Chapter 16
This part of the castle was dark. So dark that even the air seemed to thin out.
Jack couldn’t remember the last time he had visited the dungeons, but they felt different. The walls, the stairs that led below, and the suffocating atmosphere that was designed to instill fear into the heart of whoever was being imprisoned here before any interrogation took place.
He took the steep stairs anyway, one hand on the rail, Duncan and Troy close behind. The smell of rust on chains placed on the floor for far too long invaded his nostrils, but he didn’t stop.
“Keep the door shut until I tell ye,” he ordered.
“Aye, me Laird,” Troy answered. He moved ahead, lifted the bar, and pushed the heavy door.
The cell was low and cold. Barrels lined one wall where salt and pitch were kept, and the floor had a runnel for water that never quite found its way out.
The prisoner sat chained to the post, his wrists and ankles bound, his head tilted to the side from the pull of the iron. Jack noticed the dried blood that darkened his sleeve from the night before.
Troy set the torch higher on the bracket. “He’s nae said a word, me Laird. Sat there all night, staring at the wall.”
“Oh, he will talk,” Jack assured him.
He circled the man once, studying him under the faint candlelight. He seemed to have grown ten years older in just one night. It was either that, or Jack hadn’t properly paid attention to the man’s face the previous night to realize that he was older than he seemed to be.
Jack stopped in front of him and waited. “Ye are nae a common intruder, are ye?”
The man lifted his chin. His eyes were bloodshot and stubborn and not the least bit surprised. “Ye think ye frighten us? We ken what ye have done.”
Jack pressed his lips together. “Then ye ken what I will do if ye daenae answer.”
Duncan stood by the door, with his arms folded and his jaw set. Troy stood on the other side, close enough to intervene and not close enough to invite trouble or give the prisoner any ideas.
“Tell me, what is yer name?” Jack demanded.
No answer.
“Who paid ye?”
Silence.
“Who told ye to watch the courtyard?”
The man looked past Jack at the wall, as if the stone had a better-looking face. His mouth held a smear of dried blood. He licked his lips and waited as a laugh escaped Jack’s lips.
“Is that how ye want to play the game?”
The man didn’t respond and kept his eyes fixed on the wall.
Jack turned to Troy. “Raise the rope.”
Troy stepped closer and looped the rope that was attached to the wrist chains through a hole in the wall. It lifted the man’s arms an inch and then two. The prisoner gasped loudly at the third inch, his broken wrist dangling.
“Shall we try this again?” Jack said, his voice tense. “Let us start with yer name.”
“Daenae ken it,” the man said. “Daenae ken ye either.”
Jack let the silence settle between them for a brief moment before continuing. “Judging from the mud on yer shoes, ye came from the north. That means I can tell ye exactly what ye did before ye came here.”
The prisoner looked up at him, the venom in his eyes being nothing short of unfathomable. “Is that so?”
“Aye.” Jack stepped back and folded his arms. “I ken ye rode through the stone cut in Beggar’s Creek.
That is the only part of the Highlands where the water turns black in winter.
I also ken that ye stopped there to spend the night.
There are barely any houses of repute, so ye must have spent yer night somewhere public. ”
He could feel Duncan and Troy staring at him, but he said nothing. His eyes remained fixed on the prisoner instead.
“I ken there is a tavern there that keeps a fire too bright for the hour. Black Wolf. Ye must have spent the night there. Now, someone either met ye there or in the woods on yer way here to give ye further instructions. Someone who wants ye to do God kens what. I just want ye to tell me who it was.”
The prisoner shifted, iron grating on iron. “Ye talk a lot for a killer.”
Troy glanced at Jack, but Duncan did not move.
“Who would threaten me bride?” Jack asked, his voice low.
The prisoner spat, but the blood barely cleared his lip. “Someone who isnae afraid of ye.”
Jack’s hand closed, then opened. He stepped forward and, as hard as he could, drove his fist into the man’s ribs. The sound was solid and neat, and the man hunched, coughing blood desperately.
“Me Laird, are ye certain this will help?” Troy asked from behind, his voice rising. “He is beaten half to death already.”
“He should be afraid,” Jack said.
The prisoner coughed and then smirked. “Ye can break me arm and me ribs and me teeth. Ye can burn me when ye are done. It willnae change a single thing.”
Jack straightened, a quick breath escaping his lips. “What thing?”
“That ye willnae keep her,” the prisoner hissed. “They will come for ye both.”
“Who are they?” Jack pressed.
The prisoner leaned back, coughing again. “Ye ken who.”
