Page 118 of Bride of Mist
“Ye don’t know what ye’re talkin’ about,” Morris muttered, licking his lips nervously.
“Don’t I?”
Fergus closed his eyes to cunning slits and gave him what sounded like a well-practiced, all-too-convenient explanation. “Impossible. Laird Gaufrid was at the castle all morn. Ye know that. He was watchin’ ye spar.”
“Oh aye, ye’re right. My mistake. Gaufrid couldn’t have done it,” Dougal agreed. “But ye two… Why exactly wereyeat Kirkoswald?”
Morris wasn’t as good at lying as Fergus, so he chose to bluster. “’Tisn’t your place to question us or the laird.”
Fergus chimed in, “We were attendin’ the christenin’ on the laird’s behalf.”
That lie sickened Dougal. “The christenin’? Ye mean the christenin’ where ye bolted the doors and set the church on fire?”
The servants’ whispers rose to a horrified murmur.
“Enough!” Gaufrid decided, considering the temperament of the clan folk. “’Tis all lies. Guards! Seize him.”
Two mercenaries immediately took Dougal’s arms. He shook them off.
“What’s the matter?” Dougal said. “Are ye afraid for the clan to hear what really happened?”
Two more mercenaries joined the first. One pair seized his arms, the other his shoulders. He tried to wrench free, this time to no avail.
“Are ye afraid they’ll learn the depths o’ your cruelty?”
“Stop it!” Gaufrid shouted.
“How ye had these fellows o’ yours,” he sneered, jerking his head toward the Fortanachs, “stage an attack under a false banner?”
“Ye’re full o’ shite!” Gaufrid screamed.
Another guard seized Dougal by the hair, dragging his head backwards.
“Damn ye!” Dougal cried. “There was a two-day-old babe in that church.” His voice broke over the words.
“Shut him up!” Gaufrid ordered.
A meaty fist suddenly cracked the point of Dougal’s chin, throwing his head back and scattering stars across the ceiling of the great hall. And then the world went black.
Transfixed by the silvery swell of the sea, Feiyan gripped the rusty bars of her prison. She scanned the beach for something more useful than the swooping seagulls and the wee crabs that scuttled across the sand.
If she could find someone—anyone—willing to take a message to Rivenloch at Ayr for a sizable reward, perhaps she could prevent all-out war.
But the narrow stretch of beach visible from this end of the cave was empty. And her calls for help were swallowed by the fog.
Suddenly, between the hissing surges of waves, she heard a noise from the back of the cave. She half-turned to hear better.
Someone was coming.
Was it Merraid again? Had she reconsidered her decision to abandon Feiyan? Or had the Fortanachs come to drag her out for some dark purpose?
Whoever made their way through the passage, it was with a great deal of grumbling and stumbling. If she could feel her way in the dark to the entrance, perhaps in the confusion she could slip out the gate.
The twitching light of a torch signaled someone’s arrival. She melted back against the rock wall, out of sight. But she was too far from the entrance when the key rattled in the lock and the gate scraped and creaked open.
Before she could rush forward, she heard a muffled bark, a scrabbling that sounded like a struggle, then the dull thud of something heavy hitting the sand. By the time she eased forward out of the shadows, the echoing bang of iron on iron told her the gate had been slammed shut again.
The torchlight flickered and waned as the gaolers left, leaving her in utter darkness again. But this time she was not alone. She heard ragged breathing.
