When Dair’s dimple flashed again, Ellie reached out for Alycie’s hand, not at all sure she was going to like whatever it was her new boss planned.
Twenty-four
Catriona Wodeford Baxter leaned over the basin by her bed and splashed water over her face.
Even the cool droplets hurt.
With shaking hands, she picked up the polished silver hand mirror that had belonged to her mother and looked into it. The sight confronting her made her ill, the surprise of it still as hurtful as the wounds themselves.
Austyn had been angry with her many times, had threatened her before. But in all her years, her brother had never struck her.
Not until this morning.
She could hardly believe it even now. And yet the proof of his fists striking her face, blacking her eye, busting her swollen lips was all too real. As real as the tattered gown that lay in the corner of her room where she’d stepped out of it. As real as the lashes on her arms and back where he’d beat her with his whip.
And for what? The measly bits of cheese and bread she’d taken to Blane and his cousin?
No. Her action was no more than a small breath to the flames of his anger. Over the last few years she’d watched as Austyn had changed. Her brother had grown to relish the violence and the battles and the killing until she hardly recognized him.
Sooner or later, it would have come to this, no matter how she’d tried to please him. He’d come to resent her very presence because she represented the conscience he denied.
She gently patted the drying cloth to her aching cheek and dabbed on a bit of the potion she had made weeks earlier to treat the wounded of Wode Castle. Certainly she had never expected to need it for herself.
Poor Simeon. Her nephew would blame himself for this because he had taken her to Austyn after finding her outside the hovel where the prisoners were kept. It had required three of Austyn’s guards to drag Sim from the room when her brother’s first blow had landed.
She took a deep breath and laid out her clothing on the bed. She would worry about Simeon later. For now, she had much to do.
Slowly she dressed, biting back the cry of pain that threatened when the linen of her shift settled over the cuts on her back, just as she had refused to make a sound when Austyn had struck her. Perhaps if she’d cried out, begged his mercy, he wouldn’t have grabbed for the whip. Then again, perhaps it would have made no difference to him.
She shook her head to chase away the thought and rolled her hair into its usual large knot at the nape of her neck.
Such thoughts were weakness, and in spite of what her brother thought, she was not weak. She was the daughter of a great warrior, the widow of a brave knight. And though she was a tolerant woman, her brother had overstepped his bounds for the last time. In her mind his actions canceled any debt or gratitude she had ever owed him.
But the slate was not cleaned. Not by a long stretch.
Outside, the sun had long since set and the moon was well hidden by clouds this night. She pulled a cloak from the chest at the foot of her bed and wrapped it around her shoulders, carefully lifting the hood to cover her head. She placed each of the items she’d prepared into her pockets before she opened the door and slipped into the dark, quiet hallway.
Yes, this day Austyn Wodeford had crossed over a line and tipped the balance of debt owed in her favor and she intended to see to it that he paid dearly for his error.
Twenty-five
Caden huddled in a dark, damp corner, the moldy bread they’d tossed down to him earlier clutched in his lap. He forced himself to take another bite. He had to keep up his strength.
He had to be ready to seize any opportunity that came along. He would be free of this place. He had to be. Too much depended on it.
Once he was free, he’d deliver the ransom for Blane and Colin, and then he was coming back here. Coming back and finding Steafan.
He wanted answers.
Why would Steafan betray him? The man was his best friend, had been as a brother to him for as many years as he could remember.
Why, why, why?
It had become a litany singing through his mind for the last few days. It held the wounding sting of betrayal at bay.
He wanted revenge.
An invisible scratching in the inky dark corner caught his attention.
Rats.
Damn, but he hated the vermin. He pushed aside his loathing, thinking instead of Ellie’s grin the day she had accused him of fearing the little beasties.
He filled his mind with her as he had over the past days, escaping the rotten food, the smell of sewage, even the rats. He held on to that image as long as he could. It was this that kept him going.
He would admit it now, though only to himself. Only here.
More than answers, even more than revenge, he wanted her.
The wooden slats covering the hole they’d thrown him into were lifted and a pale shaft of light flickered through the opening, invading his cocoon of darkness.
Caden sat very still, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the light, watching as a ladder snaked into view.
“Come on with you, MacAlister, out into the light. I ken yer there. Our laird has some entertainment prepared special just for you.” A dirty face peered down over the edge.
Slowly Caden rose to his feet, battling back the dizziness. This was it. His chance had come at last. He had to be sharp now.
One foot after the other, he made his way up the rungs until his head and shoulders breached the opening. The men waiting there grasped him under his arms and dragged him out to his feet.
Up a set of narrow stone stairs where the flickering torch of the dungeon gave way to smoke-filtered daylight. Down a hallway and toward a door at what was presumably the back of the keep.
The frightened screams hit his ears before he made it through the door.
A crowd of perhaps fifteen men gathered, blocking his view, but the stench of blood curled up his nose and straight to his stomach even as the screams pierced his heart.
The guards pushed him forward and the mass parted, allowing him to see a mockery of a throne and Symund MacNab, the so-called laird, sitting there.
