by Jen Holling
Stephen didn't know how to respond, especially since the witch-pricker was beginning to sound offended. He glanced at Deidra. She watched him, her face clear of aught but wariness. Good girl.
Stephen rubbed at his jaw meditatively. "If he was a witch, why did you not try him? I don't think I comprehend."
Luthias's lips drew into a thin line, and he lifted his chin slightly. "Because he is the one I believed was a white witch, or some sort of saint."
Stephen raised a brow, not liking the sound of that. "Your opinion has changed?"
Luthias nodded. He was looking not at Stephen but at Deidra, his intense gaze fixed on her, his eyes narrowed.
She shrank farther back from him and looked as if she’d bolt if not for the two enormous men who held her captive between them.
"I did not know of the baobhan sith until today. I had heard of them, but Id thought it was a story, not real. You have shown me much today, Mr. Ross. I fear I have been deluded all of these years. The MacKay was no saint at all but a baobhan sith"
That was not what Stephen had intended. Before he could say a word, Deidra screamed, "Falsehoods!" She surged forward, straining against her captors as if she would attack Luthias. "My father is a great man! And he is good, unlike you. You are an evil murderer, doing the devils work, and you don't even know it. You are the one bewitched."
"She speaks," Stephen said lightly, smiling. He turned to Luthias and was chilled by the hatred and hunger he saw in the other man's countenance as he gazed upon Deidra. This went beyond duty to the Lord; he wanted her. She was his obsession, the thing he had worked for. And this was his moment, the one that made all the waiting worthwhile, Stephen understood that there was nothing short of his or Deidra's death that would stop this now that it had started.
Stephen looked between the two of them, trying to stem his rising anxiety. He wanted to snatch her away, get her as far from this place and this man as possible. But that would not be happening, of course. He was a cripple, and nothing but his wits would save them tonight.. .which didn't leave him feeling particularly optimistic about their chances.
"I have met the MacKay," Stephen said, "touched him, in fact. He is no blood witch."
Luthias turned to face him. "How can you be so sure? He was able to heal himself, as you claim blood witches do."
"Blood witches have many characteristics. She is his daughter, correct?" Stephen moved to stand before her and touched a lock of her curling chestnut hair where it brushed against her cheek.
“Aye."
"Then she would be a blood witch, too." This was not something he knew at all. Did blood witches reproduce in the traditional way? He didn't think so, but then again, he didn't know. He knew, however, that Luthias did not know, so he could fabricate whatever he wished where blood witches were concerned.
Luthias's brow furrowed. "You are sure of this? How does one identify a blood witch? Dunking?"
Stephen shook his head and waved a dismissive hand. "No. Torture has no effect on them. She may cry and scream like a mortal woman, but it is all an act."
"That is no different from other witches." Luthias stared at Deidra, deep in thought. "If traditional methods do not work, what does?"
"Prayer. Holy objects."
"Idolatry," Luthias hissed, scandalized. "Heresy."
Stephen raised a shoulder. "Sometimes God chooses to work through these instruments. But primarily it is his word."
Luthias considered Deidra carefully, his jaw working. Finally he said, "Let us try my way first."
Stephen’s muscles went rigid as the whites of Deidra's eyes flashed at him, but he just shrugged. Damn. He'd hoped to save her from this, to buy them some time so he could think of a better plan.
Luthias gestured to the mercenaries to lead her away, then followed more slowly, keeping pace with Stephen.
"What manner of witchcraft does this woman do?" Stephen asked.
To Stephen's surprise, the thin man shuddered. "She has the devil's own powers to command beasts to do her bidding."
"Truly? Why doesn't she call on them now to aid her?"
Luthias tapped a finger against his temple and smiled. "Because I am wiser this time. She nearly killed me the last time I trapped her. She had me surrounded by wolves, and the only thing that saved me was a knife to her throat."
Stephen asked, aghast, "She was only a child then, aye?"
