Medieval Ever After (122 page)

Robert and Garrick stepped forward and lifted him to his feet.

“Don’t let the fear overtake you, Danny,” Robert whispered to him. “Rona needs you. She needs you to think clearly, to help us make a plan.”

Daniel shook his head, trying to clear his mind from the panicked fog obscuring his thoughts.

“We should confirm that the men in the woods, the ones who attacked Rona, are indeed Warren’s,” Burke said from the bed. He gently separated himself from Meredith, who was sinking into an exhausted torpor. As Burke stood and joined the other men, Jossalyn scooted up to take Burke’s place, silently wrapping her arms around Meredith’s shoulders.

Daniel nodded numbly. “And then what?”

Robert ran a hand over his stubble-covered chin.

“Then we’ll wait for Warren’s ransom letter, assuming he took her and that he wants to negotiate.”

Anger surged through Daniel once again, evaporating his stupor. “Wait? I thought you just said—”

Robert held up a hand to stay him.

“But we won’t be sitting on our hands in the meantime, brother. We’ll be planning an attack on Dunbraes. A
covert
attack. We’ll have to put off a full-scale siege of the castle until we have the Bruce’s reinforcements—and until Rona is safe.”

Garrick nodded slowly. “But we can plan a stealth extraction in the meantime. Then when Warren’s ransom letter arrives, he’ll think he’s a step ahead of us, but we’ll be ready to launch our rescue. He won’t expect that.”

“Forgive me for saying this,” Burke interjected with a frown, “but we were already struggling to pinpoint a weak spot in Dunbraes for the siege. How will we penetrate the castle with even fewer men, less time, and a hostage to be used against us?”

“It is far easier for four men to slip around a castle’s defenses than it is for an army to attack in the open,” Garrick responded. “We’ll have to use stealth—darkness, silence, and only the four of us.”

Daniel shook his head, desolation swamping him again. The task seemed nearly impossible, and yet the alternative was unthinkable. How could this be happening? How could Rona be in Warren’s hands, and he and his brothers and cousin planning a covert extraction against one of the best-fortified castles in all of Scotland or England?

His doubt and anguish must have been written clearly on his face, for his eldest brother gripped his shoulder hard.

“We’ll get her out, Danny,” Robert said softly. “I promise.”

HIGHLANDER’S RECKONING

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Rona’s lips were
cracked, her mouth bone-dry. Blessedly, hunger had left her the day before, but thirst, along with cold, were her constant, menacing companions. The dungeon where she was being kept was mostly dark, so she couldn’t be sure how long she’d been down there, but she guessed it had been close to three days since she’d been taken from the woods.

No one had come to tend to her since that first night—or early morning, more likely—that she’d been deposited here. The silence, isolation, and near-darkness had begun to do things to her mind. She tried to sleep, but the stone floor stole what little heat she had in her body. She’d called out at first, begging for food, water, something to wipe the crusted blood from her face, but no one ever answered.

She wondered if Warren’s plan was to simply let her die down here without bothering to ransom her as he’d alluded to when he’d taken her.

She prayed, but her mind was growing slow and hazy. Sometimes she prayed for someone—usually Daniel, but anyone would be welcome—to arrive and spirit her away. Sometimes she prayed that Warren or a guard would appear and tell her their plan—to kill her, to release her, to let her live for another month in the dungeon, or whatever else they had decided. Sometimes she simply prayed for food and water. So far, she hadn’t allowed herself to pray for death.

As the hours and days had stretched, she let her mind wander to Bhreaca. She pictured a hot summer afternoon, one where the air was heavy and still and the smell of warm soil and plant life hung all around. In her mind, she could almost feel Bhreaca’s weight on her wrist. She’d give the falcon a little push upward, and Bhreaca would launch herself into the blue sky, speckled chest flashing.

As she always did, Rona would close her eyes and climb with Bhreaca, pumping to gain altitude. Then they’d be gliding on the warm, still air. Suddenly she and Bhreaca would fold their wings tight to their bodies and plummet in a stoop. Rona was weightless, the ground fast approaching. Just at the last moment, she and Bhreaca would unfurl their wings, catching themselves before crashing to the earth, then sweep their feathers and climb back into the sky.

The groan of a door in the distance had Rona snapping her eyes open, her reverie evaporating. She forced herself to remain where she sat leaning against one of the dungeon’s stone walls. She had to conserve what little energy she had left.

A flicker of torchlight reached her through the small grate inlaid in her cell’s heavy door. She sat up off the wall in desperate anticipation. Footsteps approached, and the light grew stronger. It wasn’t a dream or a hallucination. Someone was coming.

