Dark Side of the Laird (Highland Bound) (13 page)

I nodded, having surmised this much already. “And…” I
urged.

“They made it out fine. Two of our scouts were killed, but no other casualties other than the MacDonald men.”
Ewan crossed his arms over his chest, suddenly looking very stubborn. “He is fine. By now he’s made it to the king.”

“Ewan, in my visi
on, he was in a dungeon. He’s… it was real. Very real. I swear it, he’s in trouble. We have to go and save him.” I was frantic now, trying to stare Ewan down, sending mind-control vibes toward him, but they weren’t working. If anything, Ewan only frowned all the more.

“Ye’re not leaving, my lady. There is nothing ye can do about…your vision. Laird Grant is fine.
The king respects him, honors him with his position as Guardian. He wouldn’t harm him.”

“How can you be so certain?”

His frown deepened. “I canna, but I know if there was trouble amiss—”

“What? You’d feel it? See it in a vision? I saw him, Ewan. He needs me.”

I dare not tell him it looked as though I held the key to Logan’s freedom.

“Ye’re not going anywhere.” Ewan turned and stormed toward the door.

“You’re no better than the enemy,” I called out.

That stopped him in his tracks. He turned back slowly toward me, and for a moment I wished I hadn’t uttered those words.

“I know ye only speak from fear, lass. I love Logan as though he were my own flesh and blood. I would never see harm come to him.”

“Then we must go to him.”

He shook his head. “Nay. We remain here. As he instructed.” And then he was gone, closing the door behind him with no further thought to my fears. No further thought of Logan’s safety.

But I didn’t give a shit about his denial. I wasn’t going to leave Logan to rot in a dungeon. Not when there was something I could do to save him. What exactly that was, I had no clue, but I figured when I arrived, I’d know. Fate would lead me as she had so far.

I threw back the covers, the sudden chill of the room paralyzing me for a moment. When I’d recovered from the shock, I pulled my legs over the side of the bed, feeling my muscles scream from lack of use. How many days had I laid in this bed, under the influence of whatever was in the tea?

Putting my feet on the floor, I wiggled my toes, clutched the edge of the bed and pushed myself up. My legs were weak, and
it took a few moments to feel as though I could hold myself steady. Taking a tentative step forward, tingling prickles shot from my unused feet up to my hips.

I managed to make it to my wardrobe without falling, feeling my muscles grow stronger with each step. I opened the doors and rummaged around the bottom for a bag, finding a leather satchel at the bottom. I pulled it out, tossing it behind me onto the bed, then grabbed a gown, a chemise and my cloak.

I must have turned too quickly, because I was suddenly weary and my vision blurred, little black dots floating before my eyes. No! Not now! Why couldn’t Fate make me immune to such base human responses?

I stumbled toward the table, hoping a sip of ale might help to steady me. When I reached it, I clut
ched the edge to steady myself, and then I saw the tea cup, little black bits of something on the bottom. I picked it up and sniffed it. What was that? It wasn’t tea leaves.

I wasn’t an herbalist in the least, but it smelled spicy, sweet and tangy. Not at all what I thought the usual medicinal herbs smelled like.

My knees buckled, and I caught myself on my elbows on the table’s rim, dropping the tea cup and hearing it clomp against the floor.

Was it possible I’d been
poisoned?

But who would—

I knew exactly who would. The same person I suspected knocked me down those stairs.

Chapter Fourteen

Logan

T
he lock unclicked and the door to the king’s solar banged open. Half a dozen guards, armed to the teeth, filled the small space. I bolted out of the chair I’d been brooding in, coming to stand in the center of the room, every muscle coiled, ready to pounce.

“
Logan Grant, Laird of Gealach, Guardian of Scotland. Ye are hereby being held for suspicion of treason against His Majesty, King James V of Scotland and remanded to the dungeon until further investigation.”

I clamped my teeth tight in an effort to not have my jaw hang slack at the ridiculous words I’d just heard spewed.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I raised a brow at the guard who’d said the words, a man I’d not seen before, though I recognized the night guard who’d challenged me standing two to the left of him.

“On what grounds?” I asked, keeping my voice as calm as I could.

“Treason,” the man repeated.