Luthias snorted. “A demon in disguise. I do not make the same mistakes twice. All the beasts in this village have been restrained. I have men surrounding the hamlet, ready to kill any wild creature that dares to enter."
Stephen forced a smile. "You have certainly prepared for this moment."
They stopped in front of a stone cottage. Luthias's gaze fixed on some faraway point, and he inhaled deeply. “Aye, I have. I feel as if God has been preparing me for this my whole life."
Looking into the man's passion-glazed eyes, Stephen said a silent prayer for them both. They were well and truly trapped.
Deidra had been stuck down in that hole for hours and had hated every single moment...and yet she had been nauseated with fear anticipating when Luthias would finally come for her. When the men had finally come, she’d fought them, terrified and confused. It had been too soon! She hadn't been ready yet! Memories of her father's interrogation had crashed through her mind, fresh and vivid as if it had just happened yesterday instead of twelve years ago. She saw his hand, trapped in the pilliwinkes as Luthias drove wedges into the device with a mallet—the bright red of his blood, the wet crunch, the smell of his sweat and grunts of pain. She had been the reason for his suffering because he'd been so afraid of what Luthias would have done to her if he hadn't submitted.
And so she'd fought Luthias's men with mindless panic, knowing she couldn't win, but fighting the inevitable anyway. She'd known what came next; everyone knew. Torture and death. If you were lucky, they might strangle you before they burned you. The men had laughed at her ineffectual struggles until she'd landed a good kick in the fat one's crotch. So he'd backhanded her, dazing her enough to shove her up the ladder and into the cool night air.
Luthias had been waiting for her there, and he'd not been alone.
Stephen was here. A painful arrow of hope shot through her. But how could he possibly help her without incriminating himself? It was hopeless. Luthias was too powerful.
And yet, he came, he tried. He gave her hope. Her heart seemed to swell with hope and something else—affection for him.
After her initial shock, she’d managed to mask her surprise, but Stephen had seen it and played it off beautifully. She wanted to throw her arms around him and kiss him.
She was shoved into a small cottage reminiscent of the one Luthias had tortured her father in while she’d cowered behind his chair. Panic seized her again, gripped her by the throat. She turned and tried to duck beneath their arms, but they shoved her across the room.
She crouched on the floor of the small dark cottage with the two guards, waiting for Stephen and Luthias to join them. One of the men went around the room lighting lanterns. The yellow light did nothing to dispel the shadows from the comers. It lent a dingy hue to the rough table and benches that inhabited the sparsely furnished room. A blanket strung from a rope served as a screen dividing the room into sleeping and living quarters.
Deidra clasped her hands together in an attempt to quiet her uncontrollable trembling, but it did no good. By the time Luthias and Stephen entered, she had to clench her teeth together to hide their chattering. Stephen’s grim countenance—tight jaw, averted gaze—did nothing to improve her shaking.
She had broken with her conscience while imprisoned in the damp hole. She had called to the animals. And they had not answered. Perhaps it had been too many years and they no longer understood her. She didn't know the reason. She knew they still talked to her, that they still sensed something in her, because even though she had worked most of her life to ignore them, she was still so
metimes unsuccessful. But it had been more than a decade since she had talked back. Maybe she had forgotten how.
Nevertheless, they'd always been there, a dull noise in the back of her mind, but now there was nothing but silence. They had abandoned her, just as she had abandoned them.
"Have a seat, Miss MacKay." Luthias gestured to a bench against the wall.
Deidra didn't move. Her gaze fixed on the bench across the room, just like the one where her father had once sat. She scanned the room, her gaze falling on the table a few feet away. A towel was spread on the table, concealing something beneath, but she could see the outline of long implements—knives and other instruments for poking and cutting.
She was rooted to the floor, her gaze fixed on the table, her heart throbbing in her throat. Her breath wheezed out of her as if her throat was too small, and her knees weakened.
Hands grabbed at her arms, dragging her to the bench. Panic unfolded in her chest, it’s wings beating frantically. Her gaze fell on Stephen as the men’s hands pressed on her shoulders, forcing her to sit. Do something. But what could he do?