Her heart pounded as she heard the jangle of a key in the cell’s door. The door creaked open and light flooded the cell, forcing her to throw a hand over her eyes.

Something small and hard hit her and bounced to the ground. She blinked and kept one hand up to shade her eyes. A heel of bread lay on the floor in front of her. She snatched it up without looking at who had entered her cell, so desperate was she for food.

She shoved the heel of bread in her mouth and gnawed on it, but her mouth was so dry that the bread might as well have been a ball of cloth. She continued to gnaw, though, begging her body to cooperate.

A chuckle brought her attention up to the figures who had entered her cell. A guard stood just inside the door holding a torch. And Raef Warren rose over her, laughing.

“The comely wife of Daniel Sinclair, reduced to this,” Warren said with a smile.

It was all Rona could do to suppress a snarl at him.

“What do you want?” she managed to whisper. Her voice cracked and wavered from thirst and disuse.

Warren motioned to the guard, who unfastened a waterskin from his belt and tossed it at Rona. She scrambled to catch it, and then she forgot Warren and the guard and her cell for a few blessed moments as she gulped down the water.

She forced herself to stop after several mouthfuls. She would make herself sick if she drank too fast, and she didn’t know when she’d get more water. As she wiped the back of her hand over her dry lips, she looked up at Warren again.

Her eyes were now adjusted to the torchlight, and she examined him. He was clean and tidy, his fine silk breeches and vest perfectly smooth. But he wore a bandage around his head. It wrapped diagonally across his face, obscuring his left eye and cheek. He continued to sneer at her, but she noticed that it was more of a wince than a smile.

“How is your face, my lord?” she said icily, lifting her mouth in a smile. “Scarring nicely? Or perhaps the wound is still open.”

She didn’t know what force of will simmering deep inside her made her goad him, but she embraced it. She would never let a man like Raef Warren send her cowering or scraping to him. He could beat her if he wanted, or even kill her, but he couldn’t snuff the fire that burned inside her.

Warren’s mouth dropped into a grimace, his uncovered right eye bulging. He stepped forward and struck her across the face with the back of his hand. She toppled over at the force of the blow but managed to hang on to the heel of bread and the waterskin.

“You pathetic, disgusting cunt,” Warren hissed. “I should cut your flesh off an inch at a time for what you’ve done!”

He unconsciously raised his left hand to the cheek she’d bitten, but even before his fingertips brushed the bandage, he winced in agony. As she squinted up at him in the torchlight, she thought she saw little red trails running from under the bandage down his jaw and neck. He lowered his hand, returning his attention to her.

“But I can’t dismember you quite yet.”

Warren stepped toward her once again, and she saw a knife flash in his hand. She screamed and tried to scoot away, but she was already backed up against the stone wall.

She caught her breath as she tried to prepare herself for the feel of the knife slicing into her flesh, but instead, Warren grabbed her by the hair. Gripping a lock of her hair in one hand, he slid the knife across the strands and then stepped back again.

“What…what are you doing?” she said shakily.

“This is for the ransom missive,” Warren replied. “We have to make it look…compelling if we want your Sinclair husband and his men to come charging to Dunbraes.”

Rona tried to register Warren’s comment through the fog of exhaustion, fear, and weakness floating through her mind.

“You
want
him to come? Why?”

“You need not concern yourself with that,” Warren said dismissively and turned toward the cell door.

“Wait! When will you release me? At least give me another waterskin!”

Warren paid her no heed and instead strode out the cell door with the guard trailing him. The door creaked on rusty hinges and slammed shut firmly.

“Why do you want Daniel to come?” Rona screamed after them.

The torchlight grew dimmer and dimmer until she heard another door open and close in the distance. Then the light disappeared completely.

She held her knees to her chest and closed her eyes tightly, trying to keep the tears at bay. She needed to save her energy, and she couldn’t waste precious water on tears, she told herself firmly. But the darkness surrounding her seeped into her, blackening what little hope she had been holding on to.

Daniel would come for her. She knew it. Though they had not yet spoken the words to each other, there was love between them.

She thought of his strong, handsome face, his blue-gray eyes like a stormy sea, his firm and frequently dark-bristled jawline. She imagined his warmth and strength surrounding her as he held her, kissed her, melded her body to his. She thought of the way he frowned and stubbornly crossed his arms, mirroring her, and the way he smiled at her, softening her even when her temper flared.

He would come for her. And he would be walking right into whatever trap Warren had planned for him.

The tears came despite her efforts to contain them. Her broken sobs echoed back to her against the cold stones of her cell.