Highland Thirst (21 page)

Tears
suddenly welled in her eyes and Lucy silently wept for her brother and for
herself, and even for the man on the wall across from her. They had all been
brought down by Lord Wymon Carbonnel. It was just that she and the MacAdie hadn’t
had the good fortune yet to die and escape the coming humiliations and abuses
he planned for them.

“Dinnae
give him yer tears.”

Lucy
blinked her eyes open and peered at the MacAdie. His expression was a strange
mixture of compassion and anger.

“Diya
fall into tears and defeat we’re as guid as dead,” he added solemnly.

“He
killed my brother,” she announced quietly. “Can I not mourn him?”

The
Scot shook his head. “There’s time fer mournin’ later. Now yer needin’ to stay
strong. Once we’re free o’ here ye can collapse in tears and grief. Until then,
turn yer grief tae anger and yer loss tae hate. ‘Twill strengthen ye fer what’s
tae come.”

Lucy
almost asked what they could possibly need strength for. They were trapped here
after all, but she bit back the question. He seemed strong and unafraid despite
their position and she wouldn’t weaken him when he had such an ordeal ahead.
Torture, Wymon had said, and judging by his smile as he’d said it, he’d enjoy
the task. This man was in for some terrible pain.

“My
name is Lucy,” she said after a moment.

He
nodded solemnly in greeting. “And I am Tearlach MacAdie.”

Lucy
nodded a greeting in return, but she was thinking about Wymon’s comment that
the MacAdie would need feeding. She supposed she’d end up in his stew, a fine—if
gruesome—way to get rid of a body, and wondered if he would eat it, or if they’d
even tell him he was eating her.

Horrified
by her own thoughts, Lucy distracted herself from them by asking, “Who was the
man with you at the inn?”

“Ah.”
His eyes widened with realization. “I thought ye looked familiar. Ye were at
the inn.”

“Aye,
we left shortly after you came in. We were in the stables fetching our mounts
when you came out and seemed to pass out. That is when Wymon killed my brother.”

“The
mon whose death we shall be blamed fer,” he murmured with a frown.

“Aye,”
Lucy whispered. It was obvious he’d been awake through the entire conversation
she’d had with their gaoler and heard everything. “Wymon stabbed him in the
neck, twice.”

Tearlach’s
mouth tightened, but he didn’t comment. It left them to fall into a thoughtful
silence, one during which Lucy found her mind slipping back to that moment in
the stables. The shocking sight of the knife plunging into her brother’s neck...Her
brother falling...

“The
mon with me was me cousin,” Tearlach announced suddenly. “Sir Heming MacNachton
of Cambrun.”

Lucy
forced the image of her brother’s death away and concentrated on his words. The
name rang a bell, but she couldn’t quite place it...Her eyes widened suddenly
as she recognized it. There were rumors and tales circulating about the
MacNachtons. Ridiculous tales of their being night demons, and soulless
bloodsucking creatures who could steal your soul. It put a whole new picture on
the feeding business, but she shook her head to herself, thinking Wymon was
surely mad if he believed those nonsense tales. But then, she supposed he must
be mad. He’d killed her brother and kidnapped her, after all. Those weren’t
exactly the actions of a sane man...Or, at least, not the actions of a sane man
with a conscience.

“Why
wid ye no marry him?”

Startled
from her thoughts again, Lucy merely arched an eyebrow. “Did I mention he
killed my brother?”

Tearlach
smiled faintly despite their circumstances. “Aye. But I gather ye’d already
refused him ere he did that. Why did ye refuse him to start with?”

Lucy’s
mouth twisted, but then she sighed and shrugged before explaining, “There has
always been something not quite right about Wymon. I did not trust or like him
and would not agree to marry someone who made me so uncomfortable. However...”

“However?”
he prompted.

“However,
had I realized it would cost my brother his life...” She swallowed, unable even
to say the words that she may very well have married him had she thought it
would save John’s life...At least if it was the only way to save him. Or else,
she would have made damned sure he was nowhere near her brother.

