Chapter 4
The startling blue-green color of her eyes reminded him of water he’d seen in Greece. Was he from Greece? He dug through the fog in his head, grasping at the small thread of recognition, but it vanished.
He looked away from the scantily clad breast jiggling a hand-length from his face as she worked on the remaining shackle. “How do you know I’m not Faelan?”
He was oddly distressed by her words. He’d felt a connection to the name. The only connection he had in the midst of this darkness. Until her, with her startling eyes. She was bonny—the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and that made him nervous, but he didn’t know why.
“I know Faelan,” she said.
“You know him?” That was a bloody odd thing, for her to know someone by the name his captors were calling him. “And you’re familiar with his chest?”
Her dark brows drew into a delicate arch, and he hoped the words didn’t sound as impolite to her ears as his.
“Of course,” she said. “He’s a friend.”
Friend. That could mean anything. “Why would they call me Faelan? Is it a common name?”
She frowned and continued to work on the shackle. “No. Uncommon, in fact.”
This was very odd indeed. “Do you want me to try?” he asked, looking at the shackle.
“I think I can get it. We need a plan. We’ll have to set a trap. Maybe one of us can play dead. We’ll attack him when he comes to check. I wish I had my dagger.”
Damnation. What kind of woman carried a dagger? The shackle clicked open. He removed it while the woman, Anna, started working on his feet. The shackles there opened easier. When he was free, he stood, wincing. His whole body ached.
“Are you all right?” Anna asked, looking him over. “They’ve beaten the crap out of you.”
“Aye. If feeling like you’ve been run down by a team of horses is all right,” he said, frowning at her rude speech. Obviously a whore, which made him wonder again if she was telling the truth about this Faelan being a friend. More likely he had used her services. He didn’t visit whores himself, but he’d be sore tempted with this one.
How did he know he didn’t visit whores, when he didn’t recall his own name?
He noticed a streak of blood on her thigh, and his stomach knotted. “Did the guard hurt you?” Lasses like her were often ill-treated, but whore or not, it made his blood boil.
She followed his gaze and then wiped the blood with the edge of her gown. “It’s his blood, so it doesn’t matter.”
Cheeky wench. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I followed the skinny guard, Lance.”
“How do you know Lance?” Had he used her services?
“I saw him talking to someone outside my friend’s house.”
He glanced at her indecent gown and wondered if her friend was a whore too. Or did the house belong to her male friend… this Faelan?
“I wanted to know why he was there,” she said, smoothing down her gown. “Do you know how long you’ve been here?”
“I’ve lost count of the days. A fortnight or longer.”
She seemed puzzled by that. “Fortnight? What do they want with you?”
“They’re testing me. Don’t ask me what for. I don’t know. They just drag me away and beat the hell out of me. Then they wait for me to heal and do it all over again. If they would stop injecting me with their damned needles and making me weak as a bairn, I would rip their bloody heads off and leave this place.” Not that he knew where he was.
“I’ll help you kill them, and we’ll both walk out of here.” Her bonny face looked fierce as a tigress’s.
Was she barmy? Women didn’t kill guards and escape from dungeons. No women that he’d known.
“Is your leg still bleeding?” she asked, tigress gone, her expression tender now.
He lifted the edge of his kilt. Dried blood still crusted the cut on his thigh, but it had closed up overnight. “No. Thank you for tending me.”
She glanced away. “You’re welcome. Now we just have to figure out how to get past those guards and get you back to your family.”
Family. Several faces rushed through his head so fast he didn’t have a chance to recognize them. It was damned frustrating. “I don’t even know who my family is,” he muttered under his breath.
She turned and looked at him. “I think I know who you…” Her mouth closed. “Well, we know you’re Scottish,” she said, nodding at his kilt. “That’s a start.”
Holding the piece she’d used to open the shackles, she walked to the cell door and studied it.
He glanced at her bare legs, wondering why a whore would feel so familiar to him. Perhaps he had glimpsed her briefly when she was put into his cell. He started to ask how she had gotten here when she bent to inspect the lock, baring her legs almost to her arse. The polite thing to do would be to look away, but he couldn’t make himself. She must turn a good profit.
“I don’t think I can pick it.” She rose and prowled the room, exactly as he had when he first arrived. An odd action for a woman, but her movements were so graceful and sensual it tightened his loins. Then to his utter shock, she attempted to bend one of the bars.
