1
The scent of smoke filled the cabin and Neil’s nostrils. His back ached from being tied to a chair for so long, and he bit back a hiss as the rope bit into his burned shoulders and wrists. The heat from the fireplace licked one side and left the other cold.
The guard always came at the same hour to torment him. A rattle of the lock on the door and a scrape of his boot, followed by a lame joke. No doubt the exact same thing would happen today.
Neil had been burned, whipped, and tortured with several weapons endlessly, yet he dreaded that part of the day the most. He sat still anyway, unable to escape his fate—at least for now.
The latch lifted right on schedule, and the door opened.
“Rise and shine, Wolf,” the guard sang, cheerful as a hawker. “Did ye miss me?”
“Ye talk enough for two,” Neil grunted.
“Ach, sulky.” The guard tutted.
He crossed the room in three strides, then drove a dagger into the half-healed brand on Neil’s shoulder. White-hot pain shot down his spine, and the chair creaked beneath his weight.
Neil bit his tongue hard, tasting copper.
“Ye ken,” the guard drawled, “ye would think that after a while, torturing a man like ye would become a boring task. Yet, for some reason, it hasnae. Ye’re the gift that just keeps on giving, are ye nae?”
“Any news of me braither today?” Neil asked, ignoring the man’s words. “I take it ye have extended yer search.”
“Nay, nae yet.” The guard leaned back to study the fresh wound, pleased with his handiwork. “He bides where he bides.”
“So ye ken where he is.”
“A figure of speech,” the guard said with a malicious grin. He touched the tip of the dagger to the brand again, tracing the shape like a drawing on a slate. “Ye ask every night, and every night I give ye the same answer. Ye could end this with a word.”
“What word?” Neil asked.
“Where,” the guard hissed. “Where he hid our sister. Where he runs. Where we might send him a letter asking him to come, or smoke him out and burn him in yer presence.”
“Ye have a poet’s tongue,” Neil taunted.
“Ye will like the last verse.”
He closed his eyes and saw a stubborn chin and a tight mouth. Alas, that reprieve was cut short.
“Speak up, Wolf,” the guard urged. “Save yer kin.”
Neil opened his eyes again and found smoke. “I stopped counting the days I have been in here a while back,” he said. “What makes ye think I ken where he is any more than ye do?”
The guard barked a laugh, and in one swift move, he slammed his fist hard into Neil’s face.
A low grunt escaped Neil’s lips as his head snapped to the side. He tasted blood on his lower lip.
“Ye’re a smart man, Laird Drummond. I give ye that.”
“Thank ye very much,” Neil drawled.
The guard wiped his blade on a rag and tucked it away, then took it back out as if remembering a better plan.
His tone turned thoughtful. “Becauseye’re a smart man, I am certain ye will appreciate what we have in store for ye.”
Neil swallowed and looked up, ignoring the dull ache at the back of his head. “What plan?”
The guard shrugged. “’Tis simple, really. Since yer braither stole our sister, we were thinking we should also steal a lass. For balance, ye ken. So which is better? Keeping ye here, or trading ye for him, or sending word that we found a prettier coin to pay the debt?”
