Highland Sacrifice (Highland Wars Book 2) (15 page)

She tossed the slimy turnip onto his supper plate then marched forward.

“I’ll not put you back in the maiden, but I can’t have you getting away either, my love.” Her smile was wide, maniacal. She grabbed his arm and shoved one wrist painfully into a manacle, locking it tight with a key she produced from inside her gown. She stepped away from him and winked as she hung the key on the wall by the door. He was mildly surprised she’d only locked one of his wrists, leaving the other free.

The lady winked at him, further confusing him. “Finish your meal, Ulric. I’ll be back soon.”

But staring down at the platter she’d defiled with her filth he no longer had an appetite. Whatever admiration he’d held for her while inside the iron maiden had dissipated. She was no angel, but a monster.

As soon as she left, Ulric, or whatever his name was, grabbed up the greasy meat, but not because he planned to eat it. He rubbed it all over his wrist, until it was slippery wet. Then he started to tug, to squeeze his fingers uncomfortably as he attempted to escape the bonds. He wasn’t going to stay here. If he had a knife, he’d cut off his own hand. The thought of chewing it off crossed his mind, but he was certain he couldn’t stomach it. This was not where he belonged. In here, he was a prisoner.

Though he couldn’t remember his real name, where he was from, why he was here or even how he’d gotten there, he knew this was all wrong, he was no captive. The lady would kill him eventually, of that he was certain.

Even as he thought about how much he hated her, even as he tugged and yanked at the shackle, his limp, wet cock resting against his thigh grew hard once more. Fucking her had been glorious. But was it worth remaining in chains? Nay. Not even if he never felt the touch of another woman again.

He yanked so hard at the bonds, he started to bleed, but still he worked. He had to escape. He rubbed on more grease, ignoring the stinging pain as the lard sank into his fresh wounds.

Escape. Escape. Escape
.

IN their anger at his words, the council had departed the great hall, but not without trackers. Macrath had Tobin follow the three who went off together. Kendrew shadowed Leonard, and he and Marrec were to follow Beatrice.

Ceana went to find where the wounded man had been taken, since the council had not been kind enough to give them that information. He watched her go off with two trusted guards to keep her safe, wishing he could be the one to protect her.

With Ceana out of sight, Macrath and Marrec kept well behind Beatrice. They followed her discreetly up the stairs, pausing when she paused and ducking out of sight when she turned around. Once she’d reached the corridor, she no longer bothered to turn around, perhaps absorbed in the evil machinations of her mind. Or maybe she was confident enough not to believe they would have actually trailed her. Too confident. That was one of the woman’s biggest flaws; she didn’t believe that he was serious, or that she could be outsmarted.

A warrior knew never to underestimate his or her opponent.

Beatrice had been a warrior. Had fought in the games against hundreds and won. Why was it she’d lost the fundamental rule of all warriors? Had all the power she possessed done that to her? If so, he made a vow to himself at that moment that he’d never allow power to cloud his judgment or make him too comfortable. That was a fatal flaw, and he’d not survived the games only to die as a leader in the first year.

She went to the far end of a corridor on the third floor and then disappeared into a chamber at that end. He’d seen her go there before. ’Twas her personal chamber. Macrath had sneaked in there twice now and found nothing. Where the hell was she hiding her cave of shame and terror?

The door clicked closed, followed by what sounded like the bar sliding into place.

Ballocks!

The two men hid in a shadowed alcove several dozen paces away. Macrath glanced at Marrec. “She’s locked us out.”

“Do you think she knew we were behind her all along?” Marrec asked, glancing out the slitted window.

Macrath, too, did that often by habit, making sure nothing nefarious was happening in the courtyard or beyond. Sìtheil may not have been attacked for dozens of years, but that didn’t make him comfortable. He expected a battle imminently, especially after the fire and the council’s threat of their marching army. He could feel it in his bones and within the very air of the castle. This place was brewing for war.

“Hmm, maybe.” That was a possibility Macrath had not thought of. Maybe she
wanted
them to follow. No doubt so she could lure them into her little dungeon. Well, he wasn’t going in there as a victim again. Nay, he’d go in there and chain that bitch to the wall, take one of her many whips to her back. Humiliate her as she’d done to him. “Let’s wait outside. Listen to see if we can make out what she’s doing in there.”

“Not sleeping,” Marrec said with a shake of his head and a knowing glance.

“What do you mean by that?”

“She’s always got someone chained up to the bed in there.” The way Marrec spoke, it sounded like common knowledge that she abused people.

Aye, Macrath knew about her torture chamber, but he’d never spoken to anyone else about it. “The bed?” he questioned. There had not been anyone when he’d checked earlier.

Marrec nodded. “Somewhere in the walls.”