"No!" she cried and fought against them, twisting so that instead she dropped to her knees. "No!"
Stephen watched, face expressionless, hands clasped behind his back. He could not help her now. Perhaps he could later, but to do something now would be foolhardy and the death of them both. They both knew she would not die from whatever Luthias did to her today. And if the result of the torture was bad, and they could get her to her father before the wounds healed, she could be as good as new.
But that was a big if.
She swallowed hard and rose to her feet. She was about to obey Luthias's command to sit on the bench when she caught the almost imperceptible shake of Stephen's head. She hesitated, uncertain of what that negative head shake meant. Was he telling her to disobey? To continue her defiance?
She turned her attention to Luthias, who watched her patiently, his chin raised slightly. He assumed obedience.
They were stronger than she was, every one of them. They could force her to do anything they wanted...if she was cognizant. If she was cognizant They couldn't make her do a single thing if she was unconscious.
She made her decision. They couldn't very well interrogate her if she was insensible. But Luthias was a savvy man and would not easily be fooled. Pretending was too dangerous and would probably net her more harm. So rather than even try, she released the thread of control that had held back the flood of panic threatening to overwhelm her.
She thrust herself backwards, away from the bench as the men shoved her forward. They grasped her arms and tried forcing her to the bench. She went wild, screaming, kicking, scratching, biting. She let the fear and wildness take her. There was nothing she wouldn't do now that she'd released it. The men yelled at her. Luthias yelled at her. She understood nothing over the roaring in her ears. She fought so violently that she hurt herself. Pulled so forcefully, she felt a pop, and then her body hung bonelessly between the men. A scream of pain rose in her throat, choking her and mixing with helpless cries of fear.
Her limp worm-arm was yanked. Her head exploded with pain, enveloping her in a black, hot cloud, pushing it all away and sending her sinking into blissful unconsciousness.
Chapter 6
Stephen, Luthias, and the two mercenaries stared down at the woman on the floor, all of them equally stunned by what had just transpired.
Stephen had known Deidra was an exceptionally bright woman. She had read him well. Too well. He had wanted her to fake a faint, but she’d done far more, rightly assuming a man like Luthias could tell the difference and would test it if he was uncertain. So she dislocated her own shoulder, collapsing into a heap and leaving her captor to stand there holding her arm awkwardly. It was all Stephen could do to stop himself from shoving the man out of the way.
But he held back, staring dumbfounded with the rest of them at the crumpled woman on the floor. Her hair was wild, her face scratched and bleeding. She looked the part of the crazy village witch.
"Jesus God!”' Luthias muttered. "Methinks she has a bit of the beast in her."
Stephen rubbed a hand over his face and let out an amazed breath. "There'll be no interrogation tonight. Is there a healer who can tend to her arm?"
Stephen noticed the look the mercenaries exchanged. Luthias's lips pursed together as he shook his head.
Stephen raised his brows. "Och, was that her? At the crossroads? You burned the village healer?"
Luthias's brows lowered. "She was a witch and would have done us no good anyway. Healer" He spat out the word. A pretty word to hide what they truly do—poison their innocent victims with evil."
Stephen sighed, but he didn't feel exasperated at all. God rest her soul, but the healer's death was the best thing that could have happened to Stephen and Deidra.
"Carry her to the cot," Stephen ordered the men.
One of the men obeyed without question, picking her up and carrying her across the room to where a blanket hung.
Luthias crossed to a table Stephen hadn't noticed and threw back a towel. Silver instruments gleamed in the faint lantern light. Knives, pointed rods, clawlike implements. Luthias examined them, his brow wrinkled in thought, then selected a long, pointed pick.
Stephen clenched his fist, his chest tightening, but only asked, "What are you doing?"
"Making certain," Luthias murmured. He approached the cot and stood over her. Without warning, he jabbed Deidra in the thigh. She didn't move. Stephen bit the inside of his mouth, his muscles rigid. That's enough. Luthias jabbed again.
