The Beast by Hildie McQueen

Chapter Thirteen

The gathering of clouds and grey skies promised rain and colder weather to come. Duncan guided his horse through the woods keeping his gaze forward, not bothering to worry about a possible attack.

He knew exactly where to find Farlan. Not because there were only a few places to hide, but because he knew and understood him. The man had spoken the truth in that they’d grown to know each other well. However, they’d never been intimate. He was sure Farlan had said that to Beatrice to draw him out.

“I want to die,” Farlan said, gasping out each word. The man shook with the aftereffects of the harsh blows he’d just received. His left arm was misshapen and swelling.

Stretching as far as his chain allowed, Duncan was able to grab a rag from a pile they used to dress with or cleaning tasks. He tore one to strips, tied it together to make it longer, and then crawled to where Farlan lay. The feverish man, used to pain, barely made a sound as he set the arm and wrapped the makeshift bandages around it. Unfortunately, their tormentors would probably use the broken arm as a weapon against Farlan, to make him do whatever they asked.

Some days either he or Farlan would resist doing whatever horrible tasks they were forced to do. It mattered little because the beatings were a source of entertainment for their captors and often whether they acquiesced or not, there would be punishment.

“What did they want ye to do this time?” Duncan asked looking up at the ceiling. If Farlan had not done what they wanted, then it was possible they would want him to.

“Fight against the big one… or be thrown overboard.” Farlan’s voice was low and faraway. “I ran toward the side, hoping to jump, but they stopped me and hung me by my arm until I lost consciousness.”

From the bruising on Farlan’s face, Duncan realized he’d had to fight with one broken arm.

He went back to his side of the dirty room and lay on his side. It was best not to be found caring for Farlan. For some reason it angered their captors.

They were on a Spanish ship. Had been traded to them just months earlier after a battle. A peace offering of sorts.

Their captors hated the British and although both Duncan and Farlan were Scots, the Spanish didn’t seem to realize it, or care.

“Help me die,” Farlan said lifting his head to look at Duncan. “I beg ye. Kill me.”

There was a path made by the wildlife and Duncan guided his horse down it until he reached a clearing. There he dismounted and walked around the clearing looking through the trees for movement.

It wasn’t long before Farlan appeared. Immediately Duncan was transported back to the years that he fought daily to forget. “Why did ye approach my wife?”

Despite being only about five years older than him, Farlan had aged a great deal. His hair graying. His face drawn and scarred.

He had a slight limp and his left arm remained bent at an odd angle. The dark eyes that met his were filled with hate. “Is that what ye really want to ask me?”

“There is nothing else for us to speak about.”

Farlan’s lips twisted into a misshapen smile. “Ye left me to die.”

“Do ye really think I was in any shape to do more than survive? I was thrown overboard, half-crazed with whatever illness I had contracted. It was by pure happenstance that I was found and rescued.”

“We swore to return for the other,” Farlan yelled. “Ye did not keep yer word to me.”

“What do ye want from me?” Duncan asked holding his arms out. “That we are both free is a miracle.”

Farlan huffed and held out his right arm in the direction of Duncan’s home. “Ye have a grand home, a beautiful wife, servants…” He hesitated as if searching for words. “I lost everything. The year before I was finally released, the last of my family perished. I was not there to stop it.”

“That is not my fault,” Duncan said. “The blame for all our misfortunes lies on the heads of our captors.”

“They are dead,” Farlan said with an unfocused look past him. “I hunted every single one of them down and ensured they suffered. They all died begging me to kill them.”

It was then Duncan understood he was on the man’s list of people he planned to kill. He took the man in. Although smaller than him and not fit, Farlan was used to fighting past pain and would also be strengthened by hatred and the need for revenge.

“Ye should give yerself the opportunity to enjoy life. After what we went through, we deserve to have good things happen.” Duncan’s sword was strapped to his back, Farlan had no visible weapon.

“I am living and doing exactly what I wish,” Farlan replied walking closer. “Do ye not see that this is what gives me a reason to rise in the mornings?”

At one point Duncan had also plotted revenge. However, over the years the urge had become weaker. “How long has it been since ye escaped?”

A bark of laughter erupted from deep in Farlan’s chest. “Escape.” He laughed bitterly. “I was starved until barely conscious and then like ye, thrown overboard to die. Eight years ago.”

Farlan shook his head. “Despite being held with ye all those years, ye never told me where ye came from. I had to search for a long time.”

He’d purposely never spoken of home; it was too painful. Obviously, it had bought him years of reprieve from Farlan’s quest to kill him.

When Farlan moved closer, Duncan considered unsheathing his sword. “I do not wish to fight ye. Return to yer home and start over.”

“Do not dare tell me how to live my life. Do ye not see? I have nothing to live for.” Farlan motioned to his midsection. “I can never lie with a woman; my manhood was damaged. Ye remember that do ye not? Or is it something ye also chose to forget?”

“I remember it all, ye included. We were captives, chained in the same place for years. How can I not remember?”

