Chapter Sixteen
Tavish forced himself to swallow his groan as he came awake to a horse below his belly. He forced air in through his nose even though it burned. It was the only way to keep from retching. His head pounded, and each step of the horse was an anvil beaten by a monster blacksmith. He wanted to reach up and touch his head for what he counted would be a third injury, but he prioritized not notifying his captors that he was awake. He listened to everything around him rather than opening his eyes. He listened for any animal sounds, for what the hoofbeats sounded like determining whether they tread on a road or grass. The air whip past him, and it smelled like pine. And finally, he listened to the words spoken.
“Are ye sure ye didna kill that hulk? He hasnae stirred once since we pulled him from his bed.”
“His chest keeps rising, so aye, he’s alive. I amnae the one who bashed him aboot the head. You might have gone easier on him.”
“He could have not stabbed me in the bluidy leg!”
“Enough!” Tavish listened to this third voice. It was authoritative and coming from right above him. “He need only live long enough for the lord to toy with him for a while. Once the lord is satisfied, then he can be left to rot for all any of us should care. The coin is what matters.”
“True,” agreed one, “but do you wonder if we should have brought that hellion with us? I doubt her uncle will be happy to learn that we found them in bed together.”
“Mayhap together, but the man is a bleeding invalid. He was not doing anything with her that we might have. We might have had fun, stashed her away somewhere, gathered the coin, and been back at it.”
“She was a pretty piece, but that was not what we went for. Her cunny isn’t any different from a whore’s. You can wait a few more hours to dip your wick.”
Tavish tried not to roar with fury as he listened to them banter back and forth about Ceit. He attempted to clear his mind of the last thing he had seen, and that was a man with his hand in her hair, pulling her from the bed.
“The lord said she was to stay at court. She was not supposed to see us, but what is done is done.”
Tavish fought to stay awake to listen to the rest of the conversation, but the fuzziness that crackled in his mind was more than he was able to defeat. He surrendered to it as the voice above him continued to speak.
“We can always go back for her after this is done. He will not be in the way then.”
Tavish came awake a second time as the horse pulled to a stop. He was yanked from the horse and landed in a heap on the ground. He lay unmoving as once again he used his sense of hearing to tell him more than he dared look at.
“This is him,” someone made the pronouncement in a brogue that did not belong to any Lowlander. Tavish lay motionless except for his chest rising and falling. “Ye did a once over, or was that a twice over, on him. Has he woken since ye left the castle?”
“Only once but not for long.”
It surprised Tavish to learn that the man he had ridden with was aware that he woke while they traveled.
“Did he say aught?”
“No, he wisely kept his mouth shut and played as though he were still unconscious. Just as he is now.”
With his eyes closed, Tavish was not prepared for the boot that landed in his gut. He tried to stop the groan that escaped this time. His eyes opened again just in time to see the foot coming towards his ribs once more. He grabbed the ankle and twisted, bringing his assailant to the ground. He launched himself forward as he reached for a dirk. He came back empty handed. He reached for the other side of his belt, but that dirk was missing too.
“Did you assume we would leave you armed? They may not have removed your stinking skirt or belt, but we removed your weapons.” The man pushed Tavish from him, but Tavish lunged again.
“It isnae a skirt, ye arsehole.”
Tavish slammed his fist into the man’s mouth and watched as blood trickled from it. He was about to slam his fist into the man’s nose when two sets of hands grasped him and pulled him off. He thrashed about but was no match, in his condition, for three men. He took another kick to the gut before Lord John Comyn, the former Earl of Buchan, spoke.
“That shall suffice. Dinna beat him senseless again, or I willna have any fun. Bring him to the oubliette.”
Tavish dug his heels in and went limp. He was still larger and heavier than any of the men, and he did not plan to go to the pit without a fight. His extra weight threw the men off balance, and when one man dropped his arm, he reached under his plaid for the dirk he was sure no man looked for. He slashed with his left hand and caught one man across the middle. In the surprise that ensued, he shook the other man loose and rose to his full height. Tavish charged forward and thrust the dirk into the man’s neck he already cut across the middle. A searing pain slashed through his side, but he roared as he spun around. He knocked a blade away with his bracer and plunged his dirk into another man’s side. It only left him with the leader of his kidnapping trio. This man was his only real challenge. They danced around each other, and Tavish missed his sword.
I swear I amnae taking that thing off the next time I’m at court. Nae even for a moment. I will bathe with it if I must.
