Chapter 18
“I couldnae move,” Skye began slowly, frowning. “It was like I was pinned in place. I was losing consciousness, and the masked man was staring down at me. The one from me dream, the one who took me.”
Evander clenched his jaw until his teeth squeaked. “Go on.”
“I wasnae… entirely unconscious,” she continued, closing her eyes. “Nay, I kept getting snippets of sound and vision. It was like… Do ye ken when ye ride a horse on a sunny day through a forest, and ye catch glimpses of the sun and sky through the trees?
“Ye ken it’s the sun, ye can see the light and feel the heat, but ye cannae get a good picture of the sky beyond the forest because of the trees, and because ye are riding so fast? Well, that is how it was.”
“Go on,” Evander urged again.
The air was thick with the smell of burned parchment. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a draft stir the pile of ash forming the remains of the scroll. Crumbs of it began to drift away. One good slam of the door, and the ensuing rush of air would blow it all away, as if it had never been there.
Skye licked her lips tentatively, the tip of her pink tongue darting out. Swallowing, Evander forced down the rush of desire. Oh, it had been torture, stepping away from her earlier.
That was the right thing to do, of course. Giving her pleasure had already broken their contract, but to take his own would have been a betrayal of the worst kind.
And I am nae a traitor. Nae a betrayer. Nae a liar. I’m nae me faither.
“I tried to move,” Skye continued, nodding tightly. “Me head was swimming. I felt sick. I remember thinking that if I were sick, I might purge the drug. So, I fell to the floor and began to crawl away. What a sight I must have been! I thought if I could vomit…” She shook her head.
“He saw what I was doing. He strode after me and lifted me. He was strong. I tried to struggle, but I was as weak as a kitten.” She paused, swallowing.
“Kitten… Blackberry was there. She bolted from her place at the fire, hissing and scratching at his leg. That’s how I was able to crawl away at first. He shooed her out, earning another scratch at his arm, deeper this time. ”
Evander frowned. “He didnae kick her or try to hurt her?”
“Nay, nay, he didnae. He shooed her away, but she kept fighting. She scratched his arm. His forearm, here.” She tapped her forearm. “The scratch could have been hidden by a sleeve.”
Evander sucked in a breath, his heart rate quickening. Anger grew and coiled low in his spine.
“Go on,” he murmured, as gently as he could. It wasn’t Skye who would feel the brunt of his anger. Oh no.
“He pushed her out into the hall. I heard her yowling and clawing at the door. Then he came back to me. He leaned over me and said… he said, ‘Daenae struggle, lass. Please, Skye. Daenae make me hurt ye.’ That’s all I recall, but it’s all I need to recall because I recognized his voice. I recognized his voice, Evander.”
Fury bubbled in Evander’s throat. “And who was it, Skye?”
She met his gaze. “Mason,” she breathed. “It was Mason.”
Evander’s hand dropped to his hip, where his sword would hang. It wasn’t there, but that didn’t matter. He’d grab it shortly.
“I kent I didnae trust the bastard,” he hissed. “Stay here.”
“Evander—”
“Stay. Here.”
He grabbed his sword and strode out of the room, leaving the door swinging.
Evander sprinted through the night, choking on his own rage. He didn’t bother snatching a torch from the wall to light his way, since the moon was out, bathing the grounds in a benevolent silvery glow.
When I find him, he’s dead.
The rest of the keep was asleep, but a small knot of men would be awake. The warriors, the ones who trained in rain and sunshine, in the frozen depths of winter and the stifling, soupy summers. And, of course, day and night. Fergus usually led them.
A group of warriors would train in the dark of night, along with a handful of youngsters. Up ahead, across the expanse of a dark field, Evander could see the men going through their exercises. He broke into a brisk jog, his sword banging against his side.
Fury bubbled inside him.
I kent that bastard was up to something. Why did he do it? Is he secretly in love with her? Why steal her away? Why bring her back? Unless, of course, she escaped.
He clenched his jaw till his teeth squeaked and quickened his pace. Fergus’s voice drifted to him on the breeze.
“We daenae just fight in broad daylight, lads. We willnae always have the luxury of a fine, sunny day. Nay, sometimes we’ll have to fight in the dark, in thick mist, in blizzards.
Ye think an enemy army will wait until we’re all up and ready in the morning to attack?
Nay! They’ll choose the worst time for us and the best time for them. Ye must learn to fight in the dark.”
“But, sir, I can hardly see,” bleated a young man.
“Yer vision will improve,” Fergus promised. “It’s worth doing, I promise ye. Now, we’ll start sparring with wooden staves for ye apprentices, but first, watch the warriors take a turn.”
