CONFRONTING AN ENEMY
It was dark. Black, pitch dark of the sort that made it impossible to see an inch in front of one's face. The room smelled of cold stone and dust.
“Where are we?” Alina hissed.
“I don't know,” Amabel replied. They spoke French so they would not be understood.
They had been taken an hour's ride from where the carriage was stopped. Aching, disorientated and frightened, they were roughly unloaded from the horses onto which they had been slung and led into the dark hallway.
Amabel bit her lip. She could see almost nothing in front of her. Nothing, that was, other than distant firelight. It flickered eerily through the corridors and Amabel shivered. She felt her sister's hand beside hers and squeezed it, as much for her own reassurance as anyone else's.
“The thane. Is he still awake?”
Their captor had stopped near a high, arched door. From within the room, the flame-light flickered, casting eerie shadows on the walls. Amabel felt a numbness that went beyond fear. Wherever they were, these people were clearly intent on bad.
“Aye. He's within,” the doorman replied. “Said he's not to be disturbed.”
The man chuckled. “He'll want to be disturbed by this. You know MacDowell. This will mean a great deal to him.”
Amabel turned to Alina, and Alina closed her eyes a moment. They were both terrified. They had no idea where they were, except that they were north of where they should have been and that whoever had taken them was hostile. Now they knew. Their worst fears had been confirmed. They were with the MacDowells. And they were as hostile as they thought they were. Amabel closed her eyes. She had wanted to be right, but had not expected that being proved right would be so terrifying.
“Come with me,” the man said, and gave Amabel a shove in the shoulder.
She stumbled forward and Alina stiffened beside her, straight and regal, and directed a savage glance at the guardsman. Amabel was half-afraid her sister would strike the man, or curse him, and held out a restraining hand. Alina took it in her own and gave it a brief squeeze.
They followed the man down the echoing corridor and through the high, arched doors.
“Who enters here?” a voice rang out.
Their captor stepped forward, hand on his chest in apology.
“My lord. I regret disturbing your peace. But we have captives who might interest you.”
“They had best be very interesting, Gylas.”
The voice was thin and flat, threatening. It issued from a dark shape before the roaring fire.
The shape turned, becoming a man draped in a plaid. Tall and dark-haired, the firelight made him red and black and frightening. He had a craggy face with a long nose, broken at least once, and deep-set eyes. He frowned at them.
“Why have you brought two ladies, Gylas? I am looking for military prisoners.”
Gylas swallowed. “My lord. We have reason to believe that these ladies are from Lochlann Castle.”
“Oh.” The man sounded disinterested. “And oddly enough I have no argument with Lochlann. What good are they to me, besides to foment trouble where there ought to be none?”
Amabel noticed Gylas flinch. Not a good sign. If his own men are terrified, then...
“My lord,” Gylas paused, plucking at his tunic nervously. “You had not heard MacConnaway... married a Lochlann girl? A month or so back?”
The man stiffened. He smiled.
Amabel felt that smile creep all the way down her spine like sudden chills. There was something very, very disturbing about this man. And he was looking at them with detached interest. He was, clearly, Broderick's true enemy. Once again, she wished she had been wrong after all.
“Oh?” He looked down, then smiled at Gylas. “Thank you, Gylas. You and your men will be rewarded. Now, I think I will need some time alone? With our prisoners?”
Gylas swallowed, then nodded. “Of course, milord. I'll be outside on guard.”
“Thank you. You may go.”
Amabel watched the guard walk slowly out. As he closed the door behind him, her heart started pounding. She almost wished Gylas had stayed. At least their captors were only careless and clumsy. This man was terrifying
“Ladies.” He smiled. His smile reached his eyes, which were like those of a fox, sighting its prey. Amabel shivered. She felt Alina straighten and knew she was giving the man a scornful stare.
“We request you release us,” Amabel said, voice wobbling. She swallowed, wishing she could sound more fearless.
“We are of no value as captives,” Alina added. She sounded quite calm. “We are two ladies heading to the shrine of St. Andrew. We offer you no harm.”
The man laughed hollowly. “A pretty tale, my lady. But I doubt it. You are the Lochlann women, are you not?”
Amabel blinked. She wondered if they should lie. She glanced across at Alina, who nodded fractionally.
“You have no argument with Lochlann,” she said levelly. “You said so yourself.”
“Our uncle will thank you for our safe return,” Amabel added. “And punish any misdeeds.”
The man laughed dryly. “I have no doubt your uncle would pay happily for your return. But then, he is nominally my ally, is he not?”
“He is not your enemy,” Amabel agreed. “Not yet,” she added bitterly.
The man laughed. “Oh, I do like women who fight. They are so much more... interesting.” He reached forward and stroked a lock of her hair. Amabel recoiled and fought the urge to spit on him.
He laughed at her reaction, then turned away. “I am not here to slake my bodily lust, whatever you might think of me.”
Amabel was shocked by how relieved she was at that.
“You will release us unharmed,” her sister said patiently. “And our uncle will reward you.”
“I might, yes,” MacDowell replied flatly. “But then again, what would your uncle say if I married you?”
Alina stared at him. She went white. Amabel reached for her hand but Alina pulled sharply away.
“What?” Alina hissed. “What could you possibly achieve by that?”
He smiled. “Power, my lady. You are the gateway to Lochlann. Your uncle has no heirs, am I not right? A sensible man would move to become his heir the moment the opportunity was granted to him. And I have that opportunity.”
Alina was white-faced. Amabel wished she could do something.
“Alina is spoken for,” she said boldly.
