Chapter 10
Once he saw to it with his own eyes that Hannah was taken to his bedchamber and settled in, Magnus wasted no time in going to the dungeons.
Each step was a controlled stomp in the storm that was brewing inside of him, one that had started the moment the old man pulled a knife on Hannah—and had only subsided for the brief moments he had seen her to his room.
As soon as he crossed the threshold of the dungeon, Magnus felt his blood run cold. Not with fright, but something deadly that he only ever felt on the battlefield. Bloodlust.
It almost sickened him that the dungeon no longer held the smell of blood and rot, as it had been emptied and cleaned by his staff. But apparently he had ordered that too soon. This cretin of an old man deserved to choke on the acrid stench that had enveloped Hannah for all those months.
With a curt nod of his head, the guard stationed outside the old man’s cell opened the door and let Magnus inside.
He stepped inside the small room, lit only with the glow of daylight that came in through the small window too high for the pathetic waste of life to ever dream looking out.
His eyes narrowed as he looked at the old man, sat on the floor against the wall, his beady eyes cold and a smirk on his face.
His lip was busted, no doubt from saying something smart when he was being dragged away by Angus and the guards.
And it hadn’t been enough, not to quell Magnus’s fury.
But he needed to remind himself that he needed information out of this man.
“That wasn’t some spur-of-the-moment attack,” Magnus said lowly. “Ye came in my Keep today with the intention of deceiving me.”
He didn’t have to say it, he knew the old man knew. The bastard had faked poor posture to look the part of a crippled old man, just to have Magnus drop his defenses. The old man smirked at him. “Ye’re nae as dimwitted as yer brother says ye are.”
Magnus’s eyes narrowed, his face pulled into a sneer. “So, ye’re working for Alan?”
The old man scoffed. “Maybe ye are as stupid as he says if ye have to question it.”
In the next moment, Magnus had him lifted by the collar and pulled him to his feet. “Ye might think my older brother is the Black brother ye’re meant to fear, but I can show ye very quickly that while he might be cruel, I serve justice swiftly and harshly.”
The words were dripping with venom and with promise. The steel of his voice left no room for doubt. If the old man didn’t start talking, Magnus was going to beat the answers out of him before leaving him to rot in his cell for the rest of his miserable, short life.
All of the attitude and ego drained from the old man’s face as he drank in Magnus’s words, flinching at the threat in them.
It wouldn’t even cause Magnus to break a sweat to snap that old man in half, but he did pride himself on being the just brother.
So this sliver of a chance he was giving him, was the only mercy that the old man would ever know again.
“Alan paid me,” he finally breathed, his body trembling. “He… he told me exactly what to do. He knew ye’d have yer wife with ye for yer first time hearing the complaints of the townsmen. To make a show of yer bride. And to use… To use the opportunity to end her for him.”
Magnus’s eyes flared. So, Alan was close and could predict Magnus’s actions so easily. He could predict every single move he made. This meant he was close enough to know that he had, in fact, married Hannah. That was much too close for his comfort.
And in the next instant, the fury returned to the old man’s face.
It was a madness that took hold of his features, his eyes wide and his pupils as small as the tip of a quill and his brows furrowed together while his teeth bared themselves.
It was as though the farmer was torn between self-preservation and genuine madness—and Magnus couldn’t help but wonder just how much of that was his brother’s doing.
The farmer spoke with vitriol. “It all serves ye right. Ye’re nothing compared to Alan.
Filthy, no good, usurper. Ye think the people of this clan will ever respect a laird who had to steal his place as head of the Keep?
” he hissed, before his voice was mangled with a disturbing, sharp laughter.
“Ye and that Sassenach bitch will corrupt all that clan Black has ever been. Ye’ll poison the well of our people with yer weakness and her English blood—”
No more words could fall from his wretched mouth, as Magnus drew back a fist and drove it into the dip of his stomach.
The old man let out an umph from the force of it.
He sprang his fist back again and landed another blow to his stomach before leaning into the old man’s ear.