“Ah, just in time.” MacNab signaled with his walking stick and Caden’s guards shoved him forward again, toward the chairs where MacNab sat.
Caden steeled himself. This was good. When he took that stick from MacNab’s hands this time, it was MacNab himself who’d feel the brunt of it. Caden’s vision tunneled, focusing on the false laird, readying his strength, planning his move.
Until he passed in front of the chairs.
Then his view of what they all watched opened and his footsteps slowed as his horror grew.
There in front of him was a massive pit, perhaps four feet deep and larger than the great hall of this keep. A pole, taller than the height of man, had been driven into the far end. A chain extended from the pole, the end clamped around the wrist of a man who worked desperately at trying to free himself from the manacle, his fingers digging at the iron band.
In vain.
He was the source of the screams.
Two huge dogs stealthily circled him, each dodging in to snap their massive jaws. They were the reason for his screams.
Caden couldn’t tear his eyes from the man’s bloody hands as he frantically, hopelessly clawed at the band binding him.
One of the guards pushed Caden into the chair next to MacNab and he turned his gaze to the monster sitting there.
“What is this grotesque torture?”
MacNab smiled, affecting a look of innocence. “But surely you must have heard of the sport, MacAlister. It’s all the rage with the nobility, I’m told. They call it bear baiting. A vicious bear is placed in the pit and the dogs are turned loose on it. The contest is whether the bear or the dogs survive.”
“That’s a man, no a bear, down there,” Caden grated, the horror of the situation settling over him. “He’s no a chance against those beasts.”
&
nbsp; “Aye, so it is.” MacNab shook his head, lifting his hands in a helpless gesture. “And a man you know personally, if I’m no mistaken.”
Caden’s head snapped toward the man in the pit and he strained to see the poor wretch’s face. The set of his shoulders did look familiar, but his back was turned.
One of the dogs dove in, latching his teeth onto the man’s leg. The poor wretch fastened his arms around the pole, kicking, stomping at the beast’s head with his other foot. The dog let go and backed away and the man turned, just enough to reveal his face.
“Gilberd? You’ve my shepherd chained out there?” Caden surged to his feet, and was quickly shoved back to his seat by the men surrounding him. “He’s hardly more than a lad. Get him out of there!”
The guards dropped a coil of rope around Caden, tying him to the chair.
“Ah, but that’s where you come in, my friend. Only you can save the lad now.”
The dogs circled again, round and round, tightening their arcs, coming closer with each pass.
“Anything. Tell me what you want of me.” He couldn’t see one of his people murdered in front of his eyes and do nothing. He’d gladly change places with Gilberd.
“Unfortunately, to continue our sport, we’d need a real bear and they cost dearly. So all you have to do is tell us where to find the silver you carried, and we’ll release the lad.”
The moldy bread churned in Caden’s stomach, threatening to travel up. He had two choices, both equally impossible. If he turned the silver over to MacNab, Blane and Colin would die. If he didn’t, it would mean Gilberd’s life. Either way, he failed his kinsmen.
A scream ripped through his thoughts accompanied by a roar from the men ringing the pit. Caden looked up, knowing before he did what he would see. Gilberd’s body lay on the ground, his head twisted at an odd angle, his throat ripped away by one of the beasts.
What had he done? The blame for Gilberd’s death lay at his feet. It was his responsibility. He should have decided faster, acted faster.
“What a pity. Too late to save that one.” MacNab made a tsking noise as he patted Caden’s arm. “Just as well. He was naught but a dirty little traitor anyway. Brought word of your journey to us, he did. Told us exactly where we might find you so we could escort you here as our guest.”
Was it not enough they murdered the man? Did they take some special pleasure in defiling his memory as well?
“I dinna believe yer lies. That’s no possible. Gilberd had no idea I traveled this route. He was in the high fields when my plans were set. He could no have done what you say.” Caden clenched his jaw. He would speak no more. They’d done their worst.
“What you say may be. Unless, perhaps, someone sent him. Someone who did ken what you planned to do. Someone bent on yer destruction. A man who’d intentionally expose yer animals to disease and then sell you out to the likes of me.” MacNab grinned, the few teeth left in his slimy mouth all showing. “You help me by giving me the silver and I’ll help you by eliminating yer traitorous kinsmen.”
“What?” The strangled words escaped Caden as though he no longer controlled his own will. “I’ll hear no more of yer lies and accusations. And now that you’ve murdered Gilberd, you’ve no a hold on me. You’ll never see that silver.”
“I’d no be so hasty to say that if I were you.” MacNab leaned over the side of his chair and motioned somewhere behind him. “Bring him!” he called, even as his attention was distracted by the arrival of one of his men leaning in to whisper in his ear.
He sat up, beaming. “’Tis perfect timing for our celebration. Escort them to me at once.”
Again Caden’s stomach churned, and he strained against the ropes that held him as he watched two guards drag another man out to the pole even as others hauled off what was left of Gilberd.
A man with a cloth sack over his head.
“Who is it?” Caden’s words trickled out, barely more than a breath, as a sense of recognition fell over him.
“Patience, my young friend, patience,” MacNab counseled.
