by Victoria Zak
“Neil, can I ask ye a question?”
Neil’s scowl deepened. “Aye,” he said in a frustrated tone.
“How many of yer men are still loyal to me father?”
“I would say a few hundred.”
“And these men trust ye?”
“They would fight to hell and back all in the name of Maxwell.” Neil’s brows furrowed with suspicion. “What kind of trickery be ye seeking, lass?”
Nonchalantly, Effie shook her head and said, “No trickery.” She leaned in close to Neil. “Ready yer men, Sir Neil. Justice is about to be served.”
~~~~~
Tavish turned to the hearth where a roaring flame violently flickered and cracked. The sweet sounds of muffled pleas soothed his dark soul like a salve to a wound, but this balm was foul to the core. Grabbing an iron poker, he placed the black tip over the fire until it glowed a vibrant red. Then he turned to face his victim.
Maggie, bound to a chair with rope, was trapped and naked from the waist up. Her hands were tied behind her and her feet were tethered together. Tears streamed down her face and her heart pounded against her ribs, as Tavish stood in front of her.
Inches away from her flawless skin, Tavish taunted her with the hot poker. “Maggie, sweet beautiful Maggie.” He clucked his tongue at her. “All ye have to do is tell me where me sister be?”
Maggie shook her head no and begged him through the gag in her mouth to let her go. Maggie did not know where Effie was. She had been late for her nightly duties in preparing Effie’s chamber for the evening. Thinking it was Effie, sweet Maggie opened the door to a knock, but to her blood-chilling surprise it was Tavish. He overpowered the young lass, knocking her unconscious and then binding her to the chair. She awoke to a slap across the face. Now her worst nightmare was coming to life, a hot iron poker threatening to mar her skin and create pain beyond measure.
The poker lay a breath away from the valley betwixt her breasts as her eyes, wide with fear, watched the red tip as it came closer to her skin. With one touch, her skin melted away. Maggie screamed and bucked, frantically wriggling to be free, but Tavish continued to trail the poker down to her stomach, leaving a river of molten lava behind.
“I know ye know where she is. Ye two have gotten close since her return.” Tavish’s tone began to grow irate and louder. “Now tell, wench! Where’s Effie?”
Again Maggie shook her head no and pleaded for mercy. Her breath quickened and she shook when she saw Tavish take the poker back to the fire. This time he wasn’t going to waste his breath by asking the wench again. Nay, this time the torture was for pure pleasure.
Like the sick and twisted bastard he was, he began to brand her, starting at the top of the left breast and then down over her nipple, connecting with the line he had already inflicted. He repeated his assault on her other breast until he formed a W.
“Whore,” he spat.
At this point Maggie was barely hanging on to consciousness. Her head hung down in front of her; raven-black hair hid her face and stuck to her skin. Blood oozed from the blistered skin, enhancing the letter on her chest as if it was glowing red.
Throwing the poker into the hearth with frustration, Tavish ran his hands through his hair and began to pace. Damn it! Where is Effie? Sir Henry had been worried about her and had checked her chamber only to find out she wasn’t there. “The stupid whore is going to ruin everything,” he hissed. Making excuses all night for his sister’s absence was making him come across as untrustworthy, and Henry was not one to deceive. Finally Tavish convinced Henry that he would find her and of course nothing was to be worried about. He had everything under control.
Tavish took a seat in a dark corner of the room and waited. Sooner or later Effie had to return and when she did... well they would have a talk.
~~~~~
After making sure Neil had his instructions to return Conall, while in healing sleep, back to the dungeon, Effie made her way back to her bedchamber. She’d been gone too long and hoped she hadn’t been missed. Conall was healing now and had a chance to fight for his life and shift. Not that she was home free just yet; she had to convince him to leave here without her.
She’d wanted to tell him about the arranged marriage and that she planned to go through with it, but he would only talk her out of it. This was the only way she knew how to keep Conall safe. Do what her brother wanted and he would leave Conall alone. She would be out of his deadly grasp and living in England under the protection of Sir Henry.