“From
what I o’erheard, he wants Blytheswood more than he wants you,” Tearlach
pointed out not unkindly. “Whether ye’d married him or no, he wid ha’e killed
yer brother. I’m suspecting the only thing yer agreeing to marry him wid ha’e
changed was the time and place o’ yer brother’s death.”

“Aye,”
she agreed wearily and then changed the subject again. “You and your cousin are
Scottish?”

“Aye.”

“Why
were you down here in England?”

Tearlach
was silent for a moment and she suspected he was deciding what he could or
should tell her. Finally, he said, “Rumors had reached our people that some...”
He paused and frowned, then said, “men,” though she was sure it hadn’t been his
original choice of word, but was distracted when he continued, “Some men were
gatherin’ in groups and comin’ after our clans. We came out in search o’
information about it. We’ve been stoppin’ at the various inns along the way,
hopin’ to learn what was about.”

“And
got yourselves caught instead,” she said quietly and saw his mouth tighten. He
obviously wasn’t pleased with the outcome, but then there was no reason he
should be. The man was chained to a wall, just as she was, helpless to do
anything but suffer Carbonnel’s cruelties.

Not
wishing to think about the coming morning and what they were helpless to
prevent happening, Lucy began to talk to distract them both, telling him tales
of her childhood. She and her brother, John, had shared an oddly close
relationship. Born less than a year apart, they’d been the best of friends
despite the difference in their gender, and had spent every chance they could
between lessons and other responsibilities playing together out in the bailey...or
inside in the dungeons on inclement days.

It
was during one of these stories that she had her first idea and first hope that
all was not lost. Lucy and John had played all sorts of games in the
Blytheswood unused dungeons, including playing prisoner. They’d actually
chained each other up on occasion, though she’d never managed to keep her
brother chained for long. John had been brilliant with locks and such and had
quickly found a way to unlock them given a bit of metal and a little time. Lucy
had tried for years to sort out how he’d done it, but hadn’t been able to until
he actually showed her. Of course, once they’d both known how to unlock the
chains, that game had lost interest for them both and they’d forsaken it, but
it might now save her life. Lucy thought if she could get her hands on a bit of
sharp, pointy, and strong metal, she might be able to use that old skill to
free herself and the man chained up with her. Getting the metal was the trick.
She’d have to get free briefly and get it somehow.

Not
wishing to raise false hopes in Tearlach, Lucy didn’t mention this idea to him,
but her mind began working on ways she might briefly gain her freedom on the
morrow. The easiest way seemed to be to pretend to agree to marry Wymon.

Her
heart cried out in protest at even pretending to agree, but it really was the
easiest way for her to gain freedom...perhaps the only way. She just had to be
convincing about it, she thought, and a sudden and outright agreement probably
wouldn’t work. A reluctant agreement would likely be more believable, she decided,
and started considering different ways to seem to reluctantly agree to marry
the odious man now holding her prisoner.

The
hollow echo of footsteps coming down the stairs outside their cell drew
Tearlach’s attention away from his cell-mate, Lady Lucy Blytheswood.

Despite
Carbonnel’s promise of tortures to come, he’d left them alone down there for
more than a day. Tearlach supposed he hoped the anticipation of what was to
come would be a torture in itself and weaken them...along with the lack of food
and water.

All
they’d had was the light from the torch and how often it was replaced to tell
the passing time. By his guess, Tearlach was thinking they’d been down there
for at least two days and nights.

They’d
spent that time talking about everything and anything they could think of, each
trying desperately to distract the other from the trials that lay ahead. At
least, Tearlach had started out with that intention, but had soon found himself
listening to her childhood tales with both awe and envy. It was so much
different in some ways than his own childhood. Like Lucy and John, he’d been
fortunate enough to have loving and affectionate parents. But Tearlach was an
only child. His parents hadn’t been gifted with a second despite dedicated
efforts to produce one. It had left him alone and somewhat lonely in comparison
to the close relationship Lucy had apparently shared with her brother.