Ah, so not literally her bed. “A secret chamber?” Macrath prompted.

Again, Marrec nodded. “Took my brother in there once. He was never the same again.”

Macrath didn’t doubt it. If he’d not immediately gone to Ceana’s tent when Beatrice had released him, he wasn’t certain he would have recovered. “He lived?”

Marrec grinned grimly. “Not many do. We come from hearty stock.”

“Where is your brother now?” Macrath leaned up against the stone wall beside Beatrice’s chamber and Marrec rested against the opposite wall.

“Married a lass from another clan. After what Beatrice did to him, he couldn’t bear the site of Sìtheil anymore.” Marrec shook his head, his gaze off somewhere in the distance. “Really a shame. I love my brother. One of the best damn warriors I know.”

“I don’t blame him.”

Macrath pushed away from the wall and pressed his ear to the door. He couldn’t hear anything, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t. The woman had been more than furious when she left the great hall. She would need to pummel the anger out on someone and considering she’d come here instead of finding a victim outside the walls, Macrath was certain she had some poor lad or lass inside.

They listened to all the sounds in the castle for at least a quarter of an hour, maybe more, and then a cry of pain and shouts of pleasure.

“That’s her—and someone else—for certain,” Marrec said.

The sounds went on for just under an hour and then silence.

“Does she normally leave the chamber after…being with…someone?” Macrath asked, unsure of how to phrase it exactly. The only time he’d encountered her in her secret place, she’d tormented him then let him go. He knew not whether she stayed afterward.

Marrec shrugged. “Sometimes she does and sometimes she doesn’t. I’ve only spied on her a few times—when she had my brother and then after, so I could help those she brought inside.” He shook his head. “Men and women.”

“Any children?” He was mad enough at that thought to break down her door and shred her.

Marrec shook his head. “Nay, none that I know of.”

Macrath shoved away from her door and checked the handle on the chamber across the hall. He opened the door to find the chamber empty, but checked behind, beneath and everywhere in between to be certain. He nodded his head toward Marrec. “Let’s wait in here. We’ll keep the door slightly ajar to see, but if we hear the bar raised on her door, we’ll close this one.”

Within moments the bar on Beatrice’s door was lifted, but she did not exit. Minutes ticked by and still nothing. Macrath started to wonder if they’d missed her exit, but they’d both kept an eye out and seen nothing.

“I want to barge in there,” Marrec said.

“I do, too, but we must wait.” Macrath listened hard for any sounds coming from the bitch’s chamber. “Barging in will only cause her to escalate. We need to catch her when her back is turned. We cannot let her know we know anything.”

Marrec shook his head, looking discouraged. “Begging your pardon, my laird, but Lady Beatrice knows all.”

Chapter Sixteen

FINDING the wounded man did not take long. All she had to do was follow the sounds of agony and dozens of running feet.

He’d been put a floor below the great hall in a room that was generally used to house warriors during a siege, but that had been vacant since she and Macrath were crowned. The room was filled with soot-covered men, women and children. Some spoke softly, a few cried but most of them were silent.

A makeshift bed had been set up for him on top of a trestle table. Ceana grimaced, feeling phantom pains from his wounds.

The healer and several helpers worked to clean his injuries, but his wounds were extensive and it seemed they’d never truly finish no matter how long they labored.

The healer glanced up at her and gave a subtle shake of her head. Not a good sign.

Ceana’s attention was caught by a woman crying softly on the floor in a corner, her knees tucked against her chest, head in her hands. Gathered around her were four children, ranging in ages from possibly three or four summers to ten.

She must be the man’s wife. A few women tried to comfort her, but the woman shooed them away, so distraught in her grief she did not want any comfort. But Ceana couldn’t help needing to give it to her. Or at least offer it as the mistress of the castle.

She walked to the woman’s side and crouched down. Reaching out, Ceana touched the woman’s knee. She glanced up at Ceana, about to shoo her away when she took note of who she was.

“I will leave you,” Ceana said. “I but wanted to let you know I am here for you.”

“You…” The woman’s voice cracked. “You do not have to go.”

“Then I will stay,” Ceana said with a warm smile.

The children looked up at Ceana with big, watery eyes. They, too, were covered in debris from the fire.

“Our papa,” the oldest—a girl—said.

“He was very brave,” Ceana said. “Perhaps while the healer works, you children would like to come with me to the kitchen for some sweet buns, if it’s all right with your mother?”

The littler ones nodded emphatically, but the eldest stoically shook her head. “I shouldn’t. Mama needs me.”

The mother glanced up, her eyes bloodshot, face covered in tears. Ceana wanted to gather her in her arms. It was unlikely her husband would live. The burns were extensive, and she knew no one who had ever survived an ordeal as severe as his.

“Our prince tried to save him,” the woman said to Ceana.