“They’re strong,” he said. “I’ve checked them all.”
The guard appeared at the door. “Stand back.” He set a plate down and held the pistol on them as he unlocked the door. He slid the plate inside. “Eat,” he said, leering at Anna. “You’ll need your strength.” He tossed in a basket with towels. “And take a bath, both of you.”
Anna’s eyes met his, and he saw alarm. “They expect us to bathe… here?” she asked.
He was more concerned about what exactly they would need their strength for. More torture?
“We have to get out of here,” Anna said.
“Let’s eat first.” He lowered his voice in case the guards were listening. “We do need our strength if we’re going to lay a trap.”
They ate their food, and he tried not to think about her bathing. It didn’t work. What was wrong with him, thinking about such things when they were both trapped in a dungeon under threat of torture… and worse, he thought, remembering the guard had already attempted to rape Anna.
“Don’t they believe in cooking?” she asked, taking a small bite of the under-cooked meat.
He shrugged. “They prefer it raw.”
“I’m not surprised,” she said. “I wish I had a bowl of cereal.”
What was cereal? A roar echoed somewhere in the dungeon before he could ask.
“That must be the hybrid,” she said. “What is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“If they’re calling him a hybrid, he must be a mix of two different species.”
She seemed troubled by the thought, as was he. He found it just as troubling that she wasn’t hysterical at the thought of something as alarming as hybrids. “I’ve heard him, but I haven’t seen him.” He took a bite of his meat, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.
“He’s seen you. The guards think he moved you from the torture room to the cell. Do you remember anything?”
“Someone carried me, I think.”
“Maybe the hybrid felt sorry for you? They’re probably doing the same thing to him that they’re doing to you—” Alarm flashed in her stunning eyes.
Were they trying to turn him into a hybrid? He looked at Anna, twice as bonny as any woman he’d ever seen. What would that sick-minded guard do to her?
“Could I have a drink of your water?” she asked.
Her cup was in the other cell near the pot. His face warmed when he thought about how she’d used hers. He handed it over. “I’m sorry you had to…” He wasn’t sure how to phrase it, but she knew what he meant. She didn’t look at him but focused instead on his cup.
A slight smile touched her lips. “It’s okay. It’s not the first one…” She cleared her throat.
His eyebrows rose so high it hurt his battered face. Well, then. It was easy to forget what she was, or what he suspected she was. She was dressed like a whore, but didn’t have the manner of one. Although she acted damned strange.
She handed his cup back. “They keep talking about their master. Do you know who he is?”
“I don’t know his name, but I’ve seen him. I feel I ought to know him.” He’d dreamed of him, dreams that felt real, like memories trying to surface.
“What does he look like?”
“Black hair, long. Pale, bonny face.” Speaking of bonny... “Is there someone looking for you?” he asked. “Do you have a husband?” He didn’t want to just come out and ask if she was a whore.
“I’m not married.” She said it as if he had insulted her.
Aye, a whore then. A woman with her beauty couldn’t have escaped male attention for long.
“What about family?” The word made his chest feel tight. Did he have a family? Were they searching for him?
“None.” Her voice sounded bitter.
“They’re dead?”
“My mother is. I don’t have a father.”
Everyone had a father. “What about brothers, sisters?” He saw faces in his mind, but the vision vanished as fast as it had come.
“No. I have cousins and friends,” she said, her voice warming. “They’re all I need.”
What kind of friends allowed a woman to sell her body? “Are they looking for you, do you think?”
“I don’t know if they’ve realized I’m missing. I’ve got to get out of here and warn them. I think someone’s going to attack.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Something I overheard from the man Lance was talking to.”
This made very little sense. What was her connection to this place and to Lance? It was apparent that he didn’t want her here, and the fat guard, Bart, hadn’t expected her.
After they ate, he waited as long as he could. “They don’t offer much in the way of privacy. I need to use that fancy pot.” Perhaps it was an insult to mention it after she’d had to help him piss into a cup, but bodily function didn’t consider circumstances.
She looked at the pot, her expression puzzled.
“Sorry to mention it, but…”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll... just be over there.” She stood and walked to the front of the cell, keeping her back to him.
When he was finished, he turned to her. “If you need to use it, I’ll watch for the guard.”
She shook her head and then uttered a soft thank you. “What did you call it? A fancy pot?”
“Aye. It’s a strange thing.”
“Interesting,” she said quietly.
