“I told ye,” Laird Murray answered, not bothering to turn around. “He ran here. We caught him here. I want ye to see.”
Bile crept up Senga’s throat. When they reached the threshold of the stables, she balked. She wasn’t allowed to change her mind now, though. Had she ever had a choice in any of this?
No, probably not.
One of the soldiers placed a hard, flat hand in the small of her back, pushing her forward. She stumbled into the darkness of the stables, straw pushing up against the hem of her skirts.
The smell hit her first.
Stables always had a distinctive scent. It was an earthy, animal-scented place, mingled with fresh hay, manure, and sometimes the sharp smell of spilled liquor if the grooms and stablehands had been sneaking nips of whiskey.
The smell could be a comforting one, but not this time. This time, it was laced strongly with the metallic, carnage-scent of blood. Senga gagged because she knew whose blood it must be.
Her eyesight adjusted after the smell had sunk in. Blinking, Senga stared around her. It was clear where Noah had bled.A section of the ground in the middle of the stables had been cleared haphazardly of straw, as if by the sweep of an arm or the kick of a leg.
Blood puddled on the bare floorboards, seeping into the wood to cause a stain that would last forever. A bloodstained knife, the small wooden-handled thing that Noah used to whittle wood, lay in the middle of the floor.
When Senga picked it up, the handle left a thick line of blood across her palm.
Sprays of blood shot up the walls; fat droplets splashed here and there. Lumps of offal were kicked into the corners, shapes she did not dare look at too closely. The smell hung in the air, and bile fought its way up her throat.
Abruptly, Senga spun around and raced outside. She half expected the soldiers to stop her, but they merely stepped aside. She skidded around the corner, just managing to secure some privacy for herself before she vomited up her guts.
Vomit splashed onto the cobbles, and Senga’s tears mingled with it.
He’s gone. He’s dead. Murdered.
Because of me.
A boot scraped across the cobbles behind her, and Senga didn’t need to look to know who was there. She tried to catch her breath, but it was no use.
“How long have ye known?” she managed, her voice hoarse.
“Long enough,” Laird Murray murmured. “I haven’t decided upon yer punishment yet. I cannot ruin yer pretty face or risk cutting any part of ye off, not with the marriage coming up, but I’ll think of something. For now, I’ve spent enough of my anger on that stable lad. Should have strung him up by his own guts.”
Senga retched. “Ye are a monster. He was innocent.”
Her father gave a thin smile. “No one is innocent, lass. Those who are innocent deserve death more than the rest of us, if yeask my opinion. I’ll give ye a moment to grieve, then ye can come to me and we’ll talk about yer future. Just know that the longer ye keep me waiting, the longer I’ll have to think up a pretty punishment for ye. Ye must have known that this would not go unpunished, lassie. Not at all. For what it’s worth, yer new husband is said to be even crueler than me. Or so his previous wives said, at least. He’s a widower now, o’ course. I’d tread carefully if I were ye, but I doubt ye will hear my advice on this matter.”
Senga offered no response, and her father didn’t seem to want one. He’d never bothered to listen to her before, and no doubt he would not want to start now. She’d never been worth listening to, perhaps. Senga leaned against the stable wall, listening as his footsteps retreated. She could hear the low mutters of the soldiers, still waiting for her around the front of the stables.
It had occurred to Senga, of course, that her father could be lying. There was a great deal of blood in the stables, too much for any one man to lose and live. However, Laird Murray was good at playing tricks. He’d once caught a merchant who’d schemed against him, but the man’s wife and children escaped. Furious, he lied to the merchant and told him that his familyhadbeen caught. The merchant told him everything about the plot, but Laird Murray wasn’t satisfied. He served the man a rich dinner, pie, slices of beef, and delicious red dripping. Later, he told the man that his wife and children had been cut up and served in that meal. Apparently, the poor merchant starved himself to death in his cell later, never knowing what everybody else knew—that Laird Murray had lied to him.
Senga occasionally wondered how many people in the Highlands were just like that merchant’s wife and children, and had escaped from Laird Murray and now hungered for revenge. Perhaps she was about to be one of them.
This could be a trick, just like that. But if it was a trick and Noah was alive, he would come to find her. If it was not a trick and he was dead, she could honor him by escaping, if she could.
I still have one card left to play,Senga thought blearily.
There was a small, half-forgotten side door, set deep into the side of the Keep. It was kept locked and choked by ivy and foliage on the other side. Senga had found the key, and Noah had snuck away to clear about the creeping plants and vines keeping it shut. Perhaps Laird Murray had had the door locked up again. He said that Noah hadn’t told him everything, so perhaps Noah had been able to keep back this tidbit.
But then again, perhaps he hadn’t. She owed it to him to try, though.
As silently as she could, Senga slipped away from the stables, never once looking back.
Senga jerked awake,heart pounding. She’d dreamt aboutthat dayagain. Her dreams were always the same, always just as detailed as when it had all happened the first time. In the first few weeks and months after she’d left Keep Murray, she dreamt of what had happened every night.
When she had reached the safety of the convent, she had allowed herself to dream that maybe, just maybe, it had all been a trick, and Noah was alive.