He stepped forward, his blade glinting in the silvery moonlight. He gestured for another man to step forward and join him, and Evander already knew who it was.
Bloody Mason.
Mason’s fair hair was pinned back into a tail at the back of his head, loose strands sticking to his forehead. Judging by the sweat glistening on his forehead, they’d already had a few sparring matches. It had been his habit to join the Bryden warriors.
At the time, Evander had simply assumed that he was bored. Aside from dogging Skye’s heels, he had no responsibilities here at Keep Bryden. Now, though, he began to wonder whether the man had been spying all along.
Wasn’t this the perfect way to judge an enemy’s forces? To get in on the inside and see for yourself?
I will spike his head on the keep walls.
Evander broke into a dead sprint.
He was only a few feet away by the time the men spotted him.
Fergus saw him first, glancing over with a frown.
Tension drained from his body when he saw that it was Evander coming toward them, and almost immediately, the tension returned when he took in Evander’s face, and more importantly, his drawn weapon.
“Me Laird…” he began.
That was all there was time for before Evander was upon them.
Mason turned just a half-second too soon to avoid being impaled on Evander’s sword. He gave a panicked, strangled cry, throwing himself to the side.
Evander regained his balance first, swinging his blade once more. He was vaguely aware of the young soldiers around them crying out and firing questions at anybody and everybody. Fergus’s tight voice echoed, herding the men away.
“Me Laird, what are ye doing?” he cried from behind him.
Evander ignored him, swinging once more at Mason. The other man still had a grip on his sword, but didn’t seem to dare to raise it. He staggered backwards, catching his heel on the ground, and went sprawling. The sword slid out of his grip, coming to rest in the damp grass a few feet away.
Evander stood over him, the point of his sword aimed directly at the soft base of Mason’s throat.
“Get up,” he hissed. “Take yer sword. Ye die tonight.”
“Me Laird!” Fergus called again from somewhere behind him. “Is this a joke? I… I didnae ken ye would be sparring with us tonight.”
“Oh, I’m nae sparring.”
“And if this is a joke, it’s a bad one,” Mason hissed, his eyes glinting. “Ye are already on thin ice with Clan MacCrimmon and Clan MacColl. Do ye think murdering a respected MacCrimmon warrior will do ye any good? The man assigned to keep Lady Skye safe?”
“Daenae ye dare speak her name,” Evander growled. He wouldn’t have been surprised to taste fire on his tongue, so intense was the rage bubbling in his stomach. “Daenae ye dare. I ken what ye have done, Mason Langton.”
There was a split second of silence, then a glassy, pale mask descended over Mason’s face. His skin turned the color of a corpse, and he began to sweat, his eyes bulging. The acrid scent of fear filled the air.
“Oh,” he breathed shakily.
“What?” Fergus asked, at Evander’s elbow once more. There was a panicked edge to his voice now, and that tone tugged ever so slightly at Evander’s conscience. It took a lot to make Fergus panic. “Me Laird? What has he done?”
Evander curled his lip at Mason. “Go on. Tell him. Tell them all, before I slit ye from navel to throat.”
Mason swallowed reflexively, his eyes darting between Evander and Fergus. The corpse-cold panic on his face had faded a little, and he was clearly trying to claw back his composure.
“I daenae ken what ye are talking about,” he tried. “Ye have gone mad, me Laird. Laird MacCrimmon willnae like this. And the MacColls—”
“The MacColls and the MacCrimmons will string ye up themselves when they learn what ye have done. Fergus, it was him. He was the one who stole Skye away.”
Fergus sucked in a breath. “That cannae be true.”
“It’s nae true!” Mason yelped. “I want to speak to Lady Skye.”
“She remembers, ye fool!” Evander snarled. “She remembers yer voice. Aye, ye idiot, ye spoke to her, and I imagine that ye spoke to her again afterwards. She kens yer voice. She kens it was ye.”
Mason made a choked sound at that.
Fergus sucked in a breath. “I gave ye advice on how to woo Leah,” he hissed, taking a step forward and jabbing a finger at him. “What have ye done?”
“Why did ye do it? Who commanded ye to take her?” Evander pressed.
Questions were queuing up in his mind, and he was determined to ask them. Red-hot fury singed his insides, but enough logic remained to remind him to ask questions first. Beheaded men couldn’t offer insight on anything.
I need to ken if he worked alone.
“I want to speak to her,” Mason repeated, fear flashing in his eyes once more. “This is all a big misunderstanding.”
“Ye bloody liar,” Evander snarled. “From whom did ye take yer orders? Or did ye work alone? Did ye take her because ye wanted her for yerself? Come on, lad, answer me!”
“I’m saying nothing,” Mason growled, pushing himself up on his elbows. “I daenae trust ye. Ye are mad. There’s no plot; I am innocent.”
“She remembers ye. Ye took her from her room! It was ye!”
“She’s lying.”
The last of Evander’s restraint snapped. He threw away his sword in one clean motion.
“Then I will kill ye with me bare hands,” he bellowed.
Fergus cried out, but Evander barely heard him. Mason made a feeble attempt to scramble away, but Evander seized him, hauling him back. The two men grappled, but Evander had the advantage of size, strength, and rage.
Fergus shouted in the background, but Evander barely heard him. He wrapped his hands around Mason’s throat and squeezed. The man’s eyes bulged in panic. He clawed at Evander’s forearms, his nails digging in. Evander barely noticed.
“There was a nasty scratch on yer arm in the days after Skye’s disappearance,” Evander hissed. “I noticed it. Did ye, Fergus?”
“I did,” Fergus replied reluctantly. “But, me Laird…”
Evander ignored him. “Blackberry did that. She attacked ye after ye drugged her mistress, to try and stop ye from carrying her off. Ye always had a soft spot for that cat, did ye nae? Because Skye loved her so much. It’s just as well, because if ye had killed that cat, ye would be dead already.
Although it may only be a matter of minutes. ”
He slackened his grip on Mason’s throat, just enough to let him draw in a mouthful of air.
“Tell me who sent ye,” he hissed.
“N-Nobody. Ye have misunderstood!”
“Explain to me how I have misunderstood.”
Mason’s eyes bulged again, his mouth opening and closing as he scrambled for an excuse. Clearly, none were coming to mind.
Evander closed his jaw with a click.
So be it, then.
“This is the end for ye, Mason,” he growled. “Ye should have told me when ye had the chance.”
“Evander, wait. Stop!” Skye’s voice echoed across the quiet field, shocking him out of his fury.
He blinked, slackening his grip on Mason’s throat once more. The man drew in a ragged, coughing breath. He had stopped struggling, his arms resting limply by his sides.
“I tried to tell ye that she was coming,” Fergus murmured. “Ye can let him go, me Laird. He’ll nae go far.”
Abruptly, Evander released Mason and rose to his feet. Fergus stood beside Mason, lowering his own sword to his throat.
Skye stood there, the wind whipping at her red dress and loose hair. She looked paler than earlier.
“I daenae want him dead,” she whispered, staring pleadingly up at Evander.
He gave an incredulous snort. “Are ye mad? He kidnapped ye.”
“He cared for me. He kept me alive. And perhaps he was the one who freed me.”
“Or perhaps ye freed yerself.”
“Perhaps. Me point is, he has information. If Mason dies here at yer hand, me braither and cousin will have questions for ye. But we have questions that he could answer right now.”
“He’ll nae talk to me.”
Skye’s gaze flicked to Mason. “He’ll talk to me,” she murmured softly.
At the sound of her voice, Mason’s eyes cracked open. He glanced at her, his eyes swimming with tears.
“I am nae misremembering,” she whispered. “It was ye who took me, Mason.”
He closed his eyes again, a tear slipping out from under his lids. He gave a tight nod.
“Aye,” he whispered. “It was me.”
Skye swallowed.
Evander watched her face, seeing the misery of betrayal write itself there.
I ken how that feels. Kenning that somebody ye care for has let ye down, betrayed ye in the worst way. Oh, how it hurts. Stings like salt in a wound.
His hand inched out, wanting to rest on her shoulder, but she stood too far away.
To get to her, he would have to move away from Mason, and who knew what the man would try if he took his eyes off him?
A desperate lunge, a last attack, an attempt to knock Fergus off his feet and steal his sword? Anything could happen.
Mason must know that the game was well and truly up. It was over for him. Over.
Skye tore her eyes away from him and met Evander’s gaze squarely. “I want to speak to him. I want to question him.”
Evander frowned. “Nay.”
“Why nae?”
“Why nae? It’s too dangerous.”
“Dangerous? I’ve been in the care of a man who has wished me ill for far too long.”
“I’ve never wished ye ill,” Mason whispered, his voice cracking. He’d rolled onto his side, curling up into a ball. “I was trying to save ye.”
Skye’s jaw clenched. “There ye are. Ye see, Evander? We have to get to the bottom of what that means. We have to ken. I have to ken.”
Evander let out a long sigh, his shoulders sagging. “Very well, then. Ye can talk to him. Inside a dungeon cell.”