It was indeed. He wished he’d had one at home. Another flash... a big house. A castle? But the image quickly faded. He didn’t know if he was remembering this place or another. His head was hurting and his legs felt weak. “I think they put something in the food.”
“I’m thinking the same thing,” Anna said. “I feel strange.”
“We’re not going anywhere tonight,” he said. “Might as well clean up a bit. I must smell like horse dung. They haven’t let me bathe for a while.” He’d been chained most of the time.
“I’m sure I don’t smell like flowers.”
She smelled like Heaven. “I’ll hold the blanket if you want to bathe first,” he said, inspecting the basket. There were cloths and a bar of soap. “Here’s a wee brush so you can clean your teeth.”
She gave him an odd look again. “You go first. You need to clean your wounds.”
It was awkward, but she held the blanket up for him. He tried to remove his shirt, cursing under his breath as the material pulled at the dried blood and raw skin.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
“Aye. My shirt’s stuck to my back. I don’t want to reopen the wounds. Do you think you could help me?”
She lowered the blanket and put it on the bench. “I’ll have to wet the shirt to loosen it from your cuts.”
At the basin, she soaked a cloth in warm water—a wonderous thing, having it right out of a pipe. Even more delightful, her hands on his back as she worked. It stung, but her touch took his mind off the pain. He was almost sorry when she stopped.
“You should be able to take it off now,” she said.
He started removing it. “Aye. That does it.”
“Do you want me to clean your wounds? I don’t think you can reach them.”
He swallowed and nodded. “That would be helpful.” He tossed the shirt onto the bench next to the blanket.
“My God. What have they done to you?” There was anger in her voice, but her touch was gentle as she bathed one of the wounds. “What do they want? Usually, a person is tortured to get information. Secrets.”
What would she know about torture? “If they wanted me to tell them secrets, they shouldn’t have stolen my memories. I don’t know anything to tell them.” Not even his name, which it seemed wasn’t Faelan as he’d been told.
It took several minutes for her to finish. The feel of her hands touching him was the closest thing to pleasure he’d felt in many a fortnight.
“There. That’s as good as I can manage without bandages.”
He reached for the blanket, holding it in front of his hips as he turned. He didn’t want her to see his body’s embarrassing reaction to her touch. “Thank you.”
She nodded, and her gaze ran over his chest, eyes widening slightly. She seemed intrigued and puzzled by the marks there. After a few seconds, she blinked hard and looked away. “You should finish up. You have more wounds to clean.”
He’d like for her to clean them all. Blimey, he’d let her wash every part of him. She took the blanket from him and put it back in place. He removed his kilt and cleaned his face and the cuts on his body. When he’d gotten off the blood, he soaped up, washing his chest, belly, arms, and oxters, before moving below the waist. He ran the cloth over his groin, thinking what it’d feel like if it was her hand. He didn’t stay there too long for fear that he’d embarrass himself.
* * *
The soundof the washcloth moving over his skin made Anna tingle in places where she distinctly didn’t want to tingle. It didn’t help that her arms felt weak and shaky, making it difficult to hold the blanket still. A movement caught her attention. There was a small hole in the blanket. She didn’t intend to look, but the opening was so near her eye she couldn’t help but see.
It wasn’t as if she’d never seen a naked man. On the battlefield, forest or city, privacy was compromised. But this man... wow. He was like a beautiful painting that had been vandalized. Perfectly muscled hips and thighs and a sleek broad back, marred with bruises and cuts.
He turned slightly, and her breath caught. He was rubbing the soapy cloth over his groin. She quickly raised her gaze to the symbols arcing across his chest. Almost certainly battle marks. That part of his body seemed to have fared better than the rest of him.
Battle marks had a kind of presence about them, as if they were alive. And his made her want to touch them. She closed her eyes so she wouldn’t be tempted to look again.
“That’s better,” he said, nudging the blanket down. His clothes were still dirty, but his skin was clean, and the swelling in his face was going down. He healed quickly. “I’ll hold it for you, if you’d like?”
She balked at the thought of undressing so near a strange man, especially one this hot, but after moving stones in the chapel and fighting the guard, she needed to clean up. It would take more than water to erase the feel of the guard straddling her. Watching his blood drain from his body might help.
