Chapter Eleven

 

Castle Swain’s Dungeon

 

Duncan was stripped to the waist. His sword lay on top of his discarded mail and tabard. Cold brushed over him, and he shivered. He stood in Séamus’ dried blood, which was soon to be mixed with his. Alastair shackled Duncan’s wrist and pulled a chain, stretching his arm until it was high over his head.

“Alastair, donna do this.”

“Begging for mercy, Duncan? How disappointing, but not surprising.”

His voice cut through Duncan’s honor. Duncan lifted his chin and met his brother’s disapproving gaze. “I donna fear pain as ye well know. I fear what ye’ve have become. We are brothers. Fight this. Let the lass free.”

“No.” Alastair clamped the shackle onto Duncan’s other wrist. “Honor is no longer important to me. Balthazar has promised me powers ye canna even dream about if I hand over the girl.” His voice was rich with greed. The rim of his pupils turned red, and lust flickered in his eyes. He was as desperate as the men fighting the crusades in Jerusalem, bent on proving to the Moors that Christianity was the true religion.

“What does the demon want with Holly?”

“He wants to foil that damn interfering archangel. Once she touches the black flower, the good and evil within her will fight. Unfortunately, she will na survive.”

Duncan yanked on the chains. “Ye bastard, d’ye na fear God? The lass has done ye no wrong.”

“Only the power to destroy a chapter of Satan’s Scriptures—something that I canna allow.”

“An archangel said innocent souls would be lost if ye use it. Ye must stop.”

Alastair laughed. “Why would I care about such a thing?”

“Ye canna mean this.”

“Aye, but I do. There’s something that fool Brodie doesna know. It’s na the devil writing those chapters. ’Tis Balthazar.”

Before Duncan could digest what Alastair had said, Henry walked into the chamber alone.

Duncan frowned. “What did ye do with the lass?”

Alastair pinched his cheeks hard. “Ye’ll soon find out, brother, but na till ye are taught a lesson.”

“Stand back, Alastair,” Henry said, as he tapped his palm with the whip.

Alastair bowed slightly. “Ye had yer chance, brother. Too bad ye chose the wrong side.” He turned his back onto Duncan.

Something about Alastair’s indifference slammed the door on their brotherhood. An arrow of hard truth pierced Duncan’s stubborn heart. All the excuses he had used to defend Alastair to de Wolfe, to the Archangel, to Holly were trampled. His heart squeezed out the last bit of defense and turned hard as stone. He and his brother were on opposites ends and would meet on the battlefield. This time, Duncan would lash all his anger, all his disappointment, all his honor onto his brother. If he couldn’t change Alastair back to the honorable man he’d been, he’d have to kill him. “Nay, ’tis ye who chose the wrong side. May God forgive ye.”

“Enough! Let the lesson begin.” Henry slashed the scourge across Duncan’s rigid back.

Leather strips sliced into Duncan’s flesh. Pain drew him out of the battle of wills with his brother. He gritted his teeth, refusing to cry out or beg for mercy. Each time the lash slashed him, he grew weaker. His legs and arms trembled. Breath-stealing agony gripped him. He released a shudder, hating himself.

“Feeling tired, Duncan?” Henry asked, as he whipped him again and again. “As you might have guessed, this little gem isn’t your everyday whip. It’s enchanted, or I guess you would consider it curse—the whip steals dragon magic. One of the many spells in Satan’s Scriptures.”

Duncan arched his back and cried out, panting for breath. His legs finally gave way and his weight pulled on his overstretched arms. Agony swept over him. How could he save Holly and himself in such a weakened state?

Henry strolled around him. “I think you’ve had enough. I want you awake when Balthazar arrives.” He flicked his hand. “Alastair, escort your brother to his cell.”

“Ye have guards for this, Henry. I donna see why ye continue to ask me to do this work.”

Henry’s smile was superior. “Because I can.”

Alastair unlocked Duncan’s manacle. “I hate that bastard.”

Duncan’s arm fell to his side. “Ye made...the decision to...serve Brodie.”

Alastair grabbed his hair and yanked. “I donna serve him. I need to prove my loyalty to Balthazar, then I will be the master.”

He released him and unlocked the other manacle. Duncan fell onto his hands and knees. “Ye’re a fool.” Anger broiled inside him, but his voice was barely a hiss.

