Chapter 22 #2
Though Colin had anticipated that they’d try to discover her identity, he’d not believed it would go this far.
He didn’t know whether she was married to the earl of Kincreag yet, but he was not so stupid as to be the one to name her.
She was a bonny lass, and, witch or no, the earl might fancy her enough to seek retribution.
Colin had come to urge Philip to tell the elders her name. He’d suggested to Ramsay that Philip might still be bewitched—and perhaps if they told him he would be set free, he would give her up. They would not set him free, of course, but it was perfectly legal to lie during interrogations.
The guard passed Colin the lantern, closing and locking the door behind him. Colin lifted the lantern high and descended the damp steps. Something dripped, and there was a scuttling near his feet as the rats scattered.
Philip was tied to a pole near the far wall of the small cellar. He sat on the ground, knees up, his head leaned back against the pole, his eyes closed; though Colin was sure he was awake and fully aware he was not alone.
He’d been given another shirt, but it was too small and was tight across his shoulders and chest. The bulk of the bandages wrapped around his chest made him look bumpy and odd.
They’d cleaned and dressed his wounds immediately after the torture—couldn’t have him dying from infection—not when their questions were still unanswered.
Colin felt a wave of involuntary revulsion for the whole affair.
True, he had orchestrated it all, and true, he wanted his brother out of the way for good, but he’d never wanted this.
Truth be told, if Philip managed to escape—which surely, surely was impossible—Colin was scared.
It had gone too far, and Philip would see him dead for it.
All of which brought Colin to the cellar that evening.
“If you don’t tell them tomorrow, I will.”
Philip smiled, and Colin was amazed he still could.
Though Philip had spoken not a word, made not a sound throughout the torture, no one there had assumed he was unmoved.
His jaw had been rigid, and when he’d bared his teeth in pain, blood had coated his teeth from biting the insides of his mouth to keep from crying out.
“What? Are you growing a backbone, Colin?” He straightened his neck and opened his eyes, fixing them on Colin.
“Willing to stand up to the earl of Kincreag? What if he finds out you’re pointing fingers at his wife?
What happens if he brings his power and influence to the trial, and she’s acquitted?
False accusations of witchcraft are not treated lightly. ”
“I have no intention of accusing her. Just of revealing her name. It is indisputable that she was traveling with you. I’ll say no more.”
Philip’s lip curled. “Why? What do you care so long as I’m dead?”
“I want this to be over—I’ve other things to attend, and I can’t do that while you still breathe. So let’s just get the burning over with.”
Slowly, Philip leaned his head back against the pole, exposing a neck thus far unmarked. “Here’s my neck. If you’re so impatient, why don’t you just cut it.”
Colin stared at his brother, wishing it were that easy.
He could not kill Philip with his own hand.
If their father ever found out, he’d see Colin dead for it.
It was already looking bad for him. He’d had quite a story planned to tell Dougal, about how he came too late and tried to save his brother, but alas, the commission had the king’s power in witchcraft trials.
There’d been naught he could do but comfort his brother at the end.
But sitting back and watching his brother tortured would not be so easy to explain.
“I don’t understand why you’re so keen to protect her. She is a witch. She deserves the stake.”
Philip didn’t move, but the air seemed to still around him. “Untie me and say that again.”
Colin exhaled loudly. “Do you want to be tortured? Did you like the burning rod?”
A small smile curved Philip’s mouth again. “Why, Colin—is that concern I hear in your voice? Are you actually feeling regret?”
Colin snorted. “Hardly, but the stench of burning flesh has ruined my dinner.”
“It’s a poor chieftain who has such a weak stomach.”
“You’re one to talk. You haven’t even the stomach to be chieftain. At least I want it. It’s yours by birth, and still you’re too cowardly to take it.”
Philip opened his eyes then, his jaw rigid. “If that’s true, why am I here?”
“Because you found Effie. I knew that would change things…and I want things to stay the same.”
Philip shook his head and started laughing. Colin scowled at him, but Philip didn’t seem to care—it started as a rough chuckle and dissolved into helpless laughter, tears streaming down his face.
“You find that amusing?”
When Philip could talk again, he said, “Ah, I do, I really do. It’s all a bit amusing if you look at it just so.”
Colin shook his head in annoyance. “And how is that? From the ground, tied to a stake, and covered with burns?”
“No—it’s just that you are right. Everything has changed.
” The humor left his face as suddenly as it had appeared.
His eyes grew fierce and he strained against the stake, as if he were trying to spring free.
“I vow on Sgor Dubh, which is mine by right, you thieving murderer, that if you speak her name, I will find a way to kill you.”
Colin should not have been unsettled. Philip was tied to a pole for Christ’s sake—weak from torture. There was no escape for him. He could not hurt Colin. And yet unsettled Colin was as he quickly retreated up the stairs, Philip’s threats following him out of the cellar and into the night.