Page 12 of Once Upon A Haunted Castle
“Cease that noise at once. Ye will tell me why ye’ve come here and anything else I ask. Then we’ll have a healer set your legs.” Beiste spoke in English instead of Gaelic, hoping the man would understand him, because for a certainty, he knew no Norse tongue.
“Death is a worthier path than giving you anything.” The man’s English was broken, but understandable.
Beiste growled, grabbing hold of one mangled leg and digging his fingers in until the man sobbed. “The pain can cease if ye will but tell me what I want to know.”
Spittle gathered on his lips and he hissed, “Death first.”
Beiste locked his eyes, serious, on the man. “Och, I willna be giving ye that, ye slimy bastard. Torment or peace.”
The Viking gritted his teeth and spat, the glob landing close to Beiste but not quite hitting him. Beistetskedand squeezed the whoreson’s bones again.
After several agonizing moments in which his eardrums vibrated from the sounds of the man’s howls, the imbecile finally blubbered an assent.
“Earl Bjork…he has come to claim what is his.”
Finally, the man had given him something. “And that is?”
“The lands. A wife.”
“Castle Gloom?”
“Aye. And Dunstaffnage. He will fight anyone who stands in his way.”
Beiste would gladly provide him with a bloody fight. “Who is his intended wife?”
“The lady…his niece.” The Viking glanced up toward the keep walls as if hoping to catch a glimpse of her.
Beiste ground his teeth and forced himself not to look. He was certain just who the lady was that Bjork had claimed and he wasn’t letting her go. “Lady Elle.”
“Aye. She must come out or he will burn Gloom to the ground.”
Bastard. Beiste cracked his neck, taking a moment to think. He needed more information, but it was clear the man was going to lose consciousness soon. He had to be careful in his questions to get all the information before it happened. “Where is Bjork now?”
The warrior’s eyes rolled back and Beiste slapped his cheek. “Wake up. I asked ye a question.”
“Gloom. The castle…”
Impossible. The jackanapes wouldn’t have joined the raid? “He didna come with ye today?”
“Nay…” The man swallowed around his thick, dry mouth. “He tasked us with retrieving her. We followed her when she ran.”
Well, wasn’t that interesting. There was no mention of her brother, Erik. Not good. That meant they did not fear retaliation from the man. Beiste’s mission just got infinitely more interesting. “How many are with ye?”
“Two dozen.”
“If ye’ve lied to me, I will see that your legs are re-broken after they are set.”
“I swear it.” The man shivered, his body going into shock, and taking his mind with it as he fell into darkness.
Beiste waved several guards over, issuing orders for the healer to be brought out to see to the wounded and their prisoner.
Of his own men, they’d luckily only sustained a few minor cuts and bruises, no substantial wounds, no deaths.
“Gather the elite. If there are truly only two dozen men out in the fields, then our men can take them all out.”
“Death or imprisonment?” Gunnar asked.
“Let the Norsemen decide their own fates.” If they fought to the death, they would die. If they surrendered, they would live.
