evenings, and prayed she looked small and terrified.
Actually, the “terror” wasn’t that hard to pretend.
Lindsay stomped into the room and seemed surprised to see her. He paused and frowned, then shook his head.
“I am in need of a change of clothes. These are filthy from riding all evening, but I doubt that Highland brother of mine owns anything but barbarian rags.”
He moved toward the washbasin—the water was still cold from the night—and began to wash his hands. Saffy swallowed, eying the distance to the door. Mayhap she could squeeze past with his back turned, since he wasn’t yet interested in…what had he’d said? Fucking her black and blue?
She shivered and swallowed down the bile that threatened to rise. There’d been a moment there, in the hall, when Merrick’s eyes had seemed so hard, it was possible to believe his words. Possible to believe she meant as little to him as his other women had.
But she’d reminded herself there’d been no other women. Reminded herself that she trusted him, and that he was smart enough to use his wits to manipulate the situation.
And she was smart enough to join him. So, she’d pretended great hurt, and it had nigh broken her heart to see his fear and anger as she’d been dragged out of the room. That, more than her own terror, had been what caused her to cry out so pitifully.
She’d prayed to all the saints in heaven he’d be safe.
When Lindsay turned from the basin, she startled, knowing she’d missed her chance. The knife was pressed against her thigh, and she was glad she’d left the sheath in the chest. With the blade hidden by her body like this, she might be able to strike him if he came close enough.
Unfortunately, she might get her chance.
“I asked you a question, whore,” he snapped.
She licked her lips, not bothering to hide her fear, knowing it would help him underestimate her. “I’m—I’m sorry, milord.” What had he asked?
“Sutherland’s clothing. Does he own anything refined?”
Refined? What kind of question was that? “I donae know, milord,” she whispered, her voice quavering. Merrick had never worn aught besides his kilt when he was with her, and she had no idea what constituted “refined”.
Actually, it was a little ironic that she stood here listening to Lindsay praise Lowlander garb, as it was that which had gotten her tossed into the Sutherland dungeons in the first place.
Mayhap she’d played her part a little too well. Lindsay’s eyes raked her, and his gaze turned speculative.
“I only retired here for a wash.” He slowly crossed the room, his steps lazy and anticipation in his eyes. “I had, frankly, forgotten all about the little firebrand my brother claimed is meek in bed. But now that I am here…”
He reached down and adjusted his groin, and Saffy’s stomach roiled. He was speaking of taking her by force, the same way he’d so casually admitted to raping poor Elana. But Saffy wasn’t going to let it happen.
She had her wits, and thanks to Merrick and Citrine’s training, she had a blade and knew what to do with it.
Lindsay stopped in front of her, his pupils already dilated with desire, and his breath coming faster. “I wonder, whore, if you will pray and cry when I take you?”
Faster than she could understand, he whipped his open palm across her mouth, the same as he’d done to Merrick.
As Saffy jerked backward, slamming into the tapestry-covered wall, he grabbed her by the throat and tossed her toward the bed. She stumbled toward the still-rumpled coverlet, managing to keep the blade hidden under her palm.
She leaned on the mattress with her free hand, trying not to tremble. She could feel the blood leaking from the corner of her mouth, but knew Lindsay hadn’t used his full strength on her, as he had on Merrick. Nay, he likely considered that a mere tap, a blow to make her meeker.
Well, it hadn’t worked.
She hid her anger and ducked her head as she turned to him, allowing her shoulders to shake as if she were crying.
He was already reaching for the hem of his tunic as he prowled toward the bed. “’Tis best you pray, whore. Whoever you are to my brother, I cannot allow you to live when I’m done with you. I know his reputation for siring bastards, and you’re likely already breeding.”
Unable to help herself, the corner of her lips tugged up at the thought of already being pregnant with Merrick’s baby. She should be terrified by Lindsay’s threats, but she was holding a blade, Merrick’s trust, and the fate of Merrick’s family.
It was impossible not to feel powerful.
So, she lifted her chin and met Lindsay’s eyes just as he unbuckled his belt.
Whatever he saw in her gaze, he reared back.
“You are a firebrand, are you not?” His chuckle was dry and cruel. “I will enjoy breaking you. Plunging one sword into you before the final one, so to speak!”
As he laughed at his own joke, she knew the truth. They called Merrick the Sutherland Devil, but true evil stood before her now.
Faster than she could blink, he bit off his laughter and pushed her backward, falling across her and forcing her onto the bed. She began to struggle then, which made him laugh harder.