“Think what ye want of me and my place as Laird. But it’ll serve ye poorly in yer final days to speak of my wife like that,” he warned.
He let the old man fall from his hold before turning and heading out of the cell, the door slamming shut behind him.
Storming out of the dungeon, he curled and uncurled his fists in an attempt to calm himself so that he didn’t take this anger out on anyone.
But as he did, he noticed the way the cut on his hand was burning.
More and more with each movement of his hand.
There wasn’t any way it could already be infected.
Magnus raised his hand to look at it, and his face fell flat at the sight of it.
The area surrounding the cut was an angry red and swollen, as though it was already in the late stages of a terrible infection.
Something was wrong. He was all too familiar with the treatment of wounds and knew that this wasn’t right.
Magnus changed paths and headed right for the healers to get it treated, like Hannah had told him to, right away, but he couldn’t spare a moment before interrogating the old man.
Cursing under his breath, he tried to compose himself as his steps hurried him along.
The pain of the cut was starting to seep upward, his wrist aching just as much as the cut.
By the time he finally pushed open the infirmary doors, the pain was radiating all the way up to his shoulder. “Healer,” he ordered through gritted teeth.
The staff rushed to him and the elder, the same one that had treated Hannah, inspected the wound. His eyes flashed with alarm immediately. “My Laird, this is poison.”
And with that, Magnus was guided to a cot where the elder healer sat him down and quickly got to work.
The wound was flushed out with cold water before being scrubbed, rinsed again, and a strange-smelling ointment was applied.
While that was happening, he was given a small cup of bitter tea and told to drink it down.
“That’s the antidote for this sort of poison.
We cannae be sure what ye were poisoned with, but it’s certainly fast acting.
So, now we can only pray that the antidote takes hold,” the healer said.
When Magnus looked to him, the healer looked deadly serious.
“Keep the wound clean and stay hydrated. And whatever ye do, dinnae be alone tonight, my Laird. Ye need to be watched until the poison has cleared yer system.”
Magnus cursed under his breath. He hated the idea of relying on others, but he gave the healer a curt nod of understanding and watched as they wrapped his cut hand. Still red and screaming in agony, but the discomfort didn’t show on his face.
Before he left the infirmary he said one last thing, “Dinnae speak of this to anyone for now,” to which the healer only nodded.
Hannah was sleeping, though it was fitful and she found herself awake staring at the ceiling on and off all night.
All her mind did was torment her with the note from the wedding, the blade of that old man and the hate in his eyes, and the look of concern on Magnus’s face as he inspected her while he was the one bleeding.
Waking up yet again, Hannah let out a sigh and tossed an arm over her forehead.
She looked next to her to see Magnus still wasn’t there, though she found herself wondering if perhaps he had decided to stay in another bedchamber if he found her sleeping.
Hannah hadn’t been assigned a bedchamber of her own as of yet, and seeing as how he had been so considerate the night before, it didn’t seem unlikely that he would take to another bedchamber for a good night’s sleep.
Just then soft breath from across the room caught her attention, and Hannah stilled.
When the breath came again, she realized it sounded more like a whimper than anything.
Who in the hell could be in here whimpering?
It unnerved her to think about, unsure if she should move or stay where she was until the intruder left.
When the sound came again, she couldn’t stop herself from sitting up and taking a look as worry for a fellow human took over.
And as soon as her vision fell to the sofa across the room, she saw a familiar head of raven hair.
Even though Alan and Magnus had the same hair color and texture, there was something about that moment, about the familiarity of the breath, that she knew it was Magnus.
Her heart eased and squeezed at the same time, glad it wasn’t Alan but a pang of concern took hold of her stomach.
By the sound of that uneasy breathing, something was wrong with Magnus.
Hesitantly, she kicked her legs over the side of the bed and pattered over.
As she rounded the sofa, she got a good look at him.
Magnus was sprawled out with his back to the corner of the couch and one leg kicked onto the low table.
Bare-chested and flushed with moonlight catching the sweat that lined his muscles, but his eyes were closed as his head tilted to one side.