“Ye left me to die,” Farlan insisted.

“I am not responsible for ye. I wanted to help. I tried to find the ship, but it was gone by the time I recovered.”

The disbelief in Farlan’s face made Duncan stop attempting to explain. The man was mad with hatred and would not hear or allow anything to distract him from what he planned.

“Kneel before me,” Farlan said, his gaze locking with Duncan’s. “Beg for yer life.”

The words were familiar. It was what their torturers often said to give them false hope. Hope they would not be hurt or killed.

“What are ye saying?” Duncan could not believe the words from his former friend’s mouth.

Farlan came close, nose to nose with him. “I said, beg.”

“Ye are mad,” Duncan replied and stumbled sideways when Farlan struck him hard on the side of the head.

Before he could recover, Farlan raised the large stone he’d hidden in his hand and hit him again.

Movement compounded thethrobbing in his temples. Duncan struggled against the binds at his wrists and ankles. He was gagged so it was impossible to call for help. With each pull, his legs rose from the ground higher and higher, and he realized Farlan was pulling him to hang upside down.

His sword remained strapped to his back, but it was impossible to reach it bound as he was.

After several tries to say something, he gave up as his voice was barely audible. If Caelan was out looking for him along with the guards, there was a possibility they’d find him. He’d been careless to think that Farlan only wanted to talk, or to perhaps ask for work.

He turned his head to search for his mount. It was not visible, but it did not mean Farlan had not tethered it to a tree nearby. The horse was his only hope. The animal was not trusting of strangers, which would have made it difficult for Farlan to get to him. Once again, he scanned the area, but the only horse visible was Farlan’s.

It took quite a long time for the man to finally have him upside down, his head just a short distance from the ground. Farlan sat next to a tree a short distance away regaining his breath from the exertion.

Duncan was muscular and tall; his weight could not have been easy to pull up. And yet here he was, in a predicament that made him shake with fury. Of all the people who should sympathize with him, it should be Farlan.

It was a long moment before Farlan stood and walked closer. “I know what ye are thinking, of all people ye never considered that I would do something like this. But ye should understand. It was because of ye that I am no longer fully a man.” Lowering to his haunches, Farlan’s crazed gaze met his. “We were closer than friends. I loved ye.”

Duncan’s eyes widened. Was it possible that this man had fallen in love with him? Whatever interactions they had, had never been physical. If Farlan’s feelings had grown to the point of love, then it made his misguided actions clearer. He wished to alienate Beatrice by making up a past relationship, and now he was taking vengeance like a scorned lover.

A dagger flashed when Farlan held it up to Duncan’s face. “Unlike the others, ye can withstand pain. Ye will not cry out, nor will ye care what I do to ye physically.”

Duncan glared at him.

“I will watch ye bleed out. Watch yer life ebb as ye realize what all ye are losing. I believe that will hurt ye more than pain.”

A sob escaped and Farlan began to cry. “All I wanted was for us to be together. To find happiness somewhere away from people. Why did ye abandon me?” he cried out and sunk the knife into Duncan’s side.

It wasn’t too painful. Then again, he was used to pain. What worried him was the blood loss. Mentally he wondered if he would bleed more or less by being suspended upside down.

Warm trails of blood traveled down his body until dripping onto the ground. The smell of it took him back to captivity.

The last smack of the whip barely registered. He was half-crazed with pain already and too hoarse to cry out. Laughter rang out when someone cut the rope that bound him to the pole, and he slipped on his own blood falling face-first into the red pool.

A bucket of salty water splashed over him, the water burning his skin to the point of agony as he attempted to crawl away. But he was grabbed by the ankles and dragged back.

Once again, another bucket was poured over him, and he howled with pain. Someone pushed rags into his hands.“Limpia.” Clean. They wanted him to clean the deck.

Seeming to no longer find him entertaining, the men walked away, except for one. An old man who always took pity on him. The man neared and helped him to sit. “Do what they said.”

“I did…not under…stand,” Duncan replied past chattering teeth. “I tried to do it. I-I tried to.”

Tears flowed down his face at the injustice of his life. They’d wanted him to beat another man who’d been tied to the post with one hand. But the man was healthy and fit and had beat Duncan easily.

The older man looked around, pulled a piece of dry flatbread from his shirt, and gave it to Duncan. Once he gobbled it down, the man brought him ale. “Drink, pronto.”

Once he ate, they cleaned the deck. The old man did most of the work since Duncan could barely move without crying out in pain. When they were done, the man motioned for him to follow back to his cell.

“Can I watch the sky for a few moments?” Duncan asked pointing to the sky.

“Si. Un momento.”

Duncan lifted himself to sit on an upturned barrel and looked across the expanse of the sea. He had no idea where he was or how long he’d been gone. The old man, who was the only one to speak a bit of English, did not know enough to tell him the date.

For a long moment he stared at the sky, taking in the clouds floating in the blue expanse.

“Vamos,” the old man said and walked him down the stairs where he would remain forgotten, and perhaps not fed for days.

