“She’s a spirited one isnae she?” the man said. “I can see why ye like her.”
“Shut yer mouth,” Magnus growled, fury seeping into his voice. “If ye harmher—”
“Ye’ll what?” The man interrupted, his laughter echoing off the walls. “Make no mistake, ye are in no position to be making threats.” His eyes drifted to Isabelle. “I advise ye to keep quiet, lass. We wouldnae want to make this worse than it needs to be.”
Isabelle’s jaw set stubbornly, but she didn’t attempt to speak again.
“All right,” Magnus breathed, holding up his hands to show he was unarmed. “I’ll come with ye, but let her go.”
“Do ye think I’m stupid?” the man asked. “The second I released her, ye’d be at my throat. Nay, I think she’ll come along with us to ensure yer cooperation. And besides, my master wants to see both of ye.”
“Fine,” Magnus said, his voice steady despite the icy fear that gripped him. “We’ll come with ye. But ye harm her, and I swear to God I’ll rip yer throat out.”
The man laughed again, his hold on Isabelle’s hair tightening. She winced but held Magnus’s gaze, her fear replaced with a fierce determination that made his heart clench in his chest. How could this woman have ever thought herself weak? She shamed him with her bravery.
The man gestured towards the door, and Magnus took a reluctant step forward. He willed himself to keep his gaze on the man’s face, and not on the small crimson line that was beginning to appear on Isabelle’s throat.
Behind him, he could hear footsteps as the remaining intruders picked themselves up from the floor. Some of them threw harsh glances in his direction, while others muttered curses under their breaths. Their weapons clinked ominously as they fell into step behind him but nobody tried anything.
The night was cold and still as they were led out the back door of the boarding house and through the quiet streets of Torloch to a group of horsemen waiting on the outskirts of town. The horses were a hulking presence in the dimness, their silhouettes stark against the backdrop of darkened cottages and skeletal trees. Each breath Magnus took tasted of cold metal and approaching danger.
Isabelle was hauled onto a horse, the man’s hands lingering on her waist in a way that made Magnus want to brain him. She cast a glare over her shoulder at the man as she settled onto the saddle, her spine straight and haughty as a queen’s. Even now, she had the courage of a warrior.
Magnus was given a rough shove towards another horse, a huge roan-colored creature that stared at him with disinterested eyes. The animal snorted as he mounted, its hot breath condensing in the chilly night air.
No further words were exchanged as they rode out of Torloch and into the expansive wilderness that lay just beyond its borders, their route illuminated only by the ephemeral glow of the moonlight. Behind them, the town grew smaller and smaller until it became no more than an indistinguishable cluster of silhouettes against the inky blackness of the night.
The silence was oppressive, the only sound the repetitive clop of hooves against the frozen ground and the distant hoot of an owl. The chill wind bit through Magnus’s plaid, but he paid it little mind. His thoughts were consumed by the situation they found themselves in. Isabelle had been placed in such peril because of him. And Snaffles... Guilt gnawed at his insides like a rat caught in a barrel.
He knew from the position of the stars that they were heading north. This did not surprise him. Since the moment they’d set out, he knew where they were heading, and he recognized the landscape they were passing through. After all, it had been the playground of his youth.
After less than an hour of traveling in tense silence, Magnus spotted their destination ahead. Rising tall out of the barren scrubland surrounding it, there was no missing it. A squat, conical tower, surrounded by buildings encircled by a curtain wall and a defensive ditch, Dun Crogan could never be mistaken for anything else. It was an ancient broch, built in the distant past by the peoples who had first trod this land then taken over by its current resident and turned into a formidable fortress.
Magnus’s chest tightened. A confusing swirl of emotions roiled through him and he couldn’t quite place what they were. Anger? Guilt? Regret? Aye, all of these. But something else as well: a deep, aching sadness. Sadness at what had once been. Sadness at what was lost. Sadness at what he could never have again.
He glanced over at Isabelle. She sat straight-backed, staring ahead, with tears tracking down her cheeks. Magnus’s heart ached at the sight of it and he knew she was thinking of Snaffles. He longed to take her in his arms and tell her that everything was going to be all right but couldn’t. Their captors were careful to keep them apart, and besides, he couldn’t lie to her. Things were most definitelynotgoing to be all right.
As they drew closer, Magnus could make out the broch’s grim details: high walls of stone stacked mercilessly uponeach other and weathered by centuries, the surrounding ring fort and the smaller buildings inside, their solid walls a testament to the battles fought and the lives won and lost within. If walls could talk, Dun Crogan would no doubt have a long and bloody tale to tell.
They reached the broch and rode through the gates without stopping, entering the ring fort that circled around the tower itself. Magnus got the uneasy impression that he was coming full circle, coming back to where it all started. First the monastery, now Dun Crogan. Where would his past failures lead him before the end?
Magnus dismounted, took an automatic step towards Isabelle, and then stopped as one of their captors rested his sword-point against his chest.
“Stay there.”
Grinding his teeth, Magnus complied. Isabelle glared at the man who tried to lift her down and then dismounted herself, sliding from the saddle and staggering a little as her boots hit the ground.
“Where are we?” she demanded.
“Why dinna ye ask him?” the man replied with a smirk, looking at Magnus. “After all, he knows this place pretty well.”
Isabelle’s gaze found Magnus’s, a question in her eyes.
“This,” Magnus finally replied, his voice almost a growl as he looked at the towering structure before them, “is Dun Crogan.”
The captors laughed at his words, knowing nothing of the pain behind them. One of the men shoved him forward. “Move,” he grunted and Magnus complied, taking slow steps towards the broch.
Isabelle fell into step beside him, the earlier distance between them closed by their captors’ indifference. He could feel her gaze on him, but he kept his eyes on the path ahead, his throat feeling too tight to speak.