The man laughed dryly. “I have no doubt. Which is why I must move fast. I would not have another taking Lochlann in my stead.”
Amabel stared at him. “What makes you think Lochlann would be yours?”
“Strategy, my lady. Your uncle is old. As yet, there are no male heirs to Lochlann. A strong great-nephew, indispensable on the field, would be the ideal successor for the earl. Something he would grasp at once.”
Amabel swallowed. He was not entirely wrong in that. And one thing was certain – their uncle would not care if Alina was married to a monster, provided he was a useful one. She looked around wildly, hoping for escape.
He laughed. “I can see you thinking of running. You would get two paces before I stopped you. Amazing what a dagger-point in the leg does.”
Amabel stared at him. “You wouldn't...”
“Of course.” He shrugged, as if immobilizing people was something he did every day. It might well have been so, for all they knew.
Alina stepped forward then. “You are without honor.” She was tall, and when she faced him, she looked into his eyes. “You are ambitious, but within, you are a cowardly toad. I curse you by your own wickedness.”
She spat at his feet, but before she could complete the action he grabbed her arm, twisting it painfully. Amabel cried out in horror and ran toward her sister.
“My lady – I do not yet know your name, but I trust we will have a long acquaintance. You will be my wife by this time the day after tomorrow. I trust a night incarcerated will teach you manners.”
He shoved Alina away and turned to Amabel instead.
“You, my lady, will leave this castle this very night. You are the MacConnaway bride, are you not?”
Amabel considered lying, but at the sight of Alina being harmed, all resistance had dwindled.
“Yes,” she sighed. “You know that.”
He smiled at her. “I was not sure, actually. I believe there is another of you, but I trust she is younger. So, it must be you. Now you proved it.”
Amabel shook her head wearily. She was miserable, terrified and worried. She wanted to sit down. She felt her knees buckle and collapsed on the flagging.
“Guards?” the man called. While he waited for the guards to arrive, he turned to Amabel. He stood over her.
“For you, I have a special something planned. You are Broderick MacConnaway's wife, are you not? He lost the first one to the Bradley, or so he thinks. It was me, of course, but so much more convenient if my enemies fight each other.”
“It was?” Amabel breathed out.
He laughed. “Of course, it was. I'm surprised no one guessed. I can summon the most troops to my aid. Bradley can probably scrape thirty together. I'm almost insulted the trick worked.” He sniffed.
Amabel stared at him. “You killed his wife?”
“Not personally, no,” he said, looking down at his hands. “But as it happened, it worked perfectly. The man will continue to throw all his resources at the Bradley and MacAdam troops, crippling himself while fighting my enemies for me. And I can simply watch.”
Amabel was staring up at him. “You are monstrous.”
He laughed. “An interesting word-choice. I have been called many things. That's a new addition.”
Amabel shuffled backward on the flagstones, a plan forming in her mind. If she could get far enough away, she could reach the door and call for help. As she thought it, fresh guards entered, standing two or three deep around the door. She looked down, feeling her last hope guttering.
“You will pay for this. My uncle will hear of this.”
He laughed. “How? Your sister will be Lady MacDowell, so why would she tell? And you will be dearly departed by them.”
Amabel stared at him. “What?” She felt real horror, then. Did he mean to kill her? She looked around wildly.
He laughed. “Oh, my lady. I will not kill you... not myself. But I think it would be fitting to give you a memorable demise. To inspire more vengeance.”
Amabel closed her eyes. She could not quite believe what she heard. “You cannot,” she said in a choked whisper.
“No, I probably can't,” he agreed mildly. “I wish to die with spotless hands. And besides, if I killed you now, the mess would be appalling. No. You will die, but not by me.”
Amabel was weeping. Panicked, wild tears. She could not believe this man was discussing her death so coolly. She looked up at Alina, who was also crying, silent tears falling. She wanted to run and embrace her. She stood up.
“Alina,” she whispered. She clung to her sister. She wanted to memorize her, remember the silky fall of hair, her tall, slim body, her black eyes and the sweet, clean smell that always permeated her.
“Amabel.”
The two sisters stood in a wordless embrace. Alina laid her hands on her sister's arms, holding them fiercely. “You will not die.” Her eyes were closed, and she seemed to be in a trance. Amabel shivered. She knew her sister had moments of prophecy. She wanted to believe this was one.
“You will not die,” Alina repeated. She made a high, keening noise, a slow humming that made all the hair on Amabel's neck stand up. She knew her sister was reaching for some ancient chant of protection and wanted to weep. She needed all the protection she could get!
“Kill him when you get the chance,” Amabel whispered in French. “A stab through the temple or the eye.”
Alina opened her eyes, the fog clearing. She smiled. “Sister,” she laughed shakily. “Thank you.”
“Thank you.” Amabel smiled. She was crying, tears tumbling down her face. She reached to wipe them away.
“Take her away,” the man called and the guards stepped up.
As Alina was led away, back straight, face calm, Amabel felt herself collapse. She sobbed, face held in her hands. She cried until she thought she was empty of tears and yet more came.
“Alina,” she sobbed. “Broderick. Chrissie. Duncan. I will never see you again.”
That was the worst thing. Her own death was terrifying – too awful to truly consider. But the worst part was knowing she would never see her loved ones grow old and content, not see them live their lives together.
The man watched her a moment, contemplative. Then he summoned the guards to take her away.
“Tomorrow,” he said briefly, “I will decide your fate.”
Amabel said nothing. There was nothing to say.
As the guards led her away, Amabel knew she was beyond hope. All she could think of, strangely, was Broderick's face and his warm, lopsided smile and black eyes.
I will never see him again alive.