After the prisoner raised the blanket high enough to block his face, she stripped off her dirty gown and panties and laid them beside her bra. She could hear him breathing on the other side of the blanket. Using the second washcloth and the bar of soap, she washed her face first, the warm water making her long for a bathtub. She washed her body next, hurrying as the man’s breath grew ragged. Holding the blanket so high must be at least as much strain on him as it had been on her. Not only had they been drugged—probably just a sedative—but he’d been beaten to a pulp.
Or perhaps he’d also found the hole.
She sped through her routine, pleased to find basic toiletries— toothbrush, toothpaste, hairbrush, and deodorant. What kind of place was this? Beat a man with a whip, then give him toothpaste and deodorant.
“I’m finished,” she said, wishing she had something warmer to wear than her gown.
He lowered the blanket, eyes glittering as he stared at her. “Do you want to sit a minute and get warm?”
“Yes. We can make an escape plan.”
They sat on the stone bench, and he draped the blanket over her. “You take it. I’m not cold.”
He was lying. When his arm brushed hers, she could feel the chill of his skin. How could it be so much colder here than it had been at Faelan and Bree’s? It felt more like January than early November. Was that part of his torture? Freeze him half to death?
“If we sit closer together, we can share it. It’s like a freezer in here.”
He nodded and scooted next to her. Anna opened the blanket to him. She could still smell the blood on his kilt and shirt, but his body smelled clean, male. It gave her the strangest sensation, sitting in near darkness with a man she didn’t know, who she suspected was a warrior, though he didn’t know it.
Could he be Austin, the warrior from Canada who’d been attacked by vampires on the way to meet Angus? Maybe Austin followed them here after the attack. But he didn’t sound Canadian. He sounded like a Scot. And while lots of guys had tattoos and some wore kilts—less so in America—there were too many signs that he was a warrior. His appearance, his manner, the way he moved. And those marks. If they weren’t battle marks, why did she feel like they were whispering to her?
They sat side by side on the cold stone bench, wrapped together in the blanket. His body was warm, and the drugs were making her sleepy. She tried to imagine how it would have been for him, here alone, beaten, no memories, no answers, and no one to talk to except his tormentors. He must be strong, mentally as well as physically. “I don’t know how you’ve survived being here.”
“I don’t have a choice. I can’t let them kill me. So I sit here night after night, waiting to remember something, waiting for them to make a mistake so I can escape.”
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “If I’d thrown my dagger more accurately, that fat guard would be dead, and we wouldn’t be here.”
“You must have had a hard life.”
His words surprised her. There was no way he could know about her past. “Why do you say that?”
“I’ve never seen a woman so...” He seemed to be searching for the word. “Strong,” he finally said, but Anna didn’t think that was his first choice.
“Thank you,” she said, not sure it was a compliment. All warriors were strong, but she didn’t tell him that. She couldn’t tell him who she was until she was sure who he was. Clan secrets had to be kept. “You’re strong, too. You would have to be, to survive the torture. You still don’t remember how you got the marks?”
He touched his chest. “No. It’s an odd thing what being alone does to you, having no idea who you are. Sometimes...” He paused and gave her a sheepish grin that made her body feel weightless. “Sometimes I feel like the marks are talking to me. Barmy, aye?”
If the marks were what she thought, it wasn’t barmy at all. Her battle marks had kept her sane many times. Another cry sounded from outside. The hybrid?
“What is this place?” she said, shuddering.
“The guards don’t talk much, other than taunting me.”
“Lance is sneaky. I couldn’t see the man he was talking to before I followed him, but he doesn’t want the fat guard to know about it.”
“Did you recognize the man he was talking to?”
“No. But he was huge.” Not many men were that size. Maybe he wasn’t a man. Could he have been the master? But why would Lance be sneaking around? Anna squirmed trying to get more comfortable. The bench was hard.
“Are you still cold?”
“I’m fine.”
Either he didn’t believe her or he was still cold himself. He shifted, somehow making their bodies fit closer together. She felt warmer.
“Does Lance know you followed him?” He stifled a yawn.
“He does. I told the fat guard, Bart. Lance wasn’t happy. He wanted Bart to kill me. I wonder what Lance is hiding that’s so important.”
The prisoner turned and stared at her, which put them almost nose to nose. Or nose to shoulder. He was a lot taller than she was. “He must be trying to silence you. One of us will have to stay awake in case he comes back. Why don’t you get some sleep? I’ll keep watch.”
“You need rest more than I do. You’re injured. You sleep first. I’ll rest later.”
