* * *
Torcall listened to her tiny steps exit the prison. He didn’t sit down until he could hear her no more. Knowing that she was safe was all he needed. Alone, he sat down and allowed himself to think of everything that had just happened.
The days before she’d come had been terrible. However, they weren’t the worst of his life. They thought they had starved him of food. Torcall shook his head. For days after losing his parents, he had eaten nothing. They had chained him, but he had been in mental chains before. What was new were the false accusations and the knowledge that his family name would be smeared, but even that wouldn’t be forever. The killer would strike again, and the truth would be revealed. Perhaps the killer would wait for them to kill him, and perhaps he wouldn’t.
* * *
Hours after Ceana’s departure, the door to the cell opened, revealing Francis. However, there was a smirk on his face, and Torcall smelt a trick off his sleeve.
“Torcall, what if I say that I believe ye? What if I say that I believe that ye didnae kill those girls?”
“I would ask ye what the catch was.”
“Tell me, Torcall, when last did ye have a violent fit of rage?
The question had not been as unexpected as Francis had thought it would be, and so Torcall had laughed, angering Francis.
“How about I ask ye a thin’, milord?” Torcall drawled. “How much lower can ye go?”
Francis faced reddened with rage, but Torcall wasnae done.
“I have another one. Just imagine that ye get yer wish and I am killed, and mere days after, another girl dies. What would ye tell the people and the clan chief? Ye might want to wait just a little bit before ye set that date.”
Francis struck Torcall across the face causing him to spit blood, but Torcall didn’t look like he cared.
“Only a demon such as ye would have nae a fear of death and continue to lie like this even as death stares ye in the eyes.”
“Ye think, Francis, that the worst thing that can befall a man is death, but ye are wrong. The worse thing that can befall a man is a life like this.” He lifted the chains for emphasis. “I would rather be a dead man that a man chained to a room while a biased investigation goes on, so if ye think that yer threats of death frighten me, ye are wrong.”
Francis fumed. “Then make a confession, and let’s get this over with!”
“Nay,” Torcall shook his head. “If I confess, when the clan finds that ye are wrong and all the falsehoods start to appear, ye would get away with it for ye would have me confession. I will maintain me innocence till the day ye hang me.”
“Ye think yerself so smart, do ye nae?” Francis thundered. “I ken men like ye. I will nae let ye get under me skin. We will find ye out, and ye will pay for yer sins.”
“I thought ye had already found me out. Why else am in chains?”
Francis didn’t give him an answer. Instead, he stormed out of the cell, leaving Torcall to himself. How did the man act so brazen in the face of death? Francis couldn’t deny just how much Torcall’s words had gotten to him. What if he was indeed wrong? If Torcall was proven to be innocent, it would spell a lot of trouble for him.
Slowly Francis pulled open the door to the chief’s chamber.
“Brother. Ye are back early. Good news?”
“Nay,” Francis admitted. “He still maintains his innocence.”
“Despite all the evidence?”
Francis nodded.
“I grow tired of these games we play with him. Ye have me permission to set a day for the execution.”
Francis began to speak when certain words came back to him. What if. Just what if? “N-nay,” Francis said. “I believe we should wait a little bit. ‘Twould be better if we wait for the confession or another proof that cannae be debated. If, since he committed the murder,” Francis continued, “there is nae a way that he would have tried all ends. We must be patient. We will get him, brother.”
The clan chief nodded. He would wait.
Chapter Twenty-Five
It was too perfect. Not only had he murdered the girls, but he had also gotten away with it and had taken out Torcall in the process. It was too perfect. He let out a maniacal giggle. He could see how it would play out. He would lay low for a little while and wait until they had executed him by their own hands, and then, on the very eve of his death, he would take out another girl. He wondered who he would pick. There was only one girl left on his list—one girl who had scorned him, but he would need more than one girl. He would need more than two. Yes, he had started out to avenge himself, but now, it was much more than that. He couldn’t explain the feeling that rushed through his body while he killed them. Their screams, moans, and groans of pain were intoxicating. The act aroused him, even. It was why he always took their maidenheads before or after killing them. It was too perfect!