Not an accusation any man wanted to hear. A shiver of dread raced over my spine. To say I was stunned, well… I wasn’t surprised that someone had made the claim, but I was a bit shocked that James believed it.
“But I’ve never been anything other than loyal to King James. What treason have I caused?”

The guard ignored me and unrolled a parchment in his hands. “Ye are stripped of your title of Guardian of Scotland.
Gealach Castle will remain in the king’s trust until such time as he sees fit to return it to ye or give it to another.”

“On what grounds?” I said again,
louder this time, taking my hands from my hips and fisting them at my sides, touching the tips of the blades at my wrists with my middle fingers. Thank God I had the foresight to keep my weapons on me.

“On the words of a witness.” The guard rolled up the parchment and stuffed it into the breast of his jerkin, as though he feared I
’d lunge forward and rip it from his hands.

“What witness?” I pronounced the words slowly, clearly.

“If ye wish to object to these accusations, ye will be given a chance, but as it stands, ye are to come with me. Now.”

Trying to remain calm, I addressed the leader of this nefarious group of king’s guards. “I beg your pardon, good sir, but I believe ye have been misinformed. I am but the king’s humble servant and nothing more.”

“Nay, Laird Grant, there has been no miscommunication.” The man braced his stance and glared at me, an edge of fear in his eyes. “Your accuser has told me himself.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Who?”

“I am not at liberty to discuss that with ye at this moment. Men,” he addressed those behind him, who walked around the head guard and toward me.

“Was it MacDonald?”

The man’s eyes shifted, and ignored me, signaling to his men once more.

I spread my legs, battle ready. “Dinna come another foot closer,” I warned.
“Else ye want to kiss your arse goodbye.”

But they did not heed my warning, and so I was forced to show them exactly how foolish a move it was. I lunged forward, fist connecting with one man’s jaw before swinging in a circle and connecting my opposite fist with another face, and my foot kicking out to strike a man’s groin. I wasn’t going down with
out a fight. I wouldn’t stand for false accusations.

The head guard called for more men, and those who were present ripped their swords from their scabbards. With thumbs up my opposite sleeves, I unhooked my daggers and dropped
them into my palms, ready for whatever they were going to bring toward me.

If I’d not known better, I might have thought I’d been
mistaken for someone else or that some tremendous misunderstanding had occurred. But I knew MacDonald and his tactics. And I now grasped why James was willing to issue such an order. MacDonald would have the king thinking I was a traitor, and James had so much paranoia when it came to me, that he would allow himself to believe it because it gave him a reason to be rid of me.

Since that was undoubtedly the case, I wasn’t going down without a fight.

“Dinna be shy, lads,” I growled.

The cocky bastards grinned as I imagined an overconfident pack of wolves would at a victim of prey they’d cornered. It only spurred me on further.
I loved a challenge.

I lifted my blades and took a menacing lunge forward. For a breath they backed away, realizing that they were about to sustain some serious injuries, but, as any warrior, they had to continue with their duties and so they sank back in. The guards came at me from all sides, slashing with their swords. I blocked more than half, but the others were able to slice into me.

Pain blazed from my shoulders, biceps and back but I blocked it out.

They’d most likely been given orders to take me to the dungeon alive, for none of the wounds I sustained were more than a minor slice, but they stung like hell. Just because they’d been told to leave me alive didn’t mean I had to show the same courtesy. Och, hell, no, I was taking them down. Slice
d one man clear across the throat. Another, I stabbed in the heart. I slashed and connected with plenty of limbs. I ducked, spinning on my haunches and slashed at men behind the knees.

One of them, must have decided they’d had enough, for something large and heavy bashed me on the back of the head. I stumbled forward, rage fueling me to continue fighting, even as I lost my footing. I slashed at them on my knees, swinging my
arms around in order to strike at anything, anyone, within hitting distance. The heavy object smacked into my skull again, rattling my teeth. I tasted blood. My vision blurred. I swayed forward and fell, but quickly rolled onto my back and continued fighting. No one could ever say I’d been taken easily.

The head guard, the one who’d told me I was to be stripped of my title, lifted a chair over his head—presumably the one he’d hit me with before. I lifted my foot to block the blow, but it didn’t matter, several men held me down and I watched the back of the chair crash toward my face.

P
ain blazed a fiery path from temple to temple, and radiated down my neck. Arms stretched up over my head, legs stretched out below. I yanked, restrained, and the straps that held me dug deep into my flesh. I was naked and weaponless. Vulnerable.

