Highlander of Ice (Breaking into Highland Hearts #2)

Chapter 1

The scent of smoke filled the cabin and Neil’s nostrils. His back ached from being tied to a chair for so long, and he bit back a hiss as the rope bit into his burned shoulders and wrists. The heat from the fireplace licked one side and left the other cold.

The guard always came at the same hour to torment him. A rattle of the lock on the door and a scrape of his boot, followed by a lame joke. No doubt the exact same thing would happen today.

Neil had been burned, whipped, and tortured with several weapons endlessly, yet he dreaded that part of the day the most. He sat still anyway, unable to escape his fate—at least for now.

The latch lifted right on schedule, and the door opened.

“Rise and shine, Wolf,” the guard sang, cheerful as a hawker. “Did ye miss me?”

“Ye talk enough for two,” Neil grunted.

“Ach, sulky.” The guard tutted.

He crossed the room in three strides, then drove a dagger into the half-healed brand on Neil’s shoulder. White-hot pain shot down his spine, and the chair creaked beneath his weight.

Neil bit his tongue hard, tasting copper.

“Ye ken,” the guard drawled, “ye would think that after a while, torturing a man like ye would become a boring task. Yet, for some reason, it hasnae. Ye’re the gift that just keeps on giving, are ye nae?”

“Any news of me braither today?” Neil asked, ignoring the man’s words. “I take it ye have extended yer search.”

“Nay, nae yet.” The guard leaned back to study the fresh wound, pleased with his handiwork. “He bides where he bides.”

“So ye ken where he is.”

“A figure of speech,” the guard said with a malicious grin. He touched the tip of the dagger to the brand again, tracing the shape like a drawing on a slate. “Ye ask every night, and every night I give ye the same answer. Ye could end this with a word.”

“What word?” Neil asked.

“Where,” the guard hissed. “Where he hid our sister. Where he runs. Where we might send him a letter asking him to come, or smoke him out and burn him in yer presence.”

“Ye have a poet’s tongue,” Neil taunted.

“Ye will like the last verse.”

He closed his eyes and saw a stubborn chin and a tight mouth. Alas, that reprieve was cut short.

“Speak up, Wolf,” the guard urged. “Save yer kin.”

Neil opened his eyes again and found smoke. “I stopped counting the days I have been in here a while back,” he said. “What makes ye think I ken where he is any more than ye do?”

The guard barked a laugh, and in one swift move, he slammed his fist hard into Neil’s face.

A low grunt escaped Neil’s lips as his head snapped to the side. He tasted blood on his lower lip.

“Ye’re a smart man, Laird Drummond. I give ye that.”

“Thank ye very much,” Neil drawled.

The guard wiped his blade on a rag and tucked it away, then took it back out as if remembering a better plan.

His tone turned thoughtful. “Because ye’re a smart man, I am certain ye will appreciate what we have in store for ye.”

Neil swallowed and looked up, ignoring the dull ache at the back of his head. “What plan?”

The guard shrugged. “’Tis simple, really. Since yer braither stole our sister, we were thinking we should also steal a lass. For balance, ye ken. So which is better? Keeping ye here, or trading ye for him, or sending word that we found a prettier coin to pay the debt?”

Neil stiffened in his seat. “Balance.”

“Aye. Fair is fair, do ye nae think?” The guard shrugged. “I hear yer new wife is bonny. Truly bonny. Ye wed five years ago, did ye nae? ’Tis a pity ye had to leave soon after. Did ye even bed her before ye left?”

Neil’s wrists strained against the rope, anger flaring in his chest. “I would be very careful with me next words if I were ye.”

“Och, hit a nerve there, did I nae?” the guard snickered. “Good. It means ye still have something worth living for. She could pay the debt, could she nae? I ken it’s been a while, but do ye think another man might have claimed her before ye?”

A rough laugh escaped Neil’s lips. “Ye daenae understand what ye’re doing, do ye?”

The guard exhaled. “Nay. What I daenae understand is why ye’re even defending her in the first place. From what we ken, it was an arranged marriage, and ye never really cared about her.”

Neil swallowed, pulling against the rope again. He felt it give slightly and exhaled. That was the opening he needed. His face, however, remained as stony as ever.

“We could fetch her,” the guard continued, oblivious. “We could bring her here and make ye watch us get our due.”

“Speak about me wife one more time, and I will make sure that the first thing ye lose is yer tongue,” Neil warned, his voice menacingly low.

“Och, now.” The guard smirked. “There he is. What is her name again? Kristen, is it nae?”

The subtle arch of Neil’s eyebrow was confirmation enough.

“Aye, Bonny Kristen. I wonder if her body is just as bonny as her face.”

“I could have stayed here five more years, do ye ken that?” Neil said. “Ye could have had yer sport, and I would have counted and watched, and I would have broken ye when it suited me. But ye made a mistake.”

“Did we now?” the guard scoffed.

“Ye threatened what is mine.”

The guard snorted. “Is she? After all this time?”

“Aye,” Neil uttered. “She is mine.”

“Big words for a tied man.”

Neil barked a harsh laugh. He had studied his chair the first week he got captured. He knew it had a crack low on the left leg and had managed to keep that fact hidden from the guard every time he had come into the cabin.

Now?

Now it was time to use the crack to his advantage.

He rocked his weight into it once, twice, the way a man teases a post out of frozen ground. The leg gave, and the chair lurched.

Before the guard could guess what was happening, Neil slammed his shoulder into his hip and drove him into the table at the far end of the wall.

“Christ,” the guard spat. “Hold still.”

“Come make me,” Neil growled.

The guard gasped for air and tried to reach for his dagger. Neil kicked it away, and it skittered to the entrance of the cabin. He twisted his fingers, letting the rope bite deeper into his skin, and lifted the broken chair leg like a club.

The guard tried to stand back, but it was too late. Neil slammed the chair into his face. Wood struck bone, and a sickening crack pierced the air. Fortunately, it was not too loud, as he did not want to draw attention.

“Ye—” The guard stumbled backward, his mouth opening on a silent scream.

Neil used the opportunity to shove him again, pinning him between the table and the wall. “Remember when I said the first thing ye will lose is yer tongue?” he hissed, breathing hard.

“Ye cannae—”

“It looks like I willnae have the time for that. So ye will just have to settle with plain old death.”

He snatched the dagger by the door and pressed the tip to the guard’s chest.

“Please,” the guard hissed, his eyes widening with despair.

“Also, ’tis Wolf of the North,” Neil whispered. “If ye’re going to call me by that name, at least do it right.”

He drove the dagger into the guard’s chest, piercing his heart. His lips parted on another gasp.

Heat bled across Neil’s knuckles as he gave him one final hard look. “Go to hell.”

The guard crumpled to the floor.

Neil rose to his feet and strained his eyes. No shout yet.

He wiped the blade on the guard’s coat, then cut the rope around his other wrist and his ankles.

“Alex,” he muttered under his breath. “I am coming.”

His eyes darted between the door and the window. He chose the door.

He opened it fully and let the night air in. A wave of cold slid over his burns as he stepped out, shut the door to a thumb’s width, and moved along the wall until the darkness swallowed him.