“Who paid ye?”
Silence.
“Who told ye to watch the courtyard?”
The man looked past Jack at the wall, as if the stone had a better-looking face. His mouth held a smear of dried blood. He licked his lips and waited as a laugh escaped Jack’s lips.
“Is that how ye want to play the game?”
The man didn’t respond and kept his eyes fixed on the wall.
Jack turned to Troy. “Raise the rope.”
Troy stepped closer and looped the rope that was attached to the wrist chains through a hole in the wall. It lifted the man’s arms an inch and then two. The prisoner gasped loudly at the third inch, his broken wrist dangling.
“Shall we try this again?” Jack said, his voice tense. “Let us start with yer name.”
“Daenae ken it,” the man said. “Daenae ken ye either.”
Jack let the silence settle between them for a brief moment before continuing. “Judging from the mud on yer shoes, ye came from the north. That means I can tell ye exactly what ye did before ye came here.”
The prisoner looked up at him, the venom in his eyes being nothing short of unfathomable. “Is that so?”
“Aye.” Jack stepped back and folded his arms. “I ken ye rode through the stone cut in Beggar’s Creek. That is the only part of the Highlands where the water turns black in winter. I also ken that ye stopped there to spend the night. There are barely any houses of repute, so ye must have spent yer night somewhere public.”
He could feel Duncan and Troy staring at him, but he said nothing. His eyes remained fixed on the prisoner instead.
“I ken there is a tavern there that keeps a fire too bright for the hour. Black Wolf. Ye must have spent the night there. Now, someone either met ye there or in the woods on yer way here to give ye further instructions. Someone who wants ye to do God kens what. I just want ye to tell me who it was.”
The prisoner shifted, iron grating on iron. “Ye talk a lot for a killer.”
Troy glanced at Jack, but Duncan did not move.
“Who would threaten me bride?” Jack asked, his voice low.
The prisoner spat, but the blood barely cleared his lip. “Someone who isnae afraid of ye.”
Jack’s hand closed, then opened. He stepped forward and, as hard as he could, drove his fist into the man’s ribs. The sound was solid and neat, and the man hunched, coughing blood desperately.
“Me Laird, are ye certain this will help?” Troy asked from behind, his voice rising. “He is beaten half to death already.”
“He should be afraid,” Jack said.
The prisoner coughed and then smirked. “Ye can break me arm and me ribs and me teeth. Ye can burn me when ye are done. It willnae change a single thing.”
Jack straightened, a quick breath escaping his lips. “What thing?”
“That ye willnae keep her,” the prisoner hissed. “They will come for ye both.”
“Who are they?” Jack pressed.
The prisoner leaned back, coughing again. “Ye ken who.”
Duncan’s eyes flicked to Jack, but he did not speak.
Jack leaned in. “Give me a name.”
The prisoner shook his head once. “I like me tongue.”