Even though her heart ached, she had to make a sacrifice. It pained her deeply to know she was giving up the man she loved, but what other choice was there?
Aye, together they could find a way to escape but unfortunately, Tavish would always be there, tracking her down. It seemed that there was no escaping him.
As she pondered, she finally reached her bedchamber and opened the door. Shock and complete horror rocked her body as she witnessed the most gruesome sight she had ever seen; Maggie’s lifeless body tied to a chair. “Maggie!”
Effie raced to the young lass, afraid she was too late. She picked her head up and untied the gag from behind her head. To her relief Maggie was breathing, but her breath was slow and raspy. “Thank heavens ye’re alive.” As she swept Maggie’s hair back from her face, her heart stilled. Blistering trails marked her skin. “Maggie, dear God!” Bending down in front of her, Effie said, “Who did this to ye?”
From out of the dark shadows, something or someone grabbed Effie from behind. With one arm around her waist holding her still, Tavish twisted her hair around his hand and yanked her head back. “Where have ye been, whore?” he spat in disgust in her ear. “Sir Henry has been looking for ye. Said ye told him ye weren’t feeling well, but when he came to check on ye, ye weren’t here.”
Effie’s head was craned far back, making it hard to swallow. “I... was... in the chapel. Praying for da.” She knew her lie would hold true. Tavish wouldn’t dare step foot in God’s house, for the fear he would go up in flames, so her lie was safe.
Aggravated, Tavish shoved Effie toward Maggie and she landed hard on her knees. He stalked the room as fury consumed him. “Ye will not ruin this for me. Ye do see what happens when ye provoke me.” He pointed to Maggie’s branded body.
Effie scampered close to Maggie, waiting for the next blow. She had put Maggie in danger just like Conall, all because of her brother.
Tavish stalked over to Effie and leaned over her. “I know ye went to see the dragon,” he seethed. “I hope ye said farewell because he’s a dead man. Ye should have stayed away and not meddled in my affairs.”
Meddled? In his affairs? Effie grew heated and her spine began to straighten as she stood to her full height. “Conall is of no affair to ye. Ye’ve accused an innocent man of murder without a fair trial. Seems to me ye’re the one not playing nice.”
Tavish towered over Effie, yet she stayed true to her resolve, glaring back at him. “What are ye going to do, Tavish? Ye can no’ kill me, nor mame me with an iron poker. What would Sir Henry think of ye?”
Effie could see the hate rippling through him while he stared her down with nostrils flaring.
“I suggest ye leave before I inform Sir Henry of the dastardly deeds ye’ve inflicted on me friend Maggie. He would most certainly want a few words with ye, for this displeases me.”
Tavish raised his hand to slap her, but this time Effie didn’t flinch. She stood her ground, daring him to strike. His hand stopped in midair as if he had thought again about his reaction. Tavish pointed at her and scowled. “This isnae over, sister. I’m still yer chief.” With that said he turned toward the door and left the bedchamber.
Effie breathed in a shaky breath and closed her eyes. Where had that courage come from? Was she daft?
With haste she untied Maggie, apologizing profusely. “Oh Maggie, I be so sorry.”
As difficult as it was Effie managed to get Maggie over to the bed and lay her down. Every time she touched the lass’s body, she
cried out in harrowing pain. At this time, she wished Abigale was here. She’d know exactly what to do. “Maggie.” Effie brushed back her sweaty hair from her face. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to fetch the healer.”
Effie shut the door behind her and rushed down the corridor. “God, please help Maggie,” she begged. Maggie would be scarred for life because of her. She was innocent and in the wrong place at the wrong time. Effie vowed Tavish would pay. As long as her plan worked, payment would be made in full.
Chapter 12
If you wanted to know the local townsfolk’s deepest, darkest secrets, there was only one place to go where rumors and chatter flew freely from the mouths of the intoxicated. Where the men could be persuaded by cockish lassies selling their commodities for guarded information. Aye, an alehouse was the perfect place to start. Nestled strategically next to the barber, the alehouse was situated just outside Caerlaverock Castle, in a small village.
