Page 59 of Dark Side of the Laird
“If I knew that, I’d have gotten it back.”
God, I hated the way he cocked his fist back, threatening, as if I’d never been punched before. I wouldn’t beg for him to stop. I was no coward. I’d let him beat me into the earth before I ever cowed.
“A clue, then?”
I smiled, excitement at being able to cause some manner of mischief making me feel a fleeting moment of control. “’Twas when MacDonald was at the castle. All of the Highlands knows he wants to rule, that he’s been seeking the answer to secrets I hold. I’d wager my life he stole it.”
“Would ye now?”
“Aye.”
“Too bad I’m nay going to take your wager. The king’s already ordered ye to die, ye son of a bitch.”
I grinned. “And he was too much a coward to come give me the good news himself?”
I was momentarily stunned by a crack to my jaw, the bones in my face rattling and a trickle of blood seeping from the corner of my lip.
“He said I could kill ye anyway I want.” My tormenter came down close, his breath fetid. “And I want to kill ye slowly.”
“Will ye jerk your cock while ye do it?” I jeered.
That earned me another mind-shuddering blow. My vision blurred, and I blinked away the black dots, willing myself not to lose consciousness.
“I just might.” He cackled. “And then I’ll spew it in your face.”
I fought the rush of nausea, and held my lips firmly in place, refusing to say another word, or show how he affected me.
“As it is, I’m a fan of twenty-two cuts,” he said. “Though, in your case I’m going to add in a few extra slices, like your cock and ballocks.” The metal of his blade touched my left eyebrow. “I’ll start here. Take both brows off, and then the blood will drain into your eyes. ’Twill sting, I imagine. And make it hard to see where the blade goes next. But I’ve no shame in telling ye. I’ll roll ye over and slice off the skin right here on both sides.” He dragged the knife hard, cutting into my skin, along the side of my back where my shoulder blades were. “After that, I’ll lop off your chest muscles, the skin on your forearms—”
Someone cleared their throat from the door, and the bastard turned away from me.
“What do ye want?” he growled.
“His Highness, sir, he’s…”
The king’s torturer left me, stomping over to the door where the two men whispered fiercely.
I tried to hear what they were saying, but none of it was decipherable. A few moments later the maggot returned to me and pressed the blade to my cheek, carving a burning line from the corner of my eye to the corner of my mouth. Not too deep, but enough to make me cringe and bleed.
“I’ll be back for ye,” he said. The man came close to my face, licking his lips, his teeth brown and eyes blazing with hunger. I don’t think I was too far off in thinking he gained an immeasurable amount of pleasure from torturing people.
He came so close that for a second, I wondered if he was going to kiss me. I could almost taste the foulness of his breath as I took in one last draw of air and held it.
“Ye’ll be a fun one, Grant.”
And then he was gone, pushing away from the table, lumbering toward the door, and leaving me much relieved not to have been kissed by his foul mouth.
19
Emma
“You must let me inside.” The guards on either side of the corridor shifted their gazes away awkwardly as I pounded frantically outside of Ewan’s door. “I have to speak with him,” I said to them.
One took pity on me and responded, “My lady, he is not well. Ye canna speak to him.”
“You don’t understand. Ihaveto speak with him.”
The guard looked irritated, but held it in well, other than the slight twitch he’d developed in his eye and the corner of his lip. “My lady—”