Ceana looked grimly on. “What is your husband’s name?”

That only made the woman sob harder.

The girl looked down at her mother’s hand and gripped it tight. “His name is Laise.”

A shiver stole up Ceana’s spine. The name meant flame. That was an irony she didn’t want to believe.

“He is a light in your life,” Ceana said, hoping to give his name a new connotation that had nothing to do with his current condition. “And what is your name?” she asked the girl.

“I am Aileen. My mother is Bonnie, and my sisters are Edana and Colina, and my brother”—she tugged the youngest of the brood onto her lap—“is also Laise.”

“You have beautiful children, Bonnie. Will you let me take them to the kitchen?”

From across the room, Mary spotted them and walked forward. Her demeanor much happier and healthier in the few short days since she’d been set free. “I can take them, mistress,” she said.

Bonnie nodded, her lips quivering and pressed together. “Go on with them, Aileen. Thank you, mistress, and thank you Mary.”

“There is no need for your gratitude. We are a clan. We thrive together,” Ceana said.

Mary lifted the toddler onto her hip and grabbed one of the others by the hand while Aileen held the hand of another. Ceana watched them walk out, the younger two seemingly oblivious their father’s pain. What it must be like to be so young and not have to worry about the suffering around one’s self. Ceana wondered if she’d ever been that innocent. She could only ever remember being like Aileen—stoic and resolute.

Once the children had gone, Ceana sat on the floor beside Bonnie, who stared wide-eyed at the motionless body of her husband as the healer and her assistants worked. They must have finished cleaning his wounds, as they were now rubbing a strong-smelling herbal ointment overtop his charred flesh and then wrapping him with thick bandages.

“He will die,” Bonnie said, her lip quivering, hands trembling. “His mind is already gone.”

“We must pray,” Ceana said. “We must pray for his health. We must pray that if the gods see fit to take him, that his journey is easy.”

Bonnie flicked her gaze from Ceana’s back to her husband. A sadness filled her features.  A sorrow that Ceana had seen before more than a hundred times. “I do not want him to leave me. I cannot leave him.”

“And you shouldn’t,” Ceana said. “I will fetch a holy man for you.”

“He is here,” Bonnie said, nodding toward the door as the flustered-looking man of the gods entered. He wore a cream tunic. Around his neck lay a strip of Morrison plaid, which had the various gods embroidered on it in gold.

Laise, in his pain-induced slumber, woke briefly to cry out. His limbs flailing. The healers gently held him so he wouldn’t give himself more injuries, and one of them held a cup to his lips. From the scent of it, a strong whisky-and-herbal tincture that would help to calm him.

Beside Ceana, the woman started to shake, her entire body jerking. And it wasn’t from sobbing. She was afraid. Ceana knew a lot about fear. She’d lost many, and those losses had been painful, gut-wrenching. If she were to lose Macrath, she was certain she’d want to go to the gods with him. Might even toss herself back into the cold loch and let the water take her as it almost had once before.

“Be strong, Bonnie,” Ceana said, grabbing hold of her hand. “Be strong for Laise. Be strong for your children, and above all, be strong for yourself.”

Bonnie’s face fell to her hands, hiding her view of her husband, the holy man, and the entire room. Ceana knew that feeling of wanting to escape. Even if it just meant you couldn’t see what was going on around you for a few blessed moments.

“I… I do not know if I can, mistress. Laise was everything to me. I do not know how to exist without him.”

“Look at me, Bonnie.”

The woman slowly lifted her head, her lips pressed so hard together they’d gone white.

Ceana looked her dead in the eyes. “You can and you will. You have no choice but to be strong.”

The priest stood over Laise’s body, chanting prayers in Gaelic as the healers continued to wrap him.

Laise’s cries of pain had died down and now he was whispering. Most of the words were incoherent but every few mumbles, Ceana could pick out Bonnie’s name.

“I think he wants to speak to you,” Ceana said.

“Nay…” Bonnie shook her head, her trembling worsening. She even scooted away from Ceana a few inches as if that distance would make all of her fears go away.

“He does. You must go to him. You cannot leave him when he asks for you. Until death do you part, Bonnie. Stand up.” Ceana had not been there for her brother’s dying moments, and she regretted it greatly—one, because she might have saved him and two because she didn’t get to say goodbye. She wasn’t going to let Bonnie miss out on the chance to tell her husband that she loved him one last time.

Still, the woman resisted. “If I go to him… I’m afraid he will…”

“Do not let your fears cause you to do something you’ll regret.” Ceana stood and pulled Bonnie to her feet.

Ceana held her hand as Bonnie approached her husband. The closer they got, the stronger Bonnie became, and soon she did not tremble at all.

Laise continued his whispers, but Ceana still couldn’t make out the words. They were quiet, slurred. Made little sense.