“Nay. You first.”
She tried to stay awake anyway, but her eyelids were too heavy. She woke sometime later, surprised to feel so warm. His arm was around her shoulders, and she was slumped against him. He’d tucked the blanket around her and was holding it in place. She straightened, scanning the cell to see if they were alone. They were. His arm tightened around her, and he leaned his head against hers. There was something so comforting about the position she ignored her numb butt until he shifted.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Just stiff. And I can’t feel my arse. Wish I couldn’t feel my back.” Leaning against the wall couldn’t be doing his wounds any good. “We could stretch out on the floor,” he said.
But that would be even more intimate. They were in a prison dungeon. Did it matter? They both rose slowly. “I wish there was a bed—even a cot.”
In the darkness, she saw him glance at her breasts. “Aye. This hard floor’s not much for sleeping. I’d rather have the ground and soft leaves.”
It would be an improvement over stone. They chose a spot in the corner of the cell, against the wall. He spread the blanket, and she lay down near the edge. Without words, he lay next to her on his side, close, but not touching. He pulled the remaining half of the blanket over them.
“Are you warm enough?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Your teeth are chattering. It’s cold in here.”
“Probably part of their torture.” Cold didn’t usually bother her. She’d fought demons in the middle of a blizzard. It must be the drug.
“I can move closer, if that’s all right.”
She would have let him lie on top of her to get rid of this chill. Maybe do more than that, which wasn’t like her.
“Yes,” she said, and he shifted closer. She turned on her side, and he tucked the blanket tighter around them. She could feel him brush against her, but not pressing. “There must be someone wondering where you are.” Maybe a wife who might be upset that his body was tucked against hers. If she loved him, she’d be more upset at what they had done to him than whom he was sharing his body warmth with.
“I hope so.” He sounded so forlorn, Anna’s heart broke a little for him. With no memory of who he was, he was completely alone.
“It must be terrible not to remember your name or where you came from. Where your family is.” Not that she had a family now. Her only family was her friends. Did they even know she was missing? Were they in danger? Lance’s buddy could have already attacked them. If something happened to them, she would be as alone as the prisoner.
“Aye,” he said softly. “It is that.”
She wanted to help him. All she could do was share her body heat. “When we get out, I’ll help you find them.” And she was determined to get them out.
“That’s very kind of you.”
She lay there feeling his heartbeat against her back and the movement of his chest as he breathed. And she was glad she wasn’t alone.
After a moment, his voice brushed her ear. “I’ve no memories of my own. Perhaps you could share something of yours with me? Tell me about when you were a child.”
She never talked about her childhood. But somehow here in the dungeon with this stranger who had no memories, it seemed safe. Hers—good or bad—were more than he had.
“I lived with my mother. I never knew my... father.” Her mother hadn’t either. “My mother was a powerful woman at one time. Very strong.” Strong enough to make tough decisions. “And kind. But something terrible happened and it destroyed her.” The clan hadn’t told Anna her mother killed herself. They let her believe she’d been killed by a demon. It made her angry, but she understood why they had done it. She’d just started her duty. The truth would have destroyed her.
If Angus hadn’t found her mother’s death certificate, she never would have known. “I miss her.” There had been times when she’d felt her mother’s love. When they’d almost felt like a normal mother and daughter.
“Didn’t your mother tell you anything about your father?”
“No. She never spoke of him.” And Anna learned not to ask.
“Do you live nearby?” he asked.
“No. I have a flat in London, and I spend a lot of time in Scotland.”
“Scotland?” He sounded the word as if testing it.
She suspected he knew Scotland well. “I travel a lot for work.”
“What do you do?” he asked, and she thought she heard a note of suspicion in his voice.
“Um, it’s hard to explain.” As much as she wanted to open up to him, she couldn’t say much until she was sure he was a warrior.
“Why do you have to work?”
Odd question. “Everyone has to work unless they’re already rich.” Her job just wasn’t typical. Not many humans got their orders from an angel. “My friends help me.” She thought of the other warriors. They were her family now, and she’d abandoned them to stew in her grief over Angus. Angus would be pissed if he knew. Maybe he did know. Maybe he was watching her now. Watching them. Maybe she was loopy with drugs. She definitely wasn’t herself. She almost felt drunk. She snuggled closer to the warmth at her back, wishing the prisoner would hold her even tighter. God, what did they give me? she thought, as the weight of her lids pulled her under.