Page 43 of Dark Side of the Laird
He still lay there, quiet in his unconsciousness, his ribcage rising and falling in shaking, unsteady breaths.
“God, don’t die on me,” I hissed.
At last the handle clicked and pulled free. I stuffed the handle casing into my mouth to keep from losing it. Feeling along the wood for the hole with one hand, I pressed the key to the hole with the other, making the tiny dot of light disappear. The sound of the metal key sliding into the hole echoed in the pitch black corridor, and I held my breath waiting for someone to shout a warning, waiting for enemy guards to come chasing after me to steal the key and strap me to a table. But there was nothing.
Slowly, I turned the key, expecting to meet resistance, but not expecting it to work. A perfect fit, it turned, and clicked, unlocking. Seconds ticked by like minutes as I inched the door open a slit. I’d done it! I removed the key, and put the handle back in place, safe on my thigh, then slid my fingers into the opening I’d created, prepared to wrench it wide.
A loud sound, like thunder, jolted me and I felt myself grabbed by some invisible force and yanked backward through the air, through the tunnel. I screamed, reaching back for the door as I was pulled from wherever I was…
I woke in a cold sweat, a scream still on my lips as I sat bolt upright in bed.
This wasn’t just a dream, it was a vision. I was certain of it. The powerful draw that Logan and I both had to each other… That magic that seemed to emanate from both of us and strung us together. The force that was whatever power was behind our joining had done this. They’d shown me where he was, and what was happening.
Logan was in trouble. I felt it deep in my bones. My entire body shook in great, convulsing tremors. My hands refused to steady themselves and my teeth chattered.
Agatha rushed into my chamber, her face full of fear, looking ready to pounce on an unseen enemy.
“What’s wrong, dearie? I heard ye scream,” she said, her thick accent making her words garbled.
“Logan,” I whispered. In my heart I knew it was real. Still felt the awful terror that consumed me. My heart pounded so hard it hurt. I pressed my hand to my chest, trying to ease the pressure. “He’s in trouble.”
Agatha rushed forward, pouring a cup of watered ale and thrusting it toward me. “Drink.”
I sipped at it, the sour liquid doing nothing to quell my parched throat and instead making me cough.
“Get Ewan,” I demanded between hacking breaths.
“What happened?” she asked, ignoring me.
“I’ve…I’ve had a vision. You must get Ewan right away.”
Agatha had gone pale, perhaps seeing the conviction in my eyes. These people were less likely to question a vision than those in my own time. They still believed in magic, soul mates and the spiritual link that seemed to tie many people together.
She nodded and hurried from the room.
I smoothed my hair with shaky fingers, and tried to catch my breath, but visions of Logan lying bloodied and bruised on that horrid table kept me from drawing decent air. That horrid room, filled with implements of torture…an executioner’s wet dream.
“My lady,” Ewan burst into the room, his eyes wide. “Agatha said ’twas urgent.”
I nodded, pushing up on my hands to sit further in the bed, my muscles screaming from the effort, and aching from my own bruises. “Logan is in trouble. I have seen him.”
“Seen him?” Ewan shook his head, eyeing me like I’d grown a third head. This warrior did not so easily believe as Agatha had.
“A vision,” I said, my breath catching as every bruise and stripe of lacerated flesh on Logan invaded my mind. I slid my hand discreetly to my thigh, squeezing the dagger strapped there. A momentary fear that my dream had taken it from me, had me panicking for a split second. But it was still there, burning a spot on my skin. But I knew that someone had seen it, now. Agatha. Maybe even the healer, too. I swallowed hard, realizing I’d broken my promise to Logan to keep it safely hidden. Tumble down the stairs or not. “He’s been hurt. He’s been…tortured.”
“Tortured?” Ewan came forward, a frown marring his face. “My lady, he is with the king. He is safe. Ye had a night terror, ’tis all.”
“No, it wasn’t. And you don’t know where he is. You have no idea.” I wanted to shout that it wasn’t like he could pick up a phone and call. There was no way of knowing if Logan ever made it to the king. No way of knowing if his men hadn’t been ambushed again along the road, or taken into custody when they arrived.
Ewan might think I was crazy, but in my gut I knew Logan was in trouble. And I was pretty certain of where he was. “The king has him. He is in a dungeon of some sort.”
“Dinna say such things. Visions…they are…” Ewan shook his head and made the sign of the cross.
I sat up taller. “What, Ewan? Visions are what?”
“They are dangerous. And to speak about the king…”
“Logan is hurt, Ewan. Beaten, bloody. I thought he was dead until I saw him breathing.”