Duncan’s eyes flicked to Jack, but he did not speak.
Jack leaned in. “Give me a name.”
The prisoner shook his head once. “I like me tongue.”
An idea occurred to Jack at that moment. Perhaps he could convince the man another way. “Ye like coin more.”
“Nae enough.” The prisoner grinned, flashing bloody teeth.
Jack nodded. He did not think the method was going to work anyway. He turned to Troy and gave him another nod. “Higher.”
Troy pulled the rope another inch, then another. The prisoner’s breathing stuttered. Sweat ran down his temple, and his boots scraped for purchase.
“Give me a name,” Jack repeated, his voice dangerously low.
No answer.
“A name,” he grunted.
Nothing.
Troy shifted his weight. “Just tell us who sent ye, and the Laird might show ye mercy.”
“Make me,” the prisoner spat.
Jack sighed and turned around. His eyes settled on Duncan, who only held his gaze and said nothing. He lifted his hand and wiped his palm on his sleeve, then reached down to his belt and drew his blade. The steel was clean and plain. He held it on his palm for a moment, feeling its weight.
“I am giving ye one last chance. I really daenae want to do this, but it seems like I might be forced to.”
The prisoner stared at him, his bloodshot eyes now filled with tears. Jack knew what they meant. They were tears of resignation. The man would rather die than tell him anything he needed to know.
“Where did yer instructions come from?” he asked anyway, completely certain at this point of the answer.
The prisoner watched the knife, and his jaw clenched. “From a place ye cannae touch.”
“Where?”
“Ask the ghost ye made. If she answers.”
Jack pressed his lips tight. This had something to do with his first wife. Something about the way the prisoner mentioned her niggled at him.
“… the ghost ye made…”
“Last chance,” he warned, shaking himself out of his reverie. “Name. Or place. Or mark. Anything”
The prisoner bared his teeth. “Go to hell, Laird MacLeod.”
Jack pressed the tip of the knife to the man’s chest.
“Me Laird,” Troy called behind him.
“Keep quiet,” Jack grunted, shooting him a glare.
Troy stepped back immediately.
Jack did not raise his voice. “Look at me.”
The prisoner looked.
“This is me castle,” Jack said. “These are me people, and threatening me bride last night was perhaps the biggest mistake ye have ever made in yer life. Nay one will ever touch her while I am still alive.”
The prisoner spat blood again. “Then ye have nay idea what is coming for ye.”
The anger pushed Jack forward, and he drove the knife home in one quick motion. He felt the give and the stop and nothing more. The prisoner’s eyes went wide, then glazed over. His body sagged against the ropes, and the iron around his wrists took his weight almost immediately.
“Good Lord,” Duncan breathed. “Was that really necessary?”
“He was never going to talk,” Jack muttered as he pulled the blade free. He wiped it on his sleeve until it was clean and sheathed it.
He looked once at the prisoner’s face, then away.
“Post more guards,” he ordered. “Double the watch at the north tower.”
“Aye, me Laird,” Troy said.
“Nay one leaves without me permission,” Jack added. “Am I understood?”
“Aye,” Troy said again.
Jack nodded and turned toward the door.
“And what do we do with the body?” Troy asked.
“Grant him his wish and burn him outside the walls,” Jack instructed. “Hopefully, that will send the right message.”
Troy bowed his head. “It will be done.”
Duncan lifted the bar and pulled the door open. Then, he stood aside and let Jack pass. He did not touch his brother’s sleeve, and he did not speak. The silence between them grew thicker with each step back up.
When they stepped outside, the air felt less cold, and the torchlight grew less harsh. Jack flexed his hand once and moved forward, making a mental note to clean it in the basin once he returned to his chamber. Duncan followed anyway, the silence between them still thick.
“Ye will tell me when ye have the watch set,” Jack said without turning.
“I will,” Duncan replied.
They walked for a while longer, passing maids who stopped to greet them on their way to their respective duties. Troy caught up as they rounded a corner that led straight to the Laird’s quarters.
“Me Laird,” the man-at-arms started. “Do ye want a guard in the guest passage? Or will we keep the women clear of this talk altogether?”
“Keep them clear,” Jack said. “The lass doesnae need to learn of this from a loose tongue.”
“Aye.”
“And the bairn’s chambers,” Jack added. “Nay one is allowed inside except the assigned maids. Then Emma and me maither.”
“Aye.”
Jack nodded and made his way further down the corridor. Not now or ever will anything happen to Stella or Emma. He did not care just how many people he needed to kill to prevent that, but he knew it wouldn’t happen.
Not on his watch.