Bonnie reached out as if she would take his hand, but then seemed to notice at the last minute they were wrapped in linens and ointment, with blood beginning to seep through the fabric, even as thick as it was. Her hesitation was brief before she slipped her hand against his. She leaned over so her lips were close to his ear.

“Laise, I’m here. They are helping you,” she said.

His whispers increased as though he wanted to tell her something. Ceana glanced away, finding the interaction painful to watch.

At the same moment, Kendrew came into the room and approached Ceana. “My lady, might I have a word?”

Seeing that another female servant cared for Bonnie, Ceana indicated Kendrew should follow her out. She felt guilty for the relief that swept over her at being away from the crushing emotional weight of the chamber.

“Where can we speak that we will not be listened to?” she muttered. The only place she could think of was Macrath’s and her chamber, but it would not be appropriate to take Kendrew there by herself, even if he was her trusted guard.

“A walk?” he suggested.

Her lungs were still tight; she’d like to get some fresh, crisp air in them. Fortunately, she still had her cloak from when they’d gone out to investigate the flames hours before.

Ceana nodded. “Is it safe?”

“The sun has risen and the guards on the wall will have a clear view of us. No one should be in the herb garden as it’s already been harvested, not much left with this frost. We’ll be safe to speak.”

“Lead the way.” She followed behind him until they entered what was probably an abundant garden during the season. Scents of onions still lingered, and several patches of rosemary had not yet been gathered.

Smoke continued to rise from the lower courtyard, clouding the sky above the castle and filling the air with a persistent odor of fire. She suspected it would be that way for several days to come. Dragging in a deep breath of cool air, she coughed a little, but the crispness of the wind seemed to make her feel better.

Men had already begun clearing the wreckage from the fire, carting the ash and charred wood off to the forest where it would be dumped. Anything salvageable was being cleaned. She could hear their grunts and calls as they worked far off in the bailey. They were working together and that made her proud. But she was also sad. Why did it take facing tragedy for clans and families alike to becoming closer than they were before? How long until they settled back into their old patterns? Was the closeness sustainable?

Sighing, she turned her attention back to her guard. “What is it, Kendrew?” She bent to pick up a sprig of rosemary and rubbed it between her fingers, the fragrance rising.

Kendrew cleared his throat. “His lordship asked me follow Councilman Leonard, and I did.”

Ceana waited for him to enlighten her further.

“I could not find your husband, nor Marrec, so I knew I had to come to you first.”

She was worried that they’d not yet returned from scouting out Beatrice. Though the woman was brutal, it was highly unlikely she could take out both Macrath and Marrec at once. What worried Ceana most was that Beatrice had a clan of her own hidden somewhere within the walls—be they flesh and blood or giants or demons like she’d seen them in the forest. They’d yet to present themselves. Macrath and Marrec would not be able to fight them alone. “Tell me.”

Kendrew crossed his arms over his chest and began his story. “Lord Leonard started toward his chamber, but then quickly veered off, taking the backstair down to the kitchens, where he ordered the staff to turn their backs for one-hundred counts else he have them flogged. He then slipped quietly into the pantry. I stood in the shadows outside the kitchen to see if anyone followed him in there, and someone did. The man came in from the garden entry and slipped into the pantry, too.”

“Who was it?” Ceana asked, growing stiff.

Kendrew shook his head, his eyes darting about as if he expected whomever it was to leap from behind a bush and announce himself. “I’ve not seen him before.”

Ceana frowned. Kendrew had lived at Sìtheil his entire life, served the previous chiefs. If he didn’t know the person that meant they were new to Sìtheil. But who could have just arrived? She racked her brain for an answer.

“Victor’s groom,” she said.

Kendrew’s eyes widened. “Aye, my lady, that could be him.”

Fear snaked up her spine. “If Victor’s groom is helping the council in trying to assassinate us, it doesn’t matter that Victor is behind a locked door. He and his man need to leave the castle immediately.”

Kendrew nodded. “I will gather men to see it done, if you will allow it?”

Ceana started to agree, but another question wiggled inside her mind. “Wait. How long were they in the pantry?”

“Not long. Perhaps only enough time to exchange payment and new instructions. Less than the count of one hundred.”

“New instructions,” Ceana mused. “Leonard is taking it upon himself to see us gone. This leads me to believe that he and Beatrice are at odds with one another.” She dropped the sprig of rosemary. “We may be able to use that to our advantage once Victor and his man are gone.”

“Aye,” Kendrew agreed. “If I were to wager a guess, every warrior here is on your side, my lady.”

“That would be nice, but we cannot trust in guesses, Kendrew, no matter how well you think you know someone. Snakes lie low. Do you know for certain of at least a dozen we can trust?”