Chapter 21
"Keep movin'," Killian barked as he dragged Marcus through the low, dank corridors of the castle's dungeons. His nose wrinkled as the strange, foul smells masked the scent of earth and decay.
Each fall of his boot echoed ominously. The sound, swallowed by the darkness, clung to the walls like a heavy burial shroud. Flickering torches sputtered in their iron sconces, and their light threw erratic shadows along the wall, which danced and skipped along the rough-hewn stone walls.
"I will nae tell ye again, stop draggin' yer feet or I swear, I'll lop them off at the ankle and toss remains in the hole."
"Why? So ye can kill me sooner? I think I'd rather crawl."
"Ye daenae ken what fate has in store for ye," Killian said as he tried not to think of Leah.
Still, her words haunted him. Was he truly just as horrific as his father had been?
How many times had Killian come to the dungeons to flee his father's wrath?
He looked around at the familiar stone walls and shadowy nooks.
How many places had he crawled in to hide?
Deep down Killian felt an icy finger rake up his spine.
"Everyone kens to abandon all hope once they enter here. Yer faither once tortured me grandfaither in this hell until there was nothin' left of him. Ye think I daenae ken the apple dinnae fall far from that tree with yer family."
"Enough," Killian growled, silencing Marcus.
With each passing moment, Killian grew more uncomfortable.
As if the souls of all those his father tortured had come back to haunt him.
Pushing aside the fear, Killian continued descending deeper into the bowels of the castle.
His ears perked at each drip of water that punctuated the stillness around them.
A chill seeped into Killian's bones and settled in his marrow.
The sensation was a welcome reprieve from the inferno that burned within his chest, fueled by his desires for Leah.
How she managed to infuriate him even down here in the darkest pits he could go baffled him.
Killian flexed his jaw as his irritation grew.
"Get in there," Killian ordered as he reached for the heavy wooden door and shoved Marcus through the opening. Inside, the chamber was dimly lit, and shadows clung to the corners like phantoms. Fraser stood with his arms folded across his chest, his eyes narrowed.
"What is this place?" Marcus asked, the tone of his voice pitching with panic.
"Where do ye think we are?" Fraser asked as he pulled Marcus to the wooden chair and forced him into it.
"I… oh Lord, I daenae ken," Marcus stuttered as he stained his pants.
"I want ye to squeeze him like an orange," Killian ordered. His voice was low and reverberated through the oppressive air of the dungeon. Stepping back to the shadows, Killian's figure merged with the darkness as he watched with a predatory intensity as Fraser took over the interrogation.
"Do ye ken why ye're here?" Fraser asked as Killian noticed his attention was on him instead of Marcus.
"We attacked the laird…" Marcus answered, his voice trembling with fear. Fraser's eyes remained locked on Killian, hunting for clues that Marcus was telling the truth. Giving a small nod, Killian nudged his head for Fraser to continue.
"Now why would ye go and do somethin' so foolish?
Who put ye up to it? Was it a bet? Ye see, I can understand stupidity," Fraser said as he circled Marcus.
"It's one of those things that can be corrected with the proper motivation and incentive.
So, go on and explain to me why someone like ye would go up against the Mad Laird. "
The crackling of dried forced laughter filled the chamber and caught Killian off guard. He stepped out of the shadow for a moment as he watched Marcus's mental well-being snap like a twig in the dead of winter.
"Is this yer idea of an interrogation?" Marcus squawked as he bounced violently in his chair. "Ye'll get nothin' from me. But ye've both given me plenty. I now have the layout of yer castle in me head. I wonder who would pay for that sort of information."
Killian's eyes narrowed as the warmth of his blood drained from him. Rolling his shoulders back, he poised himself to spring into action. Fraser moved swiftly into Killian's path as he continued the questioning.
" Who sent ye? What purpose will it serve by killin' the laird?"
"A new revolution is on the horizon. A new future for this clan.
Ever since that bastard took over, this clan has become weak.
Nay one wants to trade with us. Businesses that were once boomin' are barely hangin' by a thread and ye wonder why yer people want the laird gone," Marcus leaned back in the chair and shook his head.
The smirk plastered on his face grated on Killian's nerves.
Emerging from the shadows, Killian kept his focus on Marcus. The tension in the room mounted as he emerged from his post as a formidable dark entity filling the chamber.
"Ye ken who I am and what I'm capable of doin', aye?" he asked, his voice low and gravelly, each word heavy with menace. The prisoner's bravado faltered and crumbled under Killian's unwavering gaze.
"Ye're the Mad Laird," he muttered, his voice suddenly lacking the conviction it once had.
A chilling smile tugged at the corners of Killian's lips as he watched the spark of understanding light within Marcus's eyes.
What once seemed like a joke to Marcus was becoming all too real.
His breath hitched as Killian drew so close they shared the same air.
"Do ye ken why they call me that?" Killian pressed as he stared deep into the windows of Marcus's soul.
Intrigued by the sheer terror Killian invoked from Marcus, he couldn't help but wonder how fear never flickered across Leah's eyes when he'd get as close.
Maybe there really was something special about her that he was just now understanding in the darkest pit of all places.
Slowly, Killian stood straighter. He tilted his head as he studied the effect of anticipation on Marcus. How long it would take before he cracked again was a puzzle Killian looked forward to solving.
"Because ye're a spawn of hell," the prisoner spat, but even he could not mask the tremor in his voice.
"Why did you attack me?" Killian's tone shifted and became sharp and unyielding.
His patience had grown thin, and he didn't want to waste any more time in the pit than he had to.