I don’t know what hurt more, being strapped down and unable to move, completely at my brother’s mercy, or the many injuries I’d sustained.

A door creaked open, and I looked from side to side, not seeing it. The room was barren except for racks of ghastly torturing instruments. I drew in a deep breath and held it. How much would I be made to endure on the word of MacDonald? Would I be able to make my brother see reason?

James had always wanted to see me broken, now he’d have the chance to do it.

A gruff laugh sounded from behind me, and boot heels clicked across the stone floor, echoing in the space around. But I wouldn’t let the fear-inducing noises, nor the torture tools get to me. I couldn’t. The only way to survive this was to remain strong. To reason with my brother.

From the dank scent of things, the overwhelming tang of blood, I was in the dungeon somewhere.
Deep in the castle. What had happened to my men? Were they too down here? Or worse? Had the king ordered my men killed?

“Ye’ve awakened.”

James. My brother. Part of me wanted to feel overwhelmed with betrayal. The other part, the smarter part, had been expecting this. Though maybe not consciously. I wasn’t surprised, which meant a part of me had assumed this would happen all along. He coughed, the sound echoing off the stones and sounding rough and painful.

“How fortuitous for ye, that we do not share the same face, for that alone has been what’s kept ye alive all these years
,” he said, from somewhere away from my vision.

I cleared my throat, my insides feeling raw.
My muscles tightened, pulling on the restraints as I turned to see where he was. He stayed out of sight. I tried to relax, so the biting of the binds didn’t fill my voice with pain. “And now ye’d put an end to it?”

“I see no other choice.” The boot heels shuffled, sounding as though he tripped.

I strained my neck, trying to see behind me, pain be damned. His shadow wavered and he was silent. Weak. Perhaps seeing himself that way, he felt now was the time to take me down. For me, strapped to a table and beaten was the only way he could be stronger than me in body, for he would never be stronger than me in mind.

“I’ve heard your queen birthed a daughter,” I said, my voice, though strained, still carr
ied a measure of taunt itself.

“
Women are weak,” James said, coughing. “But so are ye, and I will see ye destroyed.”

Something crashed against the floor and James let go a string of curses. The man was even weaker than I’d originally suspected.

“Ye should have married the bitch instead of coming here,” he growled, coming closer.

I drew in a breath to steady my voice. When I spoke it was loud, clear.
“Never.”

“
Lady Isabella could have saved ye.” More coughing.

“We both know that is nay true.”

“Did ye wake drunk, naked?” His voice was stronger as he taunted me, bringing back memories of that horrid morning.

I closed my eyes, my suspicions confirmed in that moment, and I refused to answer.
Remember! Remember what she did to ye!
The voice inside my head bellowed out the demand, but there was no answer.

The king laughed. “Isabella has done well then. I’ll draw up a marriage contract, seeing as how the nuptials have already been consummated. She’ll inherit all
upon your death, which will be the same hour as my own.”

I bared my teeth.
“I’d never agree to it.”

“Ah, but ye see—” the king came closer, I felt him push against the table
I was strapped to as if to steady himself. “Ye have no choice. I’ve taken away your power.” He laughed. “How does it feel, great and mighty, Logan Grant, to have all your power stripped from ye?”

Something cold and metal pressed to my neck and James’ face loomed over my own.

“Should I kill ye now?” His eyes were so like my own, but the rest of his face was a stranger to me. I’d not known our father, and neither of us our mother. Who did he take after? And who did I?

“Do it,” I said through bared teeth.

“Do ye know how very long I’ve dreamed of your death?” James said. “Since the moment I found out who ye were. I’ll never let ye survive past me.” He coughed, the blade he held to my throat digging in as he lost some of his balance. A warm trickle of blood dripped over my throat.

He could kill me now. Kill me when he wanted. Or kill me by accident. My life was in his hands.

I’d known this moment was coming. Perhaps even from the time James had come to Gealach and given me the key, and his ultimatum. My life was never my own.

And now he was proving it.

“I want to feel your blood running warm and thick on my hands,” James said.

A flash of Emma’s face assaulted my mind. She looked frantic with worry.
Her mouth moving with panic. Was it our connection? I reached out to her, wanting to comfort her, and believing in my heart that it would take a miracle for me to see her again.