He’d
listened to her tales of their games in the sunshine of the bailey and woods
with both interest and envy. Tearlach had never spent time in the sun. He’d
inherited his father’s inability to handle sunlight. The one time they’d risked
taking him out into daylight he had been very young, too young to recall it,
and the experiment had apparently left him with burns.

He
didn’t remember any of it and only knew about it from what his parents had told
him. When he was younger, he’d heard the disappointment in their voices as they
told the tale and had thought himself a disappointment to them because of it,
but they’d quickly explained that he wasn’t and never would be that, but they
were disappointed for him. The fact that his mother was mortal, untainted by
their strain of vampirism, had given them hope that he might inherit more of
her nature and weaken the blood of his father. They’d hoped he’d be free to
enjoy the sun as she did, and were only disappointed for him that he could not.

Tearlach
had understood but been secretly pleased to be like his father, as any son
would be. And he’d never felt the lack until finding himself chained in this
dungeon listening to Lucy reminisce about her and her brother rolling and
wrestling in piles of leaves under a warm fall sun.

It
was only one of many emotions he’d experienced these last two days and nights.
Tearlach had felt amusement, awe, joy, fear, anger, and any number of other
emotions as she’d spoken. Lucy had a lovely voice and a full, joyful laugh and
he’d been awed by her courage in the face of their troubles. She was a
beautiful woman both inside and out and he was humbled by the strength she was
showing when he himself felt gnarled with frustration and rage. It was very
rare that Tearlach had felt bested, but he’d been well and truly bested this
time. Drugged and captured like a novice, now chained to a wall by silver
chains that somehow drew out his strength so that he could not break them.

His
gaze shifted from the bars in the door and back to Lucy. He’d hoped to be able
to save her. He would have liked to save them both, of course, but there was
something about this woman that made him want very badly to save her.

Tearlach
had watched and listened to her talk until her words had slowed and stopped and
she’d nodded off, sagging in her own chains across from him, then he’d stayed
awake, simply watching her sleep as he racked his brain for an escape plan.
Unfortunately, nothing had come to mind as yet, but he found himself oddly
distracted and hard-pressed to think clearly about anything at all when he
looked at the petite, rounded blonde across from him.

Now
it was morning once more, the third morning of their incarceration by his
guess, and their gaolers finally approached. Tearlach knew this must be the
moment of reckoning because of the number of footsteps he could hear. This was
not one man coming down to change the torch, this was at least a dozen men by
his guess and he knew the time for the real torture had arrived.

His
gaze slid to Lucy and he considered waking her, but then decided against it.
She was sleeping the sleep of the exhausted; not even the chains biting into
her flesh preventing it. It was better to let her sleep. They probably wouldn’t
bother her yet. It was him they were coming for. Carbonnel had spoken to him
before Lucy had awakened the night they’d been taken and made his intentions
clear. The man wanted all the information he could garner about the MacNachton
and MacAdie strongholds and intended to torture it out of him.

Nay,
better to let her rest as long as she could. He would watch for a chance to
escape and take her with him then. And if they were fortunate enough for that
to happen, she would need all her strength for the escape.

The
scrape of the door opening drew his gaze back to it. He watched with a sinking
heart as Carbonnel entered, followed by man after man after man until the cell
was crowded with them.

Tearlach
was exceptionally strong and had been trained in all forms of battle from his
birth, but even he could not defeat so many when exhausted, hungry, and unarmed...not
to mention, still chained in silver. It appeared he had a long day ahead of
him, for he had no intention of giving these men any information that may bring
harm to his people. He also had no intention of giving the man the pleasure of
his agonized screams as he was tortured. It would only please him and upset
Lucy, so Tearlach determined he would suffer in silence.