"I think she's out," Stephen said conversationally, though in truth he was ready to toss the man across the room.
Luthias watched her a few seconds longer before nodding and taking a step back. “Aye, you're right."
"Leave her," Stephen said. "If she's a blood witch, the shoulder will heal itself in a day or so. If she is not, it will swell. She'll be in such pain that a mere touch will cause her excruciating agony." He shrugged. "Should make interrogation effortless."
Luthias nodded thoughtfully. "We'll set a guard on her." He extended an arm toward Stephen, open-palmed. "Come, let us find a meal and a bed and take up where we left off on the morrow."
Deidra's eyes opened to thick blackness. She did not know where she was or how she'd gotten there. No lanterns were lit. Her entire body—nay, her entire world—had been reduced to the screaming pain in her shoulder. Her stomach heaved and she tried to roll to her side, afraid she would choke on her own vomit, but she couldn't move without pain exploding throughout her body like a shock.
She lay still, drifting in and out of delirium. Animals inhabited her mind, small ones. They came to her, inquiring, feeling her presence. She heard them scuttling beneath her cot. Most had busy, senseless thoughts, focused on food and predators. But there were other, more intelligent thoughts interspersed with the mindless. The rats.
When she was a child, rats had been secret companions to Deidra. They were intelligent animals. Curious and friendly, with good memories. She had shut them out for so long that it was a comfort to hear their thoughts in her head again.
She asked them if men were near. The answer came quickly enough—a man stood outside, in front of the cottage. Deidra's head rolled to the side. She tried to think of how she could use the rats, but the pain was too much; she could barely think. The rat scratched at the cot legs, trying to climb up to her. She warned it away and it dropped back to the ground.
She drifted again into the fog of pain. Time had no meaning. She sensed so many different animals now that her mind was wide open. Some were aware of her, others were just there, and her mind marked them, though they were not aware of her. Duke was near. Her horse, which had a name, but she did not know it. Countess was here also, securely tied and hobbled. When their minds touched, the horse grew excited.
Deidra's mind was wandering aimlessly through a confused fog when a familiar voice
suddenly brought it all back into focus.
"Deidra."
Her eyes fluttered open. It was still dark. A blanket hung between her cot and the rest of the room, shutting out all of the windows and blocking any light.
"Stephen?" She tried to say his name but it came out a croaking mumble through her cracked and dry lips. Her tongue seemed too large for her mouth.
"Here, drink this!”' he whispered near her ear.
A cup pressed to her bottom lip and a cool beverage slid down her dry throat. She sucked at it greedily. It soothed her parched tongue. He pulled it away too soon. The drink left behind a bitter taste, but she didn't care—she felt better already.
"Let it settle," he whispered. "I'll give you more in a moment, when I know you won't bring it right back up."
She was almost giddy from the sound of his voice, the exquisite comfort she felt from his mere presence. It almost made the pain and fear bearable.
"How are you here?" she asked, her voice cracking on every word. "He'll discover us. It can't be safe."
"The guard offered me twenty minutes alone with you for two crowns. I gave him five. He won't bother us."
A jolt of shocked disgust shot through her. "What?"
Aye, sick bastards, but it is common enough, and it is why I must get you out of here tonight. Believe me when I say that I will not be the last he makes the offer to."
Deidra squeezed her eyes shut, a new horror entering her world. Men would pay to rape her before they burned her. That man out there would make profit off of her violation when she was helpless. It was vile. She thanked God for Stephen. Thanked him for sending her to him first before she started this foolish quest. She wanted to ask him why He’d come for her, why he was doing this when she’d abandoned him, but she was afraid of his answer.
For her father, for her family. Not for her.
His hand slid beneath her neck, tilting her head up. "Here, drink some more."
She sipped at the drink. Whatever it was, it was drugged. She tasted it now, but she didn't care. Anything to take the edge off her agony.