Malcolm’s mind raced as he desperately sought to understand the women’s plan.
“When the woman spoke of your having become laird of the MacGahan through yer marriage to her daughter, I realized I had the means to accomplish both my goals sitting at my table. I will wed Danielle and through that marriage, the MacGahan will be mine.”
He could foul Torquil’s plan by revealing that he and Dani weren’t husband and wife, but he couldn’t be sure that the truth might not bring down his brother’s wrath upon her even more quickly.
“Am I not a hindrance to yer plan? You claim yer desire to keep me alive so that you might take yer pleasure in my suffering, but so long as I live, Danielle is not free to wed another.”
Torquil grinned, waving his hand in