“He’s forgotten his name,” Liam responded. “I’m helping him remember something so important.” The older man drove his fist into the prisoner’s left pectoral. The man grunted and sagged forward.
“Ye ken, he will last longer than ye,” Mòr noted. “He’s being gentle and patient, but he willna remain that way.”
Gentle and patient. I’ve seen Liam be both. The mon is gentle as a lamb and patient as a saint with bairns and weans. The fact the mon is still breathing, and Liam isnae beating him senseless, surprises me. I suppose, considering the circumstances, Mòr isnae exaggerating.
Óg drew closer and tilted his head to see the man’s face. There was minimal bruising because it was obvious they wanted to leave him recognizable. But Óg wasn’t sure anyone would know this stranger from Adam.
“Ye came onto ma land and have watched ma people. Ye werenae merely passing through, were ye?” Liam paused, as if he expected an answer, but none believed one would come. “Since ye’ve been living off ma land and hunting without ma permission, I convict ye of poaching. I could sentence ye to death right now. But we both ken what I want from ye. I’d say I’m in a far better position to hold out than ye are. The beating will only get worse, and either way ye will die rather than leave here. It’s yer choice what ye must endure. It could be minutes, or it could be years.”
The prisoner smirked. His gaze shifted from Liam to Óg, and a look of satisfaction entered his gaze, as though he cared not that they chained him in a dungeon cell. “Stubborn bastard, arenae ye? Ye just canna politely die, so I can go home.”
“Ye are home,” Alex snarled as he stepped forward. Now that Óg saw the man’s face, Alex had no reason not to pummel it while the man was uncooperative. His right fist swung an upper cut that knocked the unknown man’s head against the wall. His left fist plowed into the prisoner’s nose. “Ye dinna threaten ma son and go without punishment.”
Everyone froze for a heartbeat as Alex’s warning rang in the air. But he didn’t think twice about his declaration. The next punch landed in the man’s sternum, making him double over. But his restrained arms didn’t allow for much movement. Just enough to strain his shoulders. He groaned, the first admittance of pain.
“Yer son? So I named him a bastard and was right. Everyone kens yer wife birthed ye useless daughters.”
It was Óg’s turn. His fist whipped out and boxed the man’s ear. He grabbed a handful of hair and yanked backward.
“Ma father-by-marriage learned his patience from his father. I missed that lesson. Ye dinna speak aboot ma wife that way and nae feel ma wrath.” Óg slammed the prisoner’s head into the bricks behind it with more force than Liam or Alex had used. He drew a dirk from his waist. He put the point to the man’s sternum and pressed enough to break the skin. “Mayhap I have patience after all. This shall be slow.”
He increased the force, the tip cutting the skin. He added more of his weight to his effort, and the dirk punctured the skin. He would make it sheer agony if he didn’t get what he wanted.
“Who are ye?” Óg stared into the man’s eyes. There was something vaguely familiar about them. They weren’t remarkable, but they nagged at a memory Óg couldn’t pull forth. He wondered if he still suffered the ill effects of the arsenic.
“Wouldnae ye like to ken?”
Magnus pressed again, and the man howled. He knew it was only a matter of time before the man capitulated or died. He’d prefer the former. He noticed Mòr reach for one of the man’s hands. He had the handle of asgian dubhbetween his teeth. Once the prisoner’s hand was free, Mòr grabbed his wrist in one hand and held the dirk in the other. He put the tip beneath the man’s fingernail. The prisoner finally registered true fear. Mòr’s form of coercion would be even more excruciating. Óg approved.
“Tell us who ye are, and he will cease,” Liam offered.
The prisoner squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. His legs shook as his discomfort grew. His breath whistled through his nose, and he tried to stomp a foot, but they’d shackled it too. He roared with pain as the first nail came off. Mòr didn’t relent, setting to work on the next nail immediately. The man pished himself. That only made the others laugh, and Mòr worked faster.
“I relent. Stop!”
Mòr didn’t, but he merely kept the dirk beneath the third nail. He no longer worked to pry it off.
“Did ye remember something?” Óg taunted.
“Ye made more than one enemy when ye broke the betrothal.”
“Did Louisa send ye?” Óg wouldn’t put it past the manipulative woman. The man fell silent again. “If ye dinna say otherwise, I will take that as an aye.”
“I willna say who sent me. Just ken that it could be any of the enemies ye made.”
“If ye dinna want to cause half the Highlands set ablaze, ye’d do well to speak. I will summon all ma allies and descend upon the Mathesons and their allies like the vengeful Almighty. Ye’d best hope the righteous mark their doors.” Liam’s voice wasn’t loud, but his tone screamed the promise he made. “We do nae ride alone. Ye will find the Mackays, the MacLeods of Assynt and of Lewis, the Camerons, the Mackenzies, and the Sutherlands riding together. Do ye believe any clan could survive us?”
“Yers is nae the only alliance.”
Six baritones laughed.
“Ours is the only one that matters.” It was Liam’s turn to smirk.
“It will take days to rally yer family. Just because ye caught me doesnae mean the threat is over. He’ll be dead before anyone is off yer land.”
“And since ye’ll be dead too, ye dinna care what happens to the other clans,” Alex surmised. The prisoner shrugged.
“Toss him from the cliffs,” Liam decreed. “Let him consider his choices on the way down. If the rocks dinna kill him, the current and temperature will.” He turned away and walked to the door, waving a dismissive hand over his shoulder.
