Page 62 of Dark Side of the Laird
“He fucked me. Did ye know that?” she asked.
Stunned, I stopped walking. “Ewan?” I asked.
Slowly, she shook her head. “Nay, bitch, the laird.”
Was it possible to feel like you’d been kicked in the stomach just from a few words? It took all the power I had not to double over from shock. No. She was lying. Logan would never betray me.
“Fucked me good and hard. Told me he was going to see the king about a contract for us. I may now be carrying his heir.” She pursed her lips, giving me a pitying gaze. “Oh, dear. Did ye think he was going to gain the king’s assistance for ye?” She shook her head and laughed. “Ye’re even dumber than I thought.”
At that moment the guards seemed to come to their senses and yanked her forward more. “Shut up, ye cow,” the slighted guard hissed.
“’Tis all right, I’ve said enough.” She pressed her lips together, as though she’d not say another word. Then she smiled again, unable to resist in her need to spread more vicious lies. “The contract will be drawn up. The marriage will be valid since we’ve already consummated it. And then he dies. Probably dead already. This is my castle now, and ye’ll all be executed for treating your mistress this way.”
I finally found my feet and walked forward, keeping in time with the guards. This time, I smiled. “Your lies will get you nowhere, Isabella. Well, except to the dungeon and then on a ship back north.”
“Ye’d do best to kill me, whore. For I will not stop until ye’re dead,” she ground out.
“That can be arranged,” I mused, feigning indifference. The woman had the ability to make me see red, and imagine how I could implement each of the wicked torture instruments I’d seen in Logan’s dungeon.
“Ask him, when ye see him. Ask if his cock was not covered in my virgin’s blood. Let him tell ye the truth. He’ll not lie to ye.”
They pushed through the door to the dungeon, walking down the thin windy stair. I followed them in the dank, decrepit place. Holding my breath, and then mouth breathing, trying not to smell. They opened the cell door and thrust her in, without removing the ties that bound her. Good. She deserved it.
As they closed the cell and locked it, I leaned close to the bars and said, “You lose.”
Then I reached through the iron bars and wrenched Logan’s ring from her finger.
* * *
Though daylight was waning,the men of Logan’s clan wasted no time in preparing to travel to Falkland. We were on horseback within the hour, and rode through the night. Not used to riding, my legs and ass ached, burned, and I was sure that the skin between my thighs had been rubbed raw. I nodded off, nearly falling off my horse a dozen times, but somehow found the strength to remain awake.
And every so often I was haunted by Isabella’s words. Were they true? She seemed so confident Logan would confess to me that he’d slept with her… It was enough to shake me, but I kept my nerves in check. She’d probably just said it to rile me up, knowing her words would scratch away incessantly in my mind. A slow kind of torture. Besides, I trusted Logan implicitly. He’d never do anything to hurt me.
When dawn broke over the horizon, we rested the horses for no more than two hours—and I slept like the dead during that time. Then we rode again, arriving that night at the edge of the forest, Falkland Palace just ahead.
After seeing Isabella locked into a cell, I’d taken the dagger to the secret stair, lit a torch and walked all the way down, fearful of demons and ghosts ready to take my life. Then I’d followed the runes on the doors until I reached the one with the design just like the one on my hip—a half moon.
My hands shook so bad it took me four times before I was able to push the key into the lock. But it clicked, easily opening and I jumped back, expecting bones or something nefarious to leap out at me, but all I saw was a black, ornately carved box, sitting on top of a velvet covered table, cobwebs and dust covering it.
I sheathed the key, snatched the box and ran like hell up the hundred stairs, so much so that my legs gave out when I reached the top. They still burned deep in the tissue from all the activity.
The box was now in a satchel tied to my horse, and anytime anyone got near me, I became frantic with panic. No one could have the box.
When we reached the castle, it was in an uproar. Men shouted, ran back and forth. Horses loitered unattended and there was shit everywhere—tipped over barrels, dumped supplies. Like people where just dropping their crap and leaving it there. Utter chaos.
“What’s happening?” I asked.
Logan’s men shrugged. Finally a man in livery approached. “The king is dead, long live the queen.”
“The queen?” I asked, searching my memory for any bit of history I could recall. Oh my God! The baby! Mary, Queen of Scots…
Holy shit, was this for real?
I swallowed hard and glanced toward my guards who all looked suddenly stricken.
“We’ve come for our laird, the Guardian of Scotland.”
The man shook his head, looking dastardly. “Not seen him nigh on a sennight.”
