Understanding dawned within her. It explained why he had not once tried to kiss her or seek her affections. The earl wanted her friendship, but nothing else.
“You see, then, why I do not mind if you keep a lover, so long as you are discreet. No one need know of it.”
She closed her eyes, admitting, “Callum would never agree to it. His family and home are in Scotland.” She took a breath and faced him. “There must be another way.”
The earl took her hand again. “Your father has made his wishes clear, and so have I. If you wed me, you can have all that you want, Marguerite. Or if you refuse, your lover will face the accusation of murder.”
Bitterness slashed through her at the thought. She knew how angry Callum would be if she wed the earl. But she could see no other way of saving his life.
“What does my father intend to do?”
“After our marriage, he will send the Scot back to his clan. In the meantime, he will hold him for questioning.”
She closed her eyes, distrust washing over her. “Will you send word to the MacKinlochs in Glen Arrin? His brothers might be able to help.”
“I can, yes.”
She heard the unspoken words, If you go through with our marriage. Though she didn’t know if she could make that promise, she was grateful for the earl’s assistance.
“I need to see Callum,” she pleaded. “I need to know that he hasn’t been harmed.”
The earl drew closer, his hand moving to her nape. “I can arrange it.” The look in his eyes haunted her, and she didn’t understand it. “You could be with him this very night, if you so desire.” A shiver washed over her as his thumb edged her jaw. “Remember, Marguerite. I need a child from you.”
Dark bloodstains marred the stones, and chains rested upon the floor. Callum reached for one of the manacles, and his lungs tightened. Though the soldiers had not chained him, he might as well be a prisoner here. He paced across the small space, well aware of the man guarding him.
The Duc hadn’t come. Nor had anyone questioned him. He’d let Callum remain in the darkness, knowing that the waiting would only bring him closer to the madness captivity could bring.
Every hour, every moment that passed in darkness, made him lose track of the days and nights. There were no other prisoners here, and the isolation brought him back to the darker times he’d endured.
Callum retreated to the far wall, sitting down against the stone. How many times had he felt the lash upon his shoulders, the taunts of the soldiers? He’d been broken apart so often, it was a wonder he was still standing.
He closed his eyes, the past welling up inside him. The air within the space was cool and musty, like the night he’d nearly died. They’d separated him from Bram and brought him directly to Lord Cairnross.
Callum clenched the iron manacle, the weight heavy within his palms. That night, they’d stripped him of his tunic, using rope to bind him to a post. He’d stood with his back to Cairnross, and the men laid the sharp blade of a sword against his throat.
“You are so young, boy,” Cairnross had said. “Barely eight and ten, aren’t you? You’ve grown up in chains. And your brother has caused us more trouble. Tonight it ends.”
His teeth clamped together as he stared down at the dirt. Don’t speak, he warned himself. But when the lash struck him, he bit hard until he tasted blood in his mouth.
“Your brother will pay for his mistakes with your life,” Cairnross said. “The moment you cry out in pain, my men will slit your throat. Or you’ll be beaten to death. The choice is yours.”
Horror filled him at Cairnross’s declaration. Callum fought to free himself from the post, but the ropes abraded his wrists so tightly his skin burned. The lash struck, again and again, and he bit his lip so hard, the pain mirrored that of his back. The sword blade rested between his throat and the post, and fear consumed him.
He didn’t want to die. He’d never had the chance to live, or escape the chains that bound him in darkness. His body trembled beneath the onslaught of the lash, his knees weakening.
“Cry out, damn you!” Cairnross shouted.
He refused to give the man satisfaction. Deep within his mind, Callum found a place of silence. A place of strength where no one could touch him. Aye, he might die this night. Likely would. But he wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of making him scream. He locked away the sounds, his knees folding. He expected the sword to bite into his throat, but it didn’t. The soldier kept it pressed to his throat but didn’t break the skin.
As the minutes passed into an hour, the blows slowed down. From deep inside, he fought against the punishing lash, reaching for the place of peace within himself, a place where there was no pain.
And still, he made no sound.
The soldier holding the blade began murmuring a prayer in Latin. Callum didn’t understand the words, but he recognized the offering of mercy.
Would this be the moment when the sword ended his life? No longer could he stand up. His body slumped against the ropes, his back raw and bleeding. Cairnross had already left, granting him a small victory, for Callum hadn’t voiced a single sound.
“Leave him,” the soldier holding the sword ordered. “He’ll be dead, soon enough.”