Half-frantic, feeling his hardness pushing against her thigh as he sought entry to her body, she twisted her grip on the dirk, nicking herself in the process. If only she could turn her forearm, she could plant the blade in his side.
Of course, the thr
oat is the best option.
She stilled, remembering Merrick’s lesson from weeks ago. He’d told her the best places to plant her blade…and how to make it happen.
In this position, with Lindsay grunting atop her, she didn’t have the leverage she needed. But a well-placed knee to the bollocks…
When her blow landed, Lindsay made an animalistic noise and lurched away from her. It was all the opening she needed to swing her now-free arm up and around, aiming the dirk for his throat.
Her aim might’ve hit true, except he was still doubled over, one hand cupping his groin and the other trying to hold up his breeches. Her blade, which had been aimed for his vulnerable throat, lodged in his shoulder instead. His roar was half-scream, half-curse, as he reached for the dirk embedded in his flesh.
She didn’t stay to see him yank it out, but turned and ran for the door.
Merrick was in the dungeon, and she was his only hope.
As he forced his eyes open, Merrick couldn’t help the groan which escaped his lips.
He knew he was in his own dungeon—the very place where Saf had nearly died, due to Andrew’s over-enthusiastic loyalty—and knew there was only one small window. Still, the weak dawn light pierced his dazed brain like some sort of hot blade.
“Merrick? Thank the saints.”
The croak came from somewhere to Merrick’s left, and it was with great effort that he rolled from his side—where he’d been tossed by Lindsay’s men—onto his back to be able to see the speaker.
“Gavin?” he asked in a dry whisper, then winced at how pitiful he sounded.
When the other man lifted his head, he saw it was in fact his friend. But seeing him dangling in the Lindsays’ hold from across the great hall had not prepared Merrick for the sight of Gavin. The other man’s face was mottled red and purple already, as bruises rose, with one eye swollen shut and blood seeping from its corner.
“Aye…laird. The bastards…didnae manage…”
Gavin’s chest heaved as he struggled to breathe in between his words, and when he trailed off completely, Merrick knew the effort had been too much. He’d seen his friend fall from a wound in his side, and wondered how much blood he had lost from that. Was he even now dying in this cell?
With another groan, Merrick rolled to his opposite side and managed to push himself to his hands and knees. The effort it took required him to stop and rest. His blood pulsed against his temples and the painful spot on his crown, where the blow had landed.
God’s wounds, but he was in bad shape!
“I’m sorry, Merrick,” came the whisper.
Still on his knees, Merrick turned his head to take in his friend’s poor appearance. “Ye fought by my side, Gav.” The childhood nickname came easily, as if this was a lark. “And I heard what Lindsay did to Elana. I forgive ye.”
Gavin’s lips curved weakly upward as he rested his head against the stone behind him. “Thank ye.” His breathing sounded a little better in that position. “But I was apologizing for breaking yet another vow to ye.”
Merrick grunted in question as he pushed himself to his haunches.
“I…” Gavin closed his eyes. “I didnae kill Lindsay, and I’m afraid I’m no’ going to be much use to ye.”
Whatever Merrick might’ve said was lost in a flood of curses as he forced himself to his feet, then stumbled into the wall to hold on until the cell quit spinning.
His friend chuckled dryly. “We’re going to die today. I hope ye ken that.”
Merrick squeezed his eyes shut and prayed for the world to slow its frantic tilting. “Nay,” he croaked. “We will no’. And do ye ken why?”
The other man merely grunted.
“Because…” Merrick forced his eyes open, allowing himself to focus on the crude carving directly in front of his face as he braced himself against the cell wall. “Because Saf is up there somewhere, and my bastard of a brother kens I love her. I cannae let him hurt her.”
It was an easy vow to make, but Merrick had no idea how he’d see it through. He knew for a fact the heavy oak door was barred from the outside, and save for the impossibly high window, there was no other way out…especially not when he felt like this.
But the thought of Saf alone and relying on him sent a surge of strength through him. He pushed away from the stonework, pleased to realize his head had stopped spinning. He forced his eyes to focus on the carvings under his palms, knowing if he could get his brain to cooperate enough to understand the graffiti, he’d be able to think of a way out of this mess.
Graffiti.
His lips twitched.
Saf had been the last person locked in this cell, and she’d sat around and corrected the spelling of the carvings. Here and there, Merrick recognized his grand-uncle’s colorful curses, and the more recent carvings atop, pointing out the misspellings.
Even in her darkest hour, Saf hadn’t given up. And he wasn’t going to give up on her.
“Her, eh?” Gavin’s breath didn’t rattle quite so much when he inhaled. “Ye love her?”