James the Black Douglas and Rory dismounted from their steeds and entered the stone-faced tavern. Once inside they split up. Rory mingled with the crowd as James took to the shadows, keeping a keen eye on their surroundings. Hooded and cloaked, James disappeared and blended into the tavern.
He removed his hood and sat down at a vacant table in the corner of the lively room to soon be approached by a bar wench. She slammed down a tankard and James watched her fill it with mead. “Make it two, lass.”
The wench smiled and obeyed his request. “Can I be of anymore service to ye?” The lass leaned in as she placed the tankard in front of James, showcasing her bosom.
James, being a man and having no choice in the matter, gazed upon her breasts then moved his gaze to her face. She was pretty and young; mayhap ten-and-eight, the same age Abigale was when they first met. “Nay, I’m a married man.” James took the tankard and vigorously drank the brew.
Not too long ago he would have taken the lass up on her offer, just to pass the night away and avoid his nightmares. Even now as he sat here eyeing the lass, the urge was there.
Flinging her long blonde hair over her shoulder, she teased the ends of the strands with her fingers. “Och, look around. No one here seems to mind.” She smiled.
Intrigued by her boldness, James half-cocked a grin. He reached in his satchel and pulled out a bag of coin and tossed it on the table. The blonde smiled as if she had done her job well and landed a man for the night; a sexy one to boot.
She reached for the bag but was abruptly stopped as James covered it with his large hand. “Tell me something, lass. Why are ye here selling yer soul to strangers?”
Her smile quickly turned grim. “I have no place to call me own. Mr. Dougal and his wife allow me to stay here and work for them but ’tis not enough for me and me daughter.” Disgraced, she looked down at her apron.
“Ye have a daughter?”
“Aye.”
“And what would yer daughter think of her mother selling herself for coin?”
The lass stood silent.
“And I am to assume ye have no husband?”
The lass looked up at James and shamefully shook her head. “No husband.”
“Ye’re a bonny woman and good mother for sacrificing yerself for yer daughter but ye can do better than this, aye?”
“Aye,” the blonde said and sniffed back a tear.
“There’s enough coin in this bag for ye and yer daughter to start over. But ye have to promise me ye’ll never step foot in this place, nor any place like this again.”
“Aye, sir, ye have me word.”
“Good.” James slid the bag toward the lass and nodded his head for her to leave.
“Thank ye.” She picked up the bag and scampered off.
James leaned back into the chair and grabbed the second tankard. It amused him how his life had changed in such a short time. A hardened man, taking out his fury on the battlefield, running away from an unsavory past; he’d chased away people who cared for him. He’d thought that was the only way to keep the ones he loved safe. Hell, he even pushed his brother, Archie, away.
But everything changed when he met the auburn-haired lass at the loch. Inwardly James smiled. Abigale came into his life and turned it upside down. She showed him forgiveness and how it felt to be thoroughly loved. Now with a babe on the way, he would bet his prized hunting dogs that he would experience a whole new level of love.
He needed to be done with this journey and back home. He’d kill Conall if he made him miss the birth of his first born.
The door to the alehouse blew open sending a bone-chilling breeze throughout the room. He regretted sending Conall to Caerlaverock. Yet who would have thought Conall would be under attack once he arrived. Sir Herbert Maxwell was loyal to King Robert and an ally to the Douglas. It made no sense. Hopefully Rory would return soon with some news that could help him piece together this cluster of a puzzle.
It burned his arse that someone had betrayed him. It was bad enough that his cousin Marcus had betrayed the clan and Dragonkine, forcing James to remove his dragon and exile him from Scotland. And now Scotland could very well be in danger if the ancient king returned. James scowled off into the distance. If he would have just let Marcus go, blood would not have been shed and the ground would be stilled.
Pulling his cloak around him tighter, he had a decision to make. Not only would his judgment affect him, but the life of his fellow Dragonkine warriors were at stake here as well. Sending a few hundred of his best human men to battle lay heavy on his heart since this battle wasn’t a war on his clansmen. Nay, this was Kine business.
