Chapter 29
Ailis had only been in her old bedchamber for a few hours when she slipped back out into the silent hallway. She had never intended to go to sleep, tired as she was. She had just wanted to be certain that her father wasn’t lurking, so she could visit Fraser without an unwelcome escort.
I’m surprised he hasnae got guards stationed outside me door.
She had already checked through the keyhole, using the reflection of the windows opposite to be sure—a trick she had used many times during her countless imprisonments, and when she had snuck down to give food to the prisoner.
Tiptoeing along the corridor, she paused at Kristen’s old door for luck, then again at Skye’s door to peek in. The little girl was still fast asleep and didn’t stir at her aunt’s quiet observation, her soft and steady breaths helping Ailis to relax somewhat.
If only I could get ye out and back to Castle MacNairn before yer faither returns. I ken I could keep ye safe.
But although there were no guards stationed in this part of the castle, there were plenty stationed throughout the grounds. At every exit and entrance, on every battlement and tower, watching every gate and doorway, their quivers full and their bows in hand.
There was no escape; her father had seen to that.
Retracing a familiar route that she had wandered thousands of times in her twenty years, it didn’t take her long to find her way down to the dungeons.
No one had hindered her descent either, for she knew all the ways to reach the labyrinth where she wouldn’t have to encounter a single other person: secret stairwells and long-abandoned passageways that only she remembered.
As she pushed open the small hatch that had been far easier to navigate when she was a child, she crawled into the dark of the dungeons. It smelled of dust and earth and stale air, with a hint of brine to sting the nostrils. But, to her, it was a welcome aroma, the scent of safety and security.
Now, where did me faither have Fraser moved?
With her hand on the wall to guide her, for not every part of the dungeons had a torch to light her way, she pictured the map of the labyrinth that the years had etched in her mind. Taking a breath, she began to walk.
She had been wandering for no more than half an hour, pausing at every cell to see if it was empty. Along the way, she had picked up a torch, grateful for its amber glow so she could see to the very back of each cell.
Turning a corner, listening for the sound of any guards who might have had the misfortune of being stationed down there, she frowned at a worrisome sight ahead.
Through the bars of a cell, a hand peeked.
She ran forward, the glow of the torch settling across a familiar figure who lay on the dirty floor. Blue eyes squinted up at her, glassy with sleep or fever or both, the man’s cheeks sunken from starvation, his lips cracked and dry.
“Lass,” Fraser croaked. “I wondered what happened to ye.”
Ailis sank to her knees, propping the torch against the bars. “Yer hand,” she said thickly. “Let me see yer other hand.”
“I wouldnae… if I were ye,” Fraser replied, grimacing as he sat up. “It’s nae pretty.”
He rested his other hand on the knee of his crossed leg and offered a bitter smile. Bandages were tightly wrapped, holding down a wad of cloth where a finger used to be. It had been tended to, at least, so it wouldn’t fester and bring on a fever.
“They had the… decency nae to take it from me sword hand,” he said, wincing. “Or they didnae ken… that I use me… left hand.”
“I’m so sorry,” Ailis murmured, reaching through the bars to touch his brow.
It was hotter than it should be, but not so hot that he was in immediate danger. Still, in conditions like this, surrounded by dirt and filth, where rats and pests reigned, it was not a matter of whether he would take seriously ill but when.
“I daenae ken how to get ye out, but I will,” she said quietly. “I’ll do it soon, once I can find ye a safe path to escape. Och, Fraser, I’m so sorry for what me braither did to ye.”
Fraser furrowed his brow. “It wasnae yer braither, Ailis. It was yer faither who sliced off me finger. Said he’d send me to Killian piece by piece until me braither handed over the land he wants.”
“Land?” Ailis hissed.
All of this for land? All of this for a bit of grass and forest and river that doesnae truly belong to anyone?
Just then, Fraser’s eyes widened, darting over her head. He managed to say her name, his voice sharp with panic, before something coarse and scratchy rushed over her face, plunging her into darkness.
As she thrashed and tried to grab the fabric that had been dragged over her head, strong hands seized her wrists and quickly bound them with rough rope.
“I should have killed ye when I had the chance, ye traitor,” a gruff voice snarled. “All of ye, traitors.”