“No, I am not.”

“Where is Holly?”

“I’ll take ye to her now. Ye’ve only a little more time with her.”

“Damn...you,” Duncan panted.

Alastair hauled Duncan to his feet and dragged him across the filthy dungeon floor and down a dark corridor. Icy air froze Duncan’s bones.

The only light were two torchlights at the doorway. The stench of human filth and gore turned Duncan’s gut. He stepped in something slimy, and his foot twisted. He fell hard on his knees. Pain paralyzed him.

There were rat droppings and dried blood. All he could think of was Holly down in this awful place.

Alastair didn’t slow his pace. He put his hands underneath Duncan’s armpit and pulled him down the hall, ripping and tearing his knees. Duncan struggled to rise to his feet, but he couldn’t stand. This wasn’t the brother Duncan knew. In the heat of battle, Alastair had always been careful with the wounded or dying, making sure not to cause them more pain. Duncan was his brother, and Alastair treated him worse than a hated enemy.

His brother opened a creaky door to a cell and shoved Duncan inside. He rolled and slammed his shoulder into the stone wall. Pain pierced him. The cell was cramped and dark with only a bench and a hole in the floor. It stank of excrement and despair. There was no sign of Holly.

Alastair looked down at him. “I suggest ye get some rest. ’Tis Dawn. Balthazar will be here tonight.”

Duncan couldn’t believe he lost track of time, but torture erased everything except the pain. “Where’s Holly? Ye said ye would take me to her.”

“I lied.” He clanged the door shut. His footsteps echoed down the corridor.

Duncan crawled toward the wall and panted. “God, lass, where are ye?”

“Henry took her,” a male voice said. Through the shadows, Séamus’ beaten face appeared in the other cell.

“Why?” Duncan feared the answer.

“I think the answer is obvious. She’s a beautiful lass.” His weary voice seemed to fight to get out of his croaking throat.

Duncan forced himself to crawl up the wall. The little gesture robbed him of his strength, and his legs quivered. “I have to get to her.”

“’Twill be difficult to get through these walls.”

He panted. “D’ye know where he’s taken her?”

Séamus remained silent for a moment. Rats scampered across the floor, and the dim torches flickered.

“Aye.”

Images of what the bastard was doing to Holly flashed through Duncan’s mind. Anger and hate consumed him, and he let loose a shriek that bounced off the walls. ’Twas worse than when Marigold had died in his arms. Tingles pulsed in his hands. His fingernails had grown into sharp talons.

“Henry’s power is fading, or ye’d na been able to grow those talons.”

Duncan studied Séamus to see if for any signs of him turning into a dragon. “Have ye changed?”

“Nay, I donna have a dragon mate to fight for.” His lonely tone reminded Duncan of a knight sent off to war with nothing to hope for except death.

“I donna either. My dragon mate is dead.”

“Are ye daft, knight? She’s alive and imprisoned in Laird Henry’s bedchamber. God knows what the evil bastard is doing to her.”

“Ye donna understand—”

“Nay, ye donna. I heard what yer brother said. Ye had a woman who ye loved who died. If she’d been yer true mate, she’d not have died. Ye know this to be true.”

“’Twas my fault that she died. I froze her heart.”

“Yer a white dragon?”

“Aye. ’Twas an accident. A foolish one.” Pain squeezed his heart. He tried to picture Marigold’s lovely face, but all he could see was a college student dressed in trousers and her hair pulled up behind her.

“I’m sorry, Duncan. ’Tis a heavy burden to bear. If she was yer mate, yer white magic wouldn’t have worked on her. Dragon magic will na harm a true mate.”

Duncan’s world spun around him. “Nay, ’tis na true. Ye lie.”

“Why would I lie? I have na reason.” His swollen lip turned up in a sneer. “I’m a black dragon.” He put up his bloody palms. “I’m na like Alastair. Despite what ye may think, na all black dragons are evil.” He dropped his arms as if they were too heavy to lift. “Mates donna come easy to us. Didna anyone ever tell ye this?”

“Nay, never.”

“Just because ye’ve never heard it. Doesna mean its na true. Ye have to have faith.”