On the other hand, the decision to shift in public lay heavier. The hair on the back of his neck stood as he thought about it. One of their own, his best friend, was held in Caerlaverock castle and by the way the wind had picked up outside, Conall was arse deep in trouble.
With his extraordinarily hypersensitive senses due to the powerful beast inside, James felt Conall’s distress. James’s skin itched to shift and his dragon stirred relentlessly, wanting to break free and wreak havoc on clan Maxwell. Add to that the fact that Abigale was back at Black Stone on the Hill ready to give birth at any moment, he was all but ready to call forth his dragon and set fire and brimstone to Caerlaverock. But as he was a brilliant commander and chief, master of warfare, he would wait for the precise time to strike.
Rory stepped into James’s view downing a dram of whiskey, bringing his attention to the matter at hand. “Did ye find anything oot?”
“Aye.” Rory turned the chair around and straddled it.
James motioned to another bar wench for more mead. By the look on Rory’s face it was going to be a long night. “Oot with it.”
Rory scrubbed his chin and nodded to a lass at a nearby table. “According to Ina...” Glancing over at the lass, Rory winked and smiled, “Clan Douglas attacked the north tower of Caerlaverock a fortnight ago.”
Bewildered, James’s brow furrowed and pinched together. “I gave no such orders.”
Interrupting their conversation, a bar wench strode over to the table and poured their mead.
“Excuse me, mistress,” Rory called out to the wench, stopping her as she was leaving. “Would ye happen to have any provisions available back in the kitchen? Mayhap some bread?”
“Aye. There be some stew left over from the evening meal. Would ye like for me to bring ye a bowl?”
“Aye, two.” He looked at James who was growing more aggravated by the minute. “Would ye like a bowl?”
James waved the wench off and glared at Rory. “Our brother-in-arms is in danger and all ye can think aboot is yer stomach?”
“I can no’ think clearly when me belly is growlin’.”
James rolled his eyes. “Rory, is that all the information ye received?”
“Nay, during the attack Sir Herbert was murdered by the commander of the attack. The murderer has since been captured and awaits his punishment.”
“Conall,” James whispered.
“Aye, but there’s mo
re,” Rory said. “There’s to be a public viewing of his punishment. A trial by combat.”
“At Caerlaverock?”
“Aye, in the courtyard.” Rory grabbed his tankard and drank.
For a moment they fell silent as the wench returned with two bowls of stew.
Rory flashed her his irresistible smile, making the lass go weak at the knees.
Wasting no time, Rory spooned the stew rapidly into his mouth. Talking with his mouth full and in between bites he asked, “So, what are we going to do?”
James leaned forward with his elbows resting on the table. “If we have already been accused of this attack then I say we attack and get Conall the hell oot of there.”
“And what is our strategy?”
James’s features darkened and a wave of heat flooded the room. “We shift.”
Rory dropped his spoon into his bowl and stew splattered over the table. His at first surprised expression slipped into an approving grin.
Both men picked up their mead, wrapping their revealed talons around the tankards, ready for battle.
Chapter 13
Marcus stood by the ice cave entrance observing the land below him. Deep in the valley ridge on the north side of the mountain the land was covered in blankets of white powder. Fog rolled in casting a gloomy feel to the surroundings. Pulling the fur around his body, not because he was cold but because he still yearned for and mourned his dragon, the broken Highlander stared into a cloud of nothingness.
Having once been an ice dragon, he took comfort in the icy cave and he swore he could feel the snow healing him. Perhaps he was even gaining strength. Marcus exhaled into the cold in frustration and watched his breath disappear into the still cave air. How did he manage to make it this high up on the mountain top? His horse wouldn’t have been able to tolerate the steep incline, nor the ruthless sting of the frigidness. Hell, he was even surprised he wasn’t freezing, being only human.
The rumbling of his stomach echoed around the empty cave, reminding him that he soon needed to find food if he was going to survive. Water would be no issue. Stalactites of ice hung from the ceiling and dripped constantly as they melted into a puddle clean enough to drink from.