Tavish was exhausted, in pain, nauseous, and utterly fed up. One moment he was in bed, cuddling with Ceit, and the next he was being dragged from it. Now he was here, and he did not know what had become of Ceit beyond what he overheard from three men who were the least trustworthy people he knew at the moment. He wanted to be done with all of this and find Ceit.
This unnamed and well-trained nemesis was in a better condition to fight than Tavish. It was only possible for Tavish to move around on the defensive rather than the offensive. He had only one dirk to the man’s sword, as though the odds were not already uneven enough. Tavish crouched low to keep his midsection protected. His eyes scanned his opponent for any weakness or telegraphing of his next moves. Tavish noticed a dusty spot not far to his left and danced his way over. Just as the leader made another lunge, Tavish swept his foot through the dirt and kicked up a cloud that momentarily blinded the other man. Tavish pushed all of his strength into his legs to propel him forward as he shoved his dirk deep into the man’s sternum. Tavish did not wait to grab the man’s sword and swung around just as a small group of guardsmen rushed forward. Tavish did his best, but he had met his physical limit. It was something that rarely happened and was not something Tavish was prepared to accept. He continued to fight, but he was no match once a man had hold of each of his legs and arms. Buchan watched as he was dropped into the oubliette.
He landed hard on his arm and leg and at least one snapped. He ground his teeth so hard he feared he would crack one, but there was no way he would show Buchan he was injured further.
“This should remind ye nae to touch what isnae yers.”
“The king granted me Ceit’s hand, and she offered me the rest.” Tavish tossed up as a parting shot.
“That memory and yer hand will be all that keeps ye warm tonight.” Buchan snapped the hatch shut, and the darkness engulfed Tavish.
Tavish reached out his hand and found the wall much closer than he expected. They had made the wall from dirt, so at the least, there was no sludge running down it as found in a dungeon. Unlike a dungeon cell, Tavish reached each wall by extending his arm. He was in a hole that was not much wider than five feet but must have been close to a dozen feet deep. Tavish slid down the wall and rested his back against it. He took stock of the situation.
I’m well and truly fucked. Magnus has already left by now. Ceit may still be bound in ma chamber, and that’s assuming those eejit bastards didna do aught else to her. The king isnae in any hurry to help any of us out of confinements as he proved with Magnus. I dinna even ken if Uncle Hamish is still at court, and even if he is, he willna ken aught is wrong until he comes to visit me. I ken he will, but I havenae a bluidy clue when that might be. It’s still the middle of the night. There is naught I can do at this point. The upside to this dung hole being so tiny is that I ken there arenae any rats in here, or I would have stepped on one by now. The downside, besides being in this pit, is that it will soon turn into a true dung hole. There isnae space to pish in. Thank heavens for small mercies. I havenae eaten or drunk aught in hours though I’ve probably had ma last meal at this point. And I dinna even remember what it was. I may as well sleep. Even though I seemed to have spent several hours already doing that. I wouldnae exactly call being unconscious sleep though. Och, now I’m blathering on to ma own self. Sleep and deal with the rest later. I need what strength I can still muster, and ma head bluidy well hurts.
Tavish forced his mind to calm. He tried to picture home and happier moments with his family, but even that did little to bring his mind to rest. He allowed it to drift to his many skirmishes with Ceit, and he found peace when he did not expect it. He reminisced about their time together on the road, and the moments she spent in his arms when he drifted to sleep.
Tavish roused when the trap door opened, and sunlight poured in. He had no time to adjust his eyes to the light before someone dropped a loaf of stale bread and a wineskin onto him, and the lid slammed shut again. He wanted to inhale the food but remembered he would make himself sick if he ate too fast, and he had no way of knowing if there would be any other meals. It surprised him to receive the bread and what he discovered was water.
This routine occurred twice more, and Tavish learned to shade his eyes the moment the latch grinded against its metal hinge. He glimpsed the guard, but it was a different one each time. The sun was still high, so it surprised him to have had a visitor, of sorts, three times already that day. He had not expected one meal, let alone three.
Is Comyn fattening me up just to roast me at the stake?