Unforgiving arms hauled her to her feet and dragged her down the hallway, the shriek of hinges telling her that she was being thrown into the next cell.
“Ailis!” Fraser shouted. “Ailis, it’s yer—”
A grunt silenced him, a faint thud conjuring images of a guard knocking him out.
She braced herself for the same thing, but it didn’t come. Instead, a rough hand dug into her shoulder, forcing her down onto her knees.
The next moment, that hand squeezed the back of her skull and shoved it downward. A shock of cold water made her gasp—or try to—as she struggled to pull back, the fierce hand keeping her under.
The hood was soaked through in an instant, triggering a panic more intense than anything she had ever experienced. She would have taken a thousand strong currents dragging her out to sea over the smothering, suffocating helplessness of whatever was happening to her.
Just when she thought she might pass out, the hand withdrew.
Ailis reeled back, desperately trying to suck in a breath, but all she managed was a mouthful and a noseful of the sodden fabric, blocking her from taking even the smallest breath.
I’m goin’ to die. I’m goin’ to die, all because I didnae listen to Killian.
“Ye willnae die quickly like yer maither,” the awful voice said, growing familiar.
“Ye’ll die slowly, as payment for all the years I’ve resisted killin’ ye.
Ye’ll die slowly for yer maither’s sins and all the trouble ye’ve caused me.
Ye’ll die slowly for leadin’ yer braither astray, and because I deserve to watch the life leave yer eyes. ”
The hood was ripped off her head.
Ailis gasped wildly, sucking in as much of the stale dungeon air as she could, her eyes streaming with the pressure that almost drowning had pushed into her skull.
“Faither, plea—”
Her desperation was silenced as her father shoved her head forward, without the hood this time, into a bucket that sat before her on the cell floor.
It didn’t help that she knew what was coming. The bitterly cold water surged up her nose, making her want to cough, her lungs burning in protest as she held her breath.
But the longer her father held her head under, the more everything seemed to slow down. She could hear her heart beating, could feel her chest relax slightly, and in that unnatural peace, clarity emerged from the fog in her mind.
She was transported to the beach, not a woman but a little girl who had waded in to chase a fish.
She was aware of a shadow falling across her, and then that same sensation—a hand on the back of her skull, pushing her forward, holding her under the surface until her head throbbed, her eyes bulged, and her lungs threatened to give out.
“I cannae bear to look at ye a day longer,” his muffled voice hissed in the memory. “Follow yer maither down to Hell, and when I get yer faither, he can join ye.”
As her heartbeat slowed even further, another voice burst into the memory that had haunted her for so long. “Faither! Faither, what are ye doin’? Are ye teachin’ Ailis to swim?”
Oh… oh, goodness…
It was Murdock’s voice, shouting from the beach. Then, the splash of him plunging into the water to get to her.
“I found her like this,” her father replied. “I think she tried to swim alone.”
She knew that her father was waiting for her to die, buying himself time so he could drown her before Murdock got there. But Murdock had always been a fast swimmer, reaching his father and youngest sister before the lack of air could kill her.
“Get her out!” he had cried. “We have to help her!”
Her mind flashed to the beach and her brother standing over her.
She heard someone whisper, “Ye should never have been born,” but in this new, clear version of events, Murdock’s mouth wasn’t moving.
Instead, he looked worried, his hands clasped, a relieved smile spreading across his face as he realized she was peering up at him. Alive.
Yet, it seemed that her father was determined to finish what he had started all those years ago.
As she was about to lose consciousness, her father pulled her head out of the bucket. She coughed and spluttered, blinking the cold water from her eyes, her lungs swallowing every bit of air they could.
“It was ye,” she croaked. “Ye tried to drown me.”
“I’ve tried to kill ye a thousand times, but yer braither has always intervened,” her father drawled, as if it were nothing at all.
“I should’ve kent he’d turn on me in the end, because of yer poison.
He already turned on me the moment he saved ye from the water, instead of helpin’ me keep yer head down. ”
Murdock has been… savin’ me all this time?
Her brain couldn’t process such a notion, when her brother had always been so cruel and cold.
How many times had he locked her in her bedchamber for no crime at all? How many times had he threatened to lock her in there for good? How many strange and unkind punishments had he made her suffer?
What if that was his way of keepin’ me safe?