Page 4 of Only a Breath Away

“Good, thank God.” The last shots blasted behind us.

The castle gate rolled up and three big hulking men on horseback rode down the hill.

James whispered, “I think that’s Domnall.”

I said, “Why the hell is Domnall at Stirling castle?”

We were surrounded. James’s arms were bound and he was dragged behind a horse through the castle gates.

I had to walk, my head sore, my ankle tweaked, some big lug shoving my back to propel me forward. They didn’t bind my arms, they didn’t rough me up, they didn’t consider me a threat in any way, and they were right — I couldn’t think of a single thing to do, unarmed, weak, surrounded, captive. I was watching James, dragged through the muck and mire of medieval Scotland.

James groaned, “Katie! Once we’re in there it’s gonna get pretty fucking bleak.”

“Yeah. I’d say it’s already about as bleak as it can get.”

We went through the gate. In the courtyard James struggled and yelled, “Let me walk!”

Domnall chuckled the sound deep and menacing.

James said, “What the fuck you laughing about?”

I chimed in, out of fury, “Right? Why the fuck you laughing? And where are you taking us? I demand to see the lord of this castle. I demand to know who is holding us, and what the hell is going on.”

Domnall said, “Ormr is the king, Kaitlyn, and ye will see him when he is ready tae be seen.”

“If you know who I am, why in the hell would you grab me? You have to know that my husband will make you pay.”

“Och, ye sound frightened, sweet Kaitlyn. I like the sound of it.” He chuckled again.

“You are a creep.”

James was dragged toward a door in a one-story stone building. He yelled, “Don’t tell them anything!”

Domnall muttered something that sounded an awful lot like ‘arsehole.’

“What did you say?”

“I said yer accomplice, Master Cook, is a low, blatherskitin’ whittret and ye will be better off without him.” He shoved me through a door to a stair in another, larger stone building.

“What do you know of Master Cook?”

“He killed my wife, yer granddaughter, Sophie, a great many of my men, and now he has killed m’man Mungo in front of the castle.”

“Well, Mungo was kind of a dick, so…” He shoved, causing me to trip up the stairs, falling on the stone, banging my shin. I rubbed the injury. “That hurt!”

He hoisted me up by the back of my shirt, like a doll.

“Stop lifting me! I’ll walk you ass. Get your freaking hands off me!”

He dropped me on the top step. I raised my chin. “I suppose I’m relieved I won’t be in the dungeons.”

“We hae tae keep ye alive tae lure ye husband here.”

He forced me down the hall, and shoved me into a sparsely decorated room.

“Is James Cook in the dungeon?”

He ignored my question. “Do ye ken where Quentin might hae gone? We want tae talk tae him as well.”

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