One arm was noticeably redder than the other, looking almost burned, and the hand was wrapped in a bandage.
Honestly, even though he looked in rough shape, Hannah wasn’t sure she had ever seen him look so…
human. From the moment she had laid eyes on him, he had been a brutal force of nature.
All muscle, focus, and command. But before her was just a man, clearly unwell, having a fitful sleep as he still refused to cross the boundaries of his bride by sleeping on the bed.
Hannah told herself not to care, to return to the bed and leave him to rest since there was nothing she could do for him anyway.
And yet, the sight of his tanned skin so red and flushed in the moonlight…
Her feet wouldn’t move back to the bed as she ordered them.
Even though she should hate him, Hannah’s heart simply couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him like this without knowing if he was alright.
The kiss they had shared earlier in the day, when their emotions ran high, came back to her mind unbidden.
Taking a step closer, Hannah carefully raised a hand to his forehead and brushed the damp hairs away before resting her palm against his skin. Just as she thought, he was burning with fever. Just how long had he been sick? Hannah hadn’t managed to see him after the incident with the old man.
Before she could pull her hand away, though, Magnus’s eyes opened and his twilight eyes were on her. They were hazy from fever but still focused enough to stare right into her eyes. She moved to pull her hand away, and he reached for it, grabbing her wrist tightly but not enough to hurt.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have disturbed you,” Hannah whispered to him. “You should rest.”
“Dinnae go,” Magnus said, his voice rough from the fever. “Stay with me tonight.”
She scanned his face, as though unsure if he was serious. But his glassy eyes remained locked on hers, unwavering and no hint of deception or amusement. He wasn’t trying to trick her or make fun of her, he seemed to be genuinely asking for her company.
“Alright,” she heard herself say, without registering it herself. “Let’s get you to the bed, at least. So you can be comfortable.”
Hannah moved to help him up, her arm slipping around his back and her shoulder to his armpit as she got him to his feet. Surprising her completely, he leaned into her as they walked. He didn’t put his whole weight onto her, but it was enough that she could tell he was in genuine need of help.
Despite his sweat and fever, he still smelled of cloves and peppercorns; likely from his cologne.
It suited him well, the warm, spicy scent.
And it managed to cloud her senses, suddenly feeling very aware of his firm arm around her shoulders, his body pressed to her side, and the unbelievable heat radiating off of him.
Focus, Hannah. He’s unwell, she chastised herself internally.
Once he sat on the bed, she helped him lie down in a propped position before she crossed the room again and poured him a glass of water. Moving back to the bed, she handed it to him. “You need to drink this,” she said softly. “You’re sweating from the fever.”
Hannah was expecting a smart remark or suspicion, but he drank the water down without complaint. When the empty glass was put to the side, she laid him down properly and only covered him with a thin sheet. As she moved away from the bed, he once again captured her wrist.
Their eyes met again, she saw something she had never seen in his eyes before. Something like panic. Magnus’s fingers tightened a fraction as he held her gaze like a lifeline. “Promise me ye will nae leave my side. Nae tonight.”
She didn’t know if it was a request, a command, or a plea. Hannah studied him for a moment before answering, drinking in the way his brow creased and the muscles of his face drew tight. It was clear to her that no matter how he intended his words, he needed her to say it.
“I promise,” she replied in a breath.
He gave a nod and watched with hawk-like eyes as she rounded the bed and climbed in next to him. Magnus shuffled to lay his uninjured arm out flat across her pillow—an invitation to lay closer.
She couldn’t simply resist such a modest request for comfort during his time of need…
That was what she told herself as she curled into his side.
His skin was hot, almost like it was burning her skin just to touch him. She didn’t reach for the blankets, only the thin sheet covering her as she used his warmth.
Even though he was burning with fever and his sweat rubbed off onto her skin and shift, Hannah found herself falling asleep rather quickly. And she thought, as she drifted to sleep, that she couldn’t remember the last time she had been so comfortable.