Merrick dragged his dry tongue across his lips and pushed himself away from the wall. “Aye,” he said to himself. Then again, stronger: “Aye, I love her. I love her the way I loved Anna. I didnae think to find that again.”
“But now that ye have?”
Merrick’s palm pressed against the one carved design Saf’s corrections hadn’t touched, a strange sunburst with a Latin phrase. She hadn’t deemed this one worthy of correcting? Or was the spelling fine? Had it been carved by another hand?
His lips felt as if they were cracking. “I’ll be marrying her. She’s one of the Sinclair Jewels, and her father has already proven willing to align with me.”
Gavin whispered an impressed curse under his breath.
“Aye.” Merrick grunted as an idea came to him, and he jammed the tips of his fingers into the cracks in the mortar around the sunburst. “’Tis possible she’s already carrying my bairn, and this one will be my heir.”
“Assuming ye live that long.”
The stone pulled away surprisingly easy and without a sound. Frowning, Merrick slid his hand into the opening and wrapped his fingers around a leather sack.
“I’ll live,” he murmured distractedly as he turned toward the light coming in from the small window. “And what’s more, I forbid ye from dying until ye redeem yer sorry arse.” He paused in his attempts to untie the pouch to throw a glare at his friend. “And that’s the Sutherland Devil telling ye that.”
Gavin’s lips curved, although his eyes stayed closed and his head back. “Aye, Laird,” he drawled. “We’ll give that bastard hell.”
“Aye, we will. But first…”
Merrick sucked in a breath as he finally got the pouch opened and poured out its contents into his palm. Sparkling up at him was the largest sapphire he’d ever seen, almost the size of his palm, and cut in so many facets it caught and amplified even the weak light.
One of the Sinclair jewels.
Saf had been right.
He felt a lightness bubble up from his chest. It was…hope? Aye, a surety that, with this find, he’d be able to give her what she wanted. He just needed to save her first.
Resolved, he hurried to wrap the stone back up and shoved it back into its hiding spot. When he stooped to recover the brick, he was glad the world didn’t tilt. Nay, he was as recovered as he’d get, and he’d save Saf.
“What is that?” came Gavin’s croak as Merrick pushed the brick back into place.
He turned, and was pleased to see his friend looking more alert, although his left eye looked as if it’d never recover.
“’Tisnae important, Gav. But do ye ken why in all creation the Lewes MacLeod crest would be carved in my dungeon?”
Gavin snorted. “Nay,” he rasped. “’Twas it no’ yer uncle who spent so much time down here?”
Merrick had already moved toward the door and was examining it for weaknesses. “My father’s uncle,” he said in distraction as he ran his ha
nds across the oak, hoping for something which would allow him an advantage. “And he wasnae a MacLeod. They were barely united then.”
Gavin didn’t reply, but Merrick had already pushed the mystery to the back of his mind. Restoring the jewels to the Sinclairs was Saf’s mission, and if he allowed her to come to harm, the sapphire’s location wouldn’t matter.
His head jerked around when he heard a noise he didn’t recognize from the other side of the door. A scrape, then a thump.
Was someone out there? Someone who was even now pulling the heavy drawbar down, intending to pull the door open?
A friend…or Lindsay?
Merrick motioned for Gavin to stay where he was, although the other man looked half-ready to push himself upright to defend him. Of the two, Merrick was in better shape, so he backed into the center of the cell, planted his weight, and raised his hands, ready to take what was coming.
He didn’t expect Saf.
When she pulled the door open wide, he didn’t think he’d ever seen a more beautiful sight. Her hair was wild, and a bruise was forming on one cheek, but her eyes were bright, and she burst into a smile when she saw him.
“Merrick!” she cried as she threw herself into the cell and his arms.
He did nothing more than wrap himself around her, burying his nose in her hair and inhaling deeply.
She was safe.
She was safe, and she’d come to rescue him.
“I love ye,” he croaked against her hair. “I love ye, Sapphire Sinclair, and I thought I’d die thinking ye in danger.”
Her grin, when she pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, was one of the prettiest things he’d ever seen. “I love ye, too, my Devil, and I kenned I’d couldnae let ye molder down here. Lindsay plans to kill ye today in front of the clan.”
“He’s welcome to try,” Merrick growled.
Now that he had Saf and a chance at freedom, Lindsay would not be standing in his way.
“Where is he?” Gavin asked.
When Saf whirled around, it was obvious from her expression she hadn’t noticed the other man slumped against the wall. Or if she had, she’d assumed he was unconscious. She shook her head slightly.
The Sutherland Devil Page 16