Duncan stared at the lonely black dragon. His words mimicked the archangel’s. Raphael had said he had to have faith to defeat Satan’s Scriptures. Was it true that Marigold hadn’t been his mate? He’d loved her and always would. She’d made him happy. Holly made him feel a thousand conflicting emotions at once. He’d never felt that way about a woman. Kissing her had woken something deep inside him that wanted to possess her. He had to find her. He had to save her.

Out of frustration, he slapped the bars, leaving deep ugly scratches. It would take hours to break even one bar. Hours Holly didn’t have.

“Duncan, listen to me. With the page missing, a chink has been made in Henry’s armor of power. ’Tis why he beat me so savagely. He wants to give Balthazar a dragon’s soul to save  his skin. I tell ye ’tis what we’ve been waiting for.”

Duncan looked at the iron bars and the chains locked around them. Alastair had taken the key. Duncan was about to make a retort, but something in Séamus’ eye made him stop. “Ye have a plan.”

“Aye, I do. Since I’ve been in this rat hole, I’ve na the strength to break out. Maybe, just maybe, if we combine our powers together—one of us could escape.”

“I canna let Holly die.”

“Ye willna. Just promise me if ye can, ye’ll come back for me.”

“I give ye my word. How do we combine our powers?”

“Concentrate on the bars and swipe them with yer talons.” Séamus pointed to his battered chest. “I have a little acid in me yet.”

“How is it that Henry and Alastair didna know?”

“I’ve kept it hidden. Better for them to think I’m weak. They’ll get careless.” His voice hardened and his eyes turned black. Duncan had no doubts that if Henry made a mistake around Séamus, it would be his last.

Henry must be desperate for Séamus’ soul. Black dragons were the fiercest of the dragons and could be either good or evil. He hoped Séamus was telling the truth, and he wasn’t evil, but Duncan’s choices were few. He had no choice but to trust the black dragon. Once turned, a black dragon’s acid could sizzle hotter than lava, and Henry could use him to bring down Questing Castle. Séamus grabbed the bars with his cut and bleeding knuckles. “I’ll exhale at yer bars, then ye swipe.”

Duncan held his breath, hoping Séamus’ plan would work. Séamus exhaled a stream of acid toward the bars that turned white. The acid burned as hot as white fire, which was the hottest part of a flame, and only the black dragons possessed it. Ignoring the burning pain and the glaring light, Duncan slashed at the bar. It was softer.

Séamus coughed and hung his head. He held up his hand. “Sorry...I need to catch my breath.” He panted loudly, as if he’d just finished running across Northumbria’s rolling green hills.

Duncan nodded, denying the impatience inside him that wanted to scream at Séamus to melt the bloody bars. He slashed the bars with his talons, and the cuts were deeper. He put his hands on the bar, scalding them. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was rescuing Holly.

“Stand...back.” Séamus took deep breaths, then blew. A white stream of acid burst out, engulfing the stubborn bars. They turned red hot, and drops of iron leaked down the bars.

Séamus’s stream of acid died out. He landed on all fours. “I’m sorry...I’m so weak...Canna keep it up.” He rolled to his side and passed out.

“Séamus! Séamus!”

He didn’t move. His face was pale, and his chest was barely moving. Frustration pulsed through Duncan. He slashed the red-hot bars again and again, pulling on strained muscles. The sound of loud scrapes rang in his ear, making him cringe. Sharp pain moved up his arms. He didn’t care. He had to escape before it was too late.

Large cracks formed in the bars. Using the last of his remaining strength, Duncan rammed his good shoulder into the iron. The bars bulged toward the corridor. Hope flooded Duncan, and he smiled.

He plowed into the bars a second, a third time, and on the fourth, the bars cracked and broke. Duncan rolled onto the bits of iron and panted. Every muscle hurt, and his skin was badly burned—but he was free.

He sucked in a breath and rested his head on his knees. This wasn’t going to be easy. He had to make his way through the castle without being seen...without using his invisibility power. He examined his deadly sharp talons that had just cut through iron. This hunt was going to get bloody.

He grabbed a bar and pulled himself to his full height. Séamus remained unconscious. He was a large man, and his presence made the cell smaller. His body was mutilated more than Duncan’s. He wouldn’t leave him here. “I’ll always be grateful, my friend. I’ll not leave ye to die.”

He hurried down the hallway with his fingers spread wide, ready to strike down anyone who got in his way, including his traitorous brother.