He drew his dirk from its sheath with a swift, practiced motion, the blade gleaming ominously in the dim light.
He pressed it to the prisoner's throat. The cold steel bit into the tender flesh under Marcus's chin, drawing a thin line of crimson.
"There's a contract for yer life," Marcus answered as Killian pressed the blade deeper.
"Tell me somethin' I daenae ken and I might just spare yer life," Killian said through clenched teeth. It took every ounce of his strength not to run the blade across Marcus's throat. Leah's voice rang in his ears like that of an angel calling from heaven.
"If I failed, another would rise," Marcus mumbled as Killian held Marcus's head, ready to sever it from the body.
"Who? When?"
"Ceilidh," Marcus muttered in a panic. Killian eased his grip, allowing Marcus a bit more room to speak.
"Say again," Killian ordered.
"The next attempt will be at the ceilidh. It is to be a spectacle," Marcus said as Killian stole a glance at Fraser. The words hung in the air like a death knell, striking Killian with a visceral fear.
Panic surged through him like wildfire, igniting the protective instincts that had long made him the laird of his clan.
Leah would be there, caught in the midst of it all, her laughter and light now a beacon for danger.
The thought of her in peril filled him with a fury that rose like a tempest within his chest.
"Fraser," Killian barked, urgency threading through his voice. "Gather the council. We must prepare. I'll do whatever it takes to protect what is mine."
"And what of him?" Fraser asked, nudging his head to Marcus.
"Put him in a cell. If what he says comes to pass, then he should be rewarded.
If what he says turns out to be false, then he shall meet with his grandfaither on the other side," Killian said as his eyes narrowed.
His heart raced with the realization that Leah's safety was once again in jeopardy.
The thought rattled him more than he would have liked as the implications of the prisoner's words sank in.
Killian watched as Fraser wrangled Marcus out of the chamber and let out a deep breath as the weight of the situation pummeled him.
Running his fingers through his hair, Killian struggled as to what he should do.
Was calling off the ceilidh the right thing to do?
It would keep Leah safe, but that wasn't the purpose of her being here.
She was to help him draw out his rivals.
Yet, now that her life had been put in danger, he wasn't sure his goals were worth striving for any longer.
I've got to figure out another way… one that willnae put Leah in danger. Perhaps I tell her she cannae come? Nay, we are to announce our engagement; that will nae do. She'll have to be there… in the line of danger. Do I tell her?
How did this get so far out of control?
Killian swallowed hard as he trudged through the mires of his thoughts. He wanted to protect Leah at all costs, but what would he sacrifice to figure out who was trying to kill him?
Killian charged through the stone corridors of the castle, his mind swirling with turmoil.
The weight of the prisoner's confession pressed heavily on his chest; each thought igniting a tempest of fear and anger.
Leah was in danger, that much he was certain of, no matter which way he rolled the dice.
The thought of anything happening to her sent adrenaline coursing through his veins that he needed to release or find himself on the verge of insanity.
Killian navigated the familiar halls with the torchlight, casting long shadows that mirrored the darkness brewing within him. As he rounded a corner, he collided directly with Leah, sending her tumbling to the ground. Instinctively, Killian reached out for her, snatching her before she landed.
"Killian?"
"Are ye all right?" he asked, setting her upright on her feet. She pressed a hand to her chest as the wild panic subsided. He pulled in a deep breath as he gave her a once-over. How he wanted to wrap her in his arms and hold her there forever. At least in his embrace, she'd be safe.
"Aye, I think so," she answered as she looked around and leaned down to grab the leather pouch from the ground. "Oh dear, that would have been bad had I lost this."
"What is it?" Killian asked, inspecting the pouch in her hand.
"Just some herbs for yer brother. I picked them last week and had them drying. They'll help with his aches and pains once he decides to get out of the bed."
"Daenae hold yer breath for that," Killian said. "Mason hasn't gotten out of that bed in months."
"Which is why he'll need this," Leah said, patting the leather pouch. "He's determined to escort me to the ceilidh."
"He cannae do that," Killian hissed as he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to a private nook. "The plan was for me to propose. How do ye think it'll look if ye come with nae just another, but me brother?"
Killian paused a moment as his words struck a cord within him. Her green eyes widened as concern etched itself into her features.
"Killian? Are ye all right? Ye daenae look well," she exclaimed, reaching for his arm, her touch light but grounding. She looked at him as if he were not a monster but a man in need of solace. "What is goin' through that head of yers?"
"I'll be all right," he replied as hope sprang out of him as he stared at her once more. "Ye said me brother wants to take ye to the ceilidh?"
"Well, he wants me to join him in the infirmary," Leah said. "And all things considered, I just might take him up on the offer."
A brilliant idea sparked in Killian's mind. He scowled at Leah as he stepped back from her. "I've got to go."
"Killian? What is goin' on?" Leah's voice trailed behind Killian as he took off down the corridor. His head was a jumbled mess, like a puzzle with scattered pieces. He knew he wanted to protect Leah, and if he could only do that by putting distance between them, then that was what he'd do.
At that moment, he felt a swell of conflicting emotions.
Affection, fear, and a desperate need to protect her at all costs mingled and warred within him.
But the truth remained. It seemed the more he cared for her, the more perilous it became for them both.
He needed to find a way to shield her from the darkness that followed him like death's shroud, even if it meant creating a chasm between them.
I cannae let her get hurt. Nae for anythin' in this world. I just pray that one day ye'll see I did what I thought was the right thin' to do. Maybe one day, she'll forgive me for what I must do for the survival of my clan.