Once he sat in the cell, the old man handed him a small sack and a wineskin.

Inside the sack were two pieces of flatbread and some dry meat. He didn’t bother to see what the wineskin had because all he could do was shake from pain.

He lay on a layer of rags he’d collected each time he cleaned and prayed that he would be rescued soon.

Duncan looked to Farlan, who seemed to be mesmerized by the blood. The blade sliced through the fabric of his tunic. For a long time Farlan inspected his bare chest and ran a hand down from his stomach to between his chest muscles.

Unfocused eyes slid to meet his. “Ye stopped bleeding,” he stated matter-of-factly.

When he stuck the dagger into the same wound, this time it hurt a great deal and Duncan moaned. The sound seemed to take Farlan aback because he stumbled backward. “It hurt?”

It was as if he’d truly not expected him to feel anything. Rounded eyes traveled from his wound to his face. And he hurried over and untied his gag.

“Even if I was able to rescue ye, there would have never been anything between us. I did not feel the same about ye,” Duncan said, his voice hoarse from the gag. “Cut me down Farlan. Stop this.”

“No!” Farlan yelled. “I will finish it. I must.”

“Ye do not have to. We could continue our friendship. Ye could work on my lands.”

Farlan’s eyes narrowed. “Ye would do that?”

“I would,” Duncan said. “Please let me down.” It was becoming harder to breathe and his head hurt.

The man walked in a circle, murmuring. “I cannot. It is too late. Ye know how I feel and will hold it over me. No. I could never.”

Farlan whirled toward Duncan. “Ye are trying to trick me. Once I cut ye down, ye planned to cut me through.” He held up the dagger as tears flowed down his face. “I am sorry. Ye have to die now.”

He took only one step and then suddenly froze, his eyes widening.

It was then Duncan saw the arrow lodged through his neck. A second arrow impaled itself straight into Farlan’s heart.

The man fell face-first to the ground.

Duncan didn’t have to see who it was to know it would be Stuart who rushed into the clearing. A moment later a huge warhorse appeared, its giant hooves running over Farlan’s corpse as his brother neared and jumped from the beast before it came to a stop.

His brother met his gaze and Duncan grimaced. “Do ye plan to admire me all day or cut me down?”

“Ye’re a bloody mess,” Stuart said and let out a shrill whistle, then a second one.

Moments later, three additional horsemen joined Stuart. Gideon, Ewan, and Darach, each on warhorses entered the clearing, the giant beasts pawing the ground sensing their rider’s moods.

Darach and Ewan held Duncan still as Gideon climbed onto Stuart’s shoulders and cut the rope. They lowered him to the ground with hands on his shoulders to keep him from getting up too fast.

As sensation came to his feet, Duncan grunted. “I do not think I can walk right now.”

“Who is that man?” Darach said looking to where Farlan lay.

“He and I were captives together. We’d promised if one of us escaped, we would return for the other.”

“So, the mad man was angry because ye did not rescue him,” Stuart stated matter-of-factly.

Duncan nodded refusing to look in the direction of the dead man. “He must be buried.”

“I will send the guards to do it,” Darach said. “They were ordered to remain at the house to guard it as we didn’t know what exactly occurred.”

Gideon and Ewan pulled Duncan up to sit. His wound ached but felt much better when Gideon wrapped his midsection tightly with strips and tied them into place.

“I require a tunic. I do not wish for Beatrice to see…” He couldn’t finish the sentence, but if anyone understood it was his brothers, who’d all sat and listened to him talk when he’d returned home.

“Take mine,” Stuart said, pulling his tunic off over his head and then helping Duncan put it on.

“When will our family have peace?” Gideon asked glaring at the body. “We deserve to have a life without strife. At least for a short while.” Their father, who’d been a tyrant, had only been dead a bit over a year. They were still recovering from the ramifications of decisions he’d made. After a threat of battle from another clan, now Duncan had almost been killed.

Darach shook his head. “We can wish for the moon, but the wishes will not make it come down to us.”

“Darling, are yeawake?” Beatrice’s face hovered over him and Duncan did his best to smile. He wanted to reassure her despite the fact something dark had awakened inside of him.

There was no need to burden Beatrice with it. What good would it do? He’d fought the constant war that waged inside him—barely winning. Now it seemed inevitable that he would not conquer it.

She inspected the bandage around his waist, her pretty face marred by a worried frown. “At least it is not bleeding now.”

Tears flowed down her face as she met his gaze. “I do not know what I would have done if ye would have been killed.”

“I am very much alive,” he cupped her face with both hands and wiped at her tears with his thumbs. “Do not cry.”

Beatrice huffed. “If he were not already dead, I would kill the idiot myself. And to think I invited him here.”

When Duncan pulled his wife against his chest, it was to keep her from seeing anything in his gaze. At the moment, he wasn’t sure what to do, how to feel, or what to think. His head whirled with memories that he’d thought to have shoved away.

“Duncan?”

“Yes?”

“Do ye wish to talk about it?”

“No, I do not.”