The Niece of His Highland Enemy by Alisa Adams
17
Fergus peered up at the stained glass window, which was his goal, trying to gauge how far from the ground it was. Or, more accurately, how likely it would be for him to survive a fall from such a height. There was an excellent chance that the bales of hay would cushion his descent if it came to that, as they had the last time.
Except that in that instance, I was leaping out of the window and thus had more control over where I landed, he thought grimly. This time, if I lose my grip on the wall, I will be plummeting backward and could end up missing the hay entirely…in which case, the hard ground beside it might break every bone in my body.
Well, if that was his fate, so be it. He refused to stand idly by and leave Moire to face torment and worse, even if she had hurt him before. He would risk his own injury and even death if that was what it would take to save her from Ronald—none of which felt particularly comforting as he surveyed the too-smooth surface of the wall and contemplated clinging to it for dear life.
One thing is certain,he reminded himself. It is not getting any safer the longer I hesitate. Best get to it, then.
He got a firm grip on one of the stones, or at least, as firm as he could manage, and heaved himself up. As he did, he felt a groan about to escape his lips and stifled it. The last thing he needed was for any of the tower’s occupants to hear him as he scaled past their windows. They would raise the alarm, and that would be the end of his daring rescue.
So Fergus pulled himself up higher and higher, feeling beads of cold sweat trickle down his brow and soak his tunic. He willed himself not to look down for fear of being overwhelmed and terrified by the height, but at one point, his resolve slipped, and he glanced down before he could stop himself.
When he saw how far beneath him the ground was, the shock and terror of it nearly caused him to lose his hold on the wall. Once he was able to focus on what lay ahead of him rather than behind, it still took all of his courage to will himself to keep climbing instead of retreating to the relative safety and stability of the ground.
He reminded himself that he had to keep going; every second that passed meant more pain endured by Moire.
At last, his arms and legs aching from the effort, Fergus reached the stained glass window. Sure enough, he heard Ronald’s voice raised in anger and cries of pain emanating from Moire. The sounds she was making struck his heart like the sharpest of arrows, and he knew he could wait no longer. He had to act, and quickly, even if he could not be certain of what might be waiting for him in that room. Was Ronald alone or attended by guards?
There was one sure way to find out, he supposed.
He took a deep breath and threw himself at the window with all his might, shattering it.
Fergus tumbled into the room, his back and limbs in agony from the cask, the climb, and the impact. Bits of colored glass crunched beneath his body and dug into his skin in a dozen different places, yet he had no time to register any of that. He leaped to his feet, surveying the room as quickly as he could to get a sense of what he should do next. He had only seconds to get his bearings and decide.
The first thing he saw was Moire, and when he did, his heart froze in his chest.
She stood at the foot of the bed, slumped, her arms tied to the bedposts. The laces of her dress had been untied just enough to expose her bare back, which was bleeding and covered in horrid-looking welts.
Laird Ronald stood behind her, a whip in his hand. His teeth were bared in surprise and fury as he stared at Fergus. He reared back, preparing to lash out with the whip once more.
Fergus did not give him a chance to do so.
Rather, he leaped forward, ignoring the pain in his legs and summoning all that remained of his strength. His fist crashed against the side of Ronald’s head before the man even had a chance to make a sound.
Ronald reeled backward, and his eyes rolled up into his head as he lost consciousness, falling to the floor.
Fergus sent up a silent prayer of thanks. If the old man had been able to remain on his feet and trade a few serious blows, Fergus was wholly uncertain that he could have prevailed in his current state.
Without another moment’s hesitation, he ran to Moire and undid her bonds, easing her down onto the bed. Tears were streaming down her face, and she was sobbing loudly from the pain—so much so that at first, Fergus could not make out any of her words. He was too busy attending to the wounds on her back since he could not bear the sight of her gorgeous pale skin lashed and bleeding. He began to tear the bedclothes into strips so he could bandage her injuries.
But once she was able to catch her breath, she made herself understood far more clearly: “Never mind that now! Someone will have heard the window break! They may already be on their way to investigate! We must lock the door, and we must bind my uncle’s hands at once before he wakes!”
She was right, of course. Fergus realized that instantly. He had been too dazed from his trip through the window and too horrified by Moire’s maimed flesh to think clearly.
He darted to the door and bolted it, then assisted Moire in tying up Ronald. As it turned out, they had timed things devilishly close. Not only was the old laird just beginning to rouse himself as the last knot was tied, but the first few knocks sounded against the door, and the handle jiggled and shook. Behind it, Fergus could already hear voices murmuring, confused and concerned.
No, it seemed they wouldn’t have much time to themselves at all before Ronald’s kinsmen forced their way in. Fergus figured they had better use every moment available to them to figure out a plan for how they might survive once those men burst through the door.
“You made a grave mistake, lad, returning to this place,” Ronald sneered. “A few minutes more, and my guards will cut you to pieces.”
“Then I suppose we haven’t much time to waste on pleasantries, have we?” Fergus replied, picking up the whip and brandishing it. “Not if you’re to tell us what we need to know.”
“And what is that?” the old man challenged.
“The truth, you swine!” Fergus shot back. “About what you did to this poor girl’s parents…to your own bloody brother and his bride!”
Moire’s eyes widened in shock. “What?! What are you talking about?!”
“I heard it in the village!” Fergus said hotly. “Apparently, outside the walls of this castle, it’s fairly common knowledge that he murdered them so that he might become the so-called ‘rightful’ laird of this clan.”
“That is what you base this on, boy?” Ronald balked. “That is why you risked coming back? Because you believe the idle gossip of peasants?”
“Based on the mere glimpse I’ve gotten of your vile nature since I arrived here? Aye, I believe them well enough. And more than that, I think Moire believes them as well, given her long and unpleasant acquaintance with you.”
“It…my God, it makes perfect sense, does it not?” Moire sounded both mystified and horrified. “I have always known you to be a man of cunning, ambition, and—though I was loathe to admit it to myself—low character. I never thought you had plotted such a thing before because… well, I never wanted to think of it, I suppose. I never wanted to believe you capable of such a dark and wretched act. How did you do it, Uncle? Tell me. They did not freeze to death such a short distance from the house unless bewitched, perhaps by pixies. What did you do to my parents?!”
“I did nothing to them, you stupid girl!” Ronald retorted. “How can you give weight to such gibberish?”
The knocks at the door were far more urgent now, and the voices were raised in anger. Some pleaded for Ronald to open the door and reassure them of his good health and well-being. Others snarled for whoever had broken into the laird’s chamber to unlock the door at once, lest they be torn asunder.
Every second brought them closer to capture.
Fergus was about to use the whip on Ronald, to loosen the man’s tongue, but before he could, Moire seized it from Fergus’s hand and cracked it fiercely, her eyes blazing with malice. “Speak the truth to me, for once in your life, you ghoul! How did you kill them?!”
“Moire, I warn you, put that down at once and don’t be foolish!” Ronald warned. “If you release me right now, I will promise not to punish you or any of your siblings. However, if you continue in this fashion, I swear to you—upon my own brother’s grave—that the anguish I visit upon you, all of you, will be terrible to behold. And it will begin with Freya, and you will be forced to watch.”
Moire reacted to his words as if he had struck her.
Then she cracked the whip.
The tip of it struck Ronald across the face, and he screamed with rage and agony.
The banging on the door was even more insistent. The rusted iron hinges were beginning to creak; the nails were loosening rapidly, and small cracks and splinters were appearing in the wooden planks. A few more minutes, and they would be swarmed and surrounded by Campbells.
“Curse you, ungrateful whelp!” Ronald roared at her, his face streaked from jaw to hairline with a thick red mark. “How dare you strike me?! How dare you accuse me of such things, after all I’ve done for you since you were a wee child? How dare you stand against me when you know the ugly fates that will befall your beloved siblings if you raise my ire?!”
Moire twirled the whip, her lip curling scornfully. “None of that matters in this room, Uncle. All that matters in here is how much pain you wish to endure in the few moments which are left to us in here. Here, allow me to provide another sample.”
She flicked the whip again -- and this time, it connected with Ronald’s groin.
No roars and snarls from him now, but a scream, high and thin and girlish. It ended with a gurgling sound as bubbles formed at the corners of his thin lips. His face was purple, and the veins stood out in his neck and face like thick cords. He twitched, thrashed, and spasmed like a man pushed to the absolute brink of pain.
The sight of him in such a state satisfied Fergus immensely and Moire as well.
“Confess!” Moire demanded.
“Yes, all right, I did it!” Ronald cried out, gnashing his teeth. “I was the better man! I knew even then that I would be able to lead this clan to glory and victory more than my softheaded brother ever could, and by God, I have! I have amassed lands and allies beyond any he could have imagined! I mourn his loss every blessed day, but bloody hell, it had to be done, so I did it!”
Suddenly, the door was smashed inward, and within half a second, the chamber was filled with armed guards.
Fergus reacted immediately, seizing a piece of the broken stained glass and pressing it against Ronald’s throat. “Stay back, all of you! Or every drop of this old man’s blood shall find its way onto the floor!”
