The prisoner sagged. For the first time, he truly understood that he held no power there. Only Baird did. The man’s whole body was shaking, not just with fear, but with rage, helplessness. He was stuck in the agony of a man who finally realized the blade handing over not just his head, but the heads of everyone he loved. His chains rattled as he struggled to stand properly.
“Promise me.” He paused to swallow. “Promise me they’ll be safe.”
Baird tilted his head, with one brow lifting slowly.
“Safe?” he repeated, almost lightly. “Ye want me tae promise yer kin safety?”
The prisoner’s eyes burned with desperate hope. “Aye. Aye, I… if I talk… ye’ll keep them safe, aye? Ye’ll make sure naething touches them?”
Baird let out a breath that might have been a laugh, except there was no humor in it. There was only ice.
“Please… they’ve naething tae dae with this?—”
“Like me braither had naething tae dae with this?” Baird snapped.
The prisoner flinched.
“Ye mean, safe like Malcolm is safe?” Baird stepped closer. “In a coffin? In the ground where ye and yer laird put him?”
The prisoner’s eyes widened, filling with dread.
“Dae ye ken what his death did tae this clan?” Baird’s voice was a controlled snarl. “And now ye stand here begging me fer mercy on yer own kin when ye offered mine none.”
Kenny stiffened in the corner but did not intervene.
Baird leaned in, inches from the prisoner’s face. “Tell me what I need tae ken… and yer family will have achanceat a life.”
The prisoner trembled violently, as tears of rage and terror mixed with blood on his cheeks.
“A chance?” he whispered.
“Aye,” Baird said coldly. “A chance. Which is more than ye or any Sinclair bastard gave me braither.”
The man squeezed his eyes shut. Baird didn’t look away. He remained perfectly still and perfectly steady. Fury was burning him up, yes, but his being was locked behind iron discipline.
The prisoner’s breath rattled in his chest as he sagged against the chains, beaten, trembling, and finally broken.
“It was Filib.”
Kenny stiffened beside Baird. The name hung in the air like a lit fuse.
“Filib,” the prisoner repeated, louder now, as if forcing himself not to choke on it. “Yer councilman… Filib… he’s the one who met with us. Passed messages, took coin. He… he said he’d see the clan fall if it killed him.”
The world went deathly quiet. Baird’s vision tunneled for one blinding heartbeat.
Filib.
He was his father’s old advisor. He was a man Malcolm trusted, the manhetrusted.
“Ye’re certain,” Baird said. It was not a question, but rather a demand.
“Aye,” the prisoner croaked. “He was the one. The only one. I swear it.”
Baird didn’t reply. He turned sharply.
“Kenny,” he said in a vice that was like cracking frost. “With me.”
There was no need for more words. They stormed out of the dungeon, up the stairs, through the corridors. Baird was moving so fast his cloak snapped behind him like a banner of war. Kenny kept pace. The guards followed, sensing something dangerous in the laird’s stride. By the time they reached the council chamber, people were already gathered in the hall, all drawn by the thunder of Baird’s steps.