By the time Tavish ate the third heel of bread, he was restored to at least a fraction of his normal self. His head still pounded, but he was becoming accustomed to the constant companionship of pain. His ribs ached with every breath, but that was not a new sensation. He had cracked and bruised his ribs countless times since he was twelve summers and began training in the lists daily. He bore that pain with little consideration. It was his arm and leg that pained him the most. His leg took a heavy jarring, but he was sure nothing was broken. He was not able say the same for his arm. It still hung at the correct angle, but the pain was searing and reminded him of when he was eight summers and fell from an apple tree after betting Mairghread that he would climb higher than her. His eyes were swollen, but he still saw out of them both. He counted this as his greatest advantage considering the beating he had taken. Tavish ran his hands over the walls and stretched as far as the space allowed. At his height of six and a half feet, he reckoned he reached almost eight and a half feet. The tiniest rays of sunlight peaked through cracks surrounding the door. While they were not strong enough to reach the ground where Tavish stood on the tips of his toes, he observed he did not have very far to go past his fingertips to reach the lid. He estimated about a foot and a half. He continued to run his hands along the wall, skipping them from as high as possible to waist height. He searched for anything that would allow his fingers and toes to gain purchase. Disappointment coursed through him when he realized that whoever dug this hole expected its occupant would try to determine that very thing. The walls were smooth as glass. Tavish even jumped to see if perhaps its designer assumed no one would reach as high as Tavish jumped. He was not far off in his guess as the wall was rougher towards the top, but not enough for him to make much progress. He tried putting a boot on each side of him and inching his way up, but the wall was too slick. He pulled his boots off and attempted the same process barefooted. With his toes bare to dig into the slippery dirt, he climbed several feet even with the pain in his arm causing him to see spots dancing before his eyes in the dark.
Alas! Success of sorts. I can climb ma way out except that bluidy hatch is locked shut. I will have to wait until the latch is being moved and pray I can shimmy up the walls fast enough and have enough strength to overpower whomever comes next. It’s getting cold down here. They might have at least put ma leine back on me.
Tavish pulled the extra length of plaid normally pinned over his shoulder loose from his belt. Whomever tended him between his collapse in the passageway until he woke in his bed had known enough to wrap the length and fold it into his belt.
This is why we wear wool. This is warmer than any of those foolish doublets and breeks these Lowlanders prefer. Then again, they live in a weak mon’s paradise compared to the Highlands. I would take ma rugged home over this boring land any day.
He nestled into his plaid and pulled it over his head. He had spent many nights outdoors and was assured once wrapped in his plaid, his own natural tendency to produce an inordinate amount of heat would keep him warm and safe.
I dinna ken how I seem to give off more heat than a croft on fire, but I will take it. I wonder why that is. I wonder how Highlanders seem to never get cold. Och, I’ve been so cold I was positive I would never warm the chill from ma bones. We just dinna admit it. Holy Father, I am prattling like a fishwife. I am going mad, and I havenae even been down here a day. I have nay intention of being down here another day. At least I have the company of ma thoughts. I canna drift back to sleep though. I must stay alert to be ready for ma chance to break free.
Tavish hummed to himself and then broke into a soft song.
I havenae aught else to keep me occupied. May as well sing a jolly ditty.
His own sarcasm was not lost on him, and he chuckled.
In the boozer
ye’re a loser
if the dice ye’re shaking.
Ye’ll get hurt
lose yer shirt,
sit there cold and quaking.
Isnae that fitting. I willna quake though.
Lady Luck, yer gifts are bad,
ye trick us, then ye make us mad,
make us gamble, make us fight,
and sit out in the cold all night.
Luck had naught to do with this unless ye consider it luck that the king chose a lass whose uncle is barmy.
‘Brrr!’ The naked loser moans,
when he’s cold and left alone,
shakes and shivers as he groans.
‘I wish I could be
asleep under a tree
with a hot sunshine warming ma bones.’
But now let’s roll the dice again
and win some drinking money!
Who thinks aboot November’s rain
while it’s still warm and sunny?
I would rather sit with Ceit in ma lap again. I can ruminate on far more enjoyable things to do than roll dice. I’d rather be rolling her nipples between ma teeth or having her roll ma bollocks again.
His body responded to the arousing thoughts of a woman he would never get enough of. He let his thoughts meander to all the things he would like to show Ceit when they were reunited. He refused to entertain the notion he would meet his end in this hell hole when he planned to begin a life with Ceit.
I suppose I havenae aught else to do at this point. I can keep maself distracted with ridiculous songs better saved for a tavern, or I can fantasize aboot Ceit and keep warm in an entirely different way. I ken what I prefer.