Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The air in the dungeon gripped at the throat, making it hard to breathe.
Damp stone pressed in from all sides, the scent of earth and rust clinging heavily to each breath.
Water dripped somewhere in the distance, in a sound that was slow and rhythmic, echoing like a steady reminder of time, of how long men had been left there to think, to wait, to break.
Duncan walked through it without pause. The flicker of torchlight cast long shadows across the walls, bending and shifting with each step he took, but his focus remained fixed ahead.
Beside him, Iain said nothing. Duncan rarely allowed anger to show. He did not raise his voice. He did not act without thought. He did not lose control, not as a man, and certainly not as a laird.
But this was different.
Betrayal.
Of all things, it was the one he could not abide, not from an enemy, not from a stranger and never from one of his own.
The iron door groaned as it was opened, the sound harsh against the otherwise suffocating quiet. Inside, the guard sat where they had left him, bound and bruised. His head lifted as Duncan entered, but he didn’t say anything.
The door closed behind them with a heavy thud. Duncan did not speak immediately. He simply looked at him. The guard shifted slightly under the weight of that gaze, though he tried not to show it.
“Ye were given a position of trust,” Duncan said at last, but there was no urgency or frustration in his voice. “Ye stood watch within me walls. Ye walked among me men.”
No response. The guard’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Duncan took a slow step forward.
“Ye were given me protection,” he continued. “And in return, ye sold it.”
Still nothing. Iain shifted slightly beside him, but Duncan did not acknowledge it. He was watching, studying, waiting.
“I will ask ye once,” Duncan said, although he already knew the answer to that question. “Who sent ye?”
The guard let out a short breath, almost a laugh.
“Nay one,” he replied.
The lie was immediate and careless. Duncan did not react. He had heard far better lies from far stronger men.
“Ye expect me tae believe that?” he asked.
The guard shrugged slightly, as much as his bindings allowed. “Believe what ye like.”
Silence stretched again. Duncan did not press. He did not raise his voice. He did not strike him. He simply let the quiet settle. Men like that expected anger and violence. They expected something they could resist.
Duncan gave him none of it. Instead, he stepped closer, just enough that the guard could feel the weight of his presence, the stillness of it.
“Ye allowed men intae me land,” Duncan said quietly. “Men who came tae take what was under me protection.”
The guard’s jaw tightened, but he remained silent.
Duncan tilted his head slightly, studying him.
“I have seen men break fer less,” he continued. “I have seen them hold on tae their silence until it cost them more than they were willing tae lose.”
The guard let out a low, humorless chuckle.
“Then perhaps ye’ve grown soft, me laird,” he said in a voice edged with mockery. “Or perhaps ye’re nae as feared as ye think.”
The insult lingered in the damp air.
Iain moved before the words had fully settled, anger flashing openly across his face. “Mind yer tongue, ye—”
Duncan’s hand lifted, stopping him without a word. Iain froze, his breath sharp, but he obeyed. Duncan’s gaze never left the guard. If anything, it sharpened. He took another step forward, which was slow and deliberate, until the distance between them felt suffocating.
“Have ye hidden them well?” Duncan asked quietly.
The question landed differently. The guard’s expression faltered.
His brow twitched, confusion flickering before it was quickly replaced with something more guarded. “Hidden who?” he asked, though the effort sounded thinner now.
Duncan did not answer immediately. He let the silence stretch, let the question settle into something heavier.
“Yer wife,” he said calmly. “And yer child.”
The words struck cleanly. The guard’s breath hitched, barely noticeable but there. Duncan saw it.
“Somewhere in the woods,” he mused as if to himself. “Away from prying eyes, away from consequence.”
The guard’s composure started to show signs of cracking.
“How dae ye ken that?” he demanded, the first true edge of fear breaking through his voice.
Duncan smiled. It did not reach his eyes.
“I am the laird,” he said, almost softly. “I ken everything that happens in me lands.”
He straightened slightly, his presence looming now rather than closing in.
“I just dinnae ken where one single rat is hiding,” he added. “One that is infesting them.”
The words settled like weight. The guard’s breathing had changed now, becoming faster and uneven, his earlier defiance slipping. Duncan watched him. He did not need to threaten further. The fear had already taken root. And now, it would grow.
The man swallowed hard, his gaze darting between Duncan and the ground, as though searching for something solid to hold onto, and finding nothing.
“Ye…” his voice caught. “Ye wouldnae touch them.”
It was not a statement. It was a question. Finally, it was a plea.
Duncan did not move. “I am nae in the habit of harming women and bairns.”
The words were the truth, delivered without softness. Relief flickered across the guard’s face, but it was brief and fleeting, because Duncan did not stop there.
“But if something daes happen tae them,” he continued, “it will be because of ye.”
The relief shattered.
The guard’s head snapped up, panic flashing openly now. “Nay…”
“Because ye chose this,” Duncan went on, his voice still controlled and still steady. “Ye chose tae betray yer clan. Ye chose tae bring danger tae me land.”
Each word landed like thunder.
“Dae ye think MacKenzie will protect them when this is done?” Duncan asked quietly. “Dae ye think they care fer what becomes of yer family once ye’ve outlived yer usefulness?”
The guard’s hands trembled where they were bound. Duncan took a step closer.
“Ye still have a chance,” he spoke. “Give me what I need, and I will make certain they are safe.”
The guard shook his head weakly, as though fighting something within himself.
“I… I cannae…” he stammered.
Duncan said nothing. He simply waited. The silence pressed in again, heavier than before.
Iain remained still behind him, watching, knowing better than to interfere now.
The guard’s breath came faster, his composure breaking completely as his thoughts turned not to himself or to his fate, but to them, his wife and his child.
“I ken ye are a man of yer word,” he finally spoke, and Duncan could hear desperation seeping into every syllable. “I ken they will be safe.”
Duncan did not hesitate. “Me word has never been broken before, and ye have it, even now.”
The answer came without force. The guard stared at him, searching his face for doubt or for deceit, for anything he could use to hold onto his silence. He found none.
That was when something in him gave way. His shoulders sagged, and the last of his resistance slipped through his grasp like water.
“He’s here,” the guard said hoarsely. “MacKenzie. Somewhere in the town… but I dinnae ken where exactly. He keeps moving. Never stays in one place long enough tae be found.”
Duncan’s expression did not change.
“He’s watching,” the guard continued, his voice unsteady now, each word pulled from him with effort. “Waiting fer the right moment.”
“Fer what?” Duncan asked sharply, though he already knew.
“Fer… her.” The word settled heavy in the cell. “Fer the healer.”
Duncan felt rage taking over. It was subtle, a mere tightening of his jaw, and stillness in his posture. But Iain saw it. The guard felt it. Because what had been controlled before, was now far colder.
“What is his plan?” Duncan asked.
The guard swallowed. “Tae take her,” he said simply, confirming Duncan’s doubts. “Tae drag her back, if need be. And kill anyone who stands in the way.”
Duncan straightened slowly, his full height casting a long shadow across the stone floor, the flickering torchlight catching in his eyes, but there was no warmth in them now.
“Ye didnae just betray yer clan,” he spoke slowly, but each word cut like a dagger through the air. “Ye consciously put her in danger.”
The guard flinched.
“Ye stood beside her,” he continued, each word precise. “Ye watched over her. Ye gave yer word that she would be safe under our protection.”
The guard’s breathing grew shallow.
“And then ye handed her over.”
There was no raised voice and no outward display of rage. But the cold fury beneath his words was far worse. The guard saw it now. He understood it. This was not anger that would burn out. This was judgment, final and unyielding.
“I…” the guard began, but the words died in his throat.
There was nothing he could say. Nothing that would matter. Duncan’s gaze held him in place, unrelenting.
“There will be nay mercy fer what ye have done,” he condemned him.
It was not a threat, but a fact. Duncan turned away without another word. He had what he needed.
And now, there would be no more waiting.