He could torture her of course. In the old days that had been the main method of extracting confessions but he learned from wiser men that torture rarely if ever produced any information of value.
The victim was usually so desperate for the pain to end they told you anything and everything, mixing up what was true with what was made up on the spot. Differentiating between the two was virtually impossible.
He had learned the best way to get truthful information from people was to do it in stages, ask gentle questions that made them want to share. He had refined his technique over the years and saw the perfect chance to test it on his riding companion. It also gave him the perfect excuse to learn more about her.
“We will soon have to stop for the night,” he said, glancing up at the sky. The last rays of sun were vanishing behind the horizon. The light was turning gray. They had no more than an hour before it would be too dark to see at all. “If we can make it to the mountain pass, there is a bothy where we can spend the night.”
“What about the people we’re following? Should we not try and catch them?”
He shook his head. “On the far side of those mountains MacGregor land comes to an end. It would be too risky to cross into Frazer territory in the dark.”
“What’s the worst that could happen if we did?”
“They would have no hesitation in putting me back in the dungeon, and this time they’d make sure the shackles were secure.”
“Why were you in a dungeon?”
“I must ride hard if we are to make the bothy in time.”
“Tell me when we get there?”
“You can hold me to that.”
He urged the horse on. As they picked up speed the wind began to whip past them, making conversation all but impossible. The horse’s hooves drummed onto the ground like rain on a thin roof.
It became harder for Heather to balance so she leaned back against Gavin. He held her tight with one hand, watching as the mountain pass grew nearer.
They didn’t make it. As the last of the light vanished, Gavin slowed the horse, knowing he risked Lairdkiller tripping over a stone and sending them tumbling if he was not careful.
“We will have to sleep in the broch,” he said as it loomed up out of the darkness, a gray silhouette against the darker blackness behind.
Coming to a halt, he climbed down, tying up the horse to the old rail outside the stone building. With that done he held out a hand, helping Heather join him down on the ground.
“This way,” he said, booting the door open. She was staring at the ground around them as if she’d dropped something. “Looking for something?”
“Oh, nothing,” she replied, smiling at him. “Shall we go in?”
“Aye,” he replied.
He stepped aside for her to enter and then followed her, closing the door behind him to keep the chill air outside where it belonged.
Somewhere in the distance an owl hooted. Gavin didn’t hear it, he was too busy telling his guest the story of his forced incarceration, watching as she sat rapt opposite him.
Her face was barely visible in the gloom and yet despite the blackness, he could have sworn her eyes sparkled and shimmered like the noonday sun upon the bluest ocean.