In the pit, the man’s arm was fitted into the manacle, even as he struggled against the process, and the cloth was yanked from his face.
“You can’t do this to me!” Steafan screamed. “We had a deal.”
A deal?
May the Fae help him, MacNab didn’t lie.
Well, it wasn’t four-inch spike heels and hot pants, but it would do.
Approaching the gates of the hellhole where Caden was held, Ellie felt a grim satisfaction as she considered their handiwork. Both she and Alycie had pulled and tugged and rearranged until they looked sufficiently sleazy, their shoulders and considerably more of their cleavage bared than was customary for this time. Only her lace bra straps covered her shoulders now, and those should be novel enough to entice the raggedy bunch they waited to attract.
She had to smile as she thought of their preparations. Dair’s eyebrows had climbed up his forehead as she’d rearranged her laces and lowered her shift, baring the top of the odd mark on her breast—the rose shape Rosalyn had told her was her Faerie mark.
He’d quickly recovered his composure and grinned at her, nodding his head as if in approval when he turned away. What she wouldn’t have given for the ability to read human thoughts in that moment!
Waiting outside the gates, she exchanged glances with Alycie, noting how the woman nervously chewed her bottom lip while Dair carried on a conversation with one of the men standing guard. Ellie adjusted her skirt one last time, making sure to flash some thigh and was pleased to see Alycie follow suit.
Remembering she’d read somewhere how ‘good’ girls got color into their faces back in the old days, she bit down on her lips and let go her reins long enough to pinch her cheeks. It might not be the makeup counter at the corner drugstore, but it would have to do.
Dair motioned for them to join him, and the three of them waited as the portcullis lifted, their screeching protests music to Ellie’s ears.
They were inside!
The gate lowering behind her gave her only momentary pause. They’d come this far. She wouldn’t allow herself to doubt their ability to get back out.
A large man, ragged and filthy as though he’d never even heard of washing, helped her down from her horse, his hands lingering unnecessarily long on her bare leg.
That was good. It meant their plan was working.
She gave him a smile she hoped was appropriately encouraging and allowed her skirts to slide down her legs to where they belonged. Slowly. Very slowly.
The man licked his lips and swallowed hard.
This was going to be easier than she’d imagined.
“Here now, what’s this, darlin’?” He pulled at the knife belted around her waist. “You’ll no be having any use for this wee weapon so I’ll be taking it for a time.”
He reached around her body, pulling her much closer than necessary to remove the belt, but she leaned into him. Might as well let him think she had no problem with what he did.
The man squatted in front of her and she realized with a start that he planned to pat her down like in some horrible cop movie. She glanced around to find her companions undergoing a similar procedure and tried to relax.
She could play this game.
Ellie lifted her skirts, baring her leg to midcalf and the guard on the ground in front of her sucked in his breath. He latched his hands around her ankle and slowly began to slide them upward.
Somewhere around her knee, she’d had enough.
“Has this man paid for my services?”
His hands froze in their search as she’d hoped they would, and she turned her head in Dair’s direction, working to keep her face blank.
“He has not,” Dair responded haughtily, playing his role to the hilt. “Kindly take your hands from the merchandise, good sir. Unless yer prepared to hand over the appropriate compensation, that is.”
“I’m only checking for weapons, as I must,” the man muttered, his hands
rising uncomfortably above her knee now.
“Weapons? You took my weapon, you great oaf. And I don’t give my favors. I sell them.”
“No wee whores are going near the laird what I dinna check for weapons,” he insisted stubbornly.
“Oh, very well.” Ellie hoped she’d covered her fright with irritation as she jerked back from the guard and lifted her skirts, clearly displaying her thighs for his inspection.
His and the three other guards’ as well. The one in front of Dair wiped a hand over his mouth and nodded his appreciation.
“How’s this? Convinced I hide no other weapons?” She dropped her skirts and smoothed them with her hands.
“And you?”
The guard in front of Alycie waited and slowly she lifted her skirts as well, quickly dropping them.
Ellie had to admire the woman. For a medieval nun, she was pretty damn gutsy.
Satisfied the party was defenseless, the guards led them forward to the side of the crumbled stones that passed for a building.
Ellie’s heart pounded while they were escorted around the keep toward a mass of men. Caden was in here somewhere. She could feel him.
As they approached the group, heads turned their direction and conversations came to a halt, all eyes on them.
“Bring them to me,” a barrel-shaped man called from a gaudily decorated chair that had been placed up on a wooden dais.
Apparently the man in charge.
Exactly the man she wanted to get her hands on.
Ellie narrowed her gaze, focusing on him as she strutted forward, holding his attention with the swing of her hips. This was going to be easy.
He held out a hand and she reached for it, allowing him to pull her up onto the dais. As she stepped up, she glanced past him and her heart started pounding, threatening to burst through her chest.
Or perhaps it stopped beating altogether, she couldn’t really tell.
There, next the grubby man who held her hand, in a smaller chair, sat Caden, a rope looped about his body tying him into the seat with his arms at his sides, his face a mask of horror as he stared straight ahead.
A Highlander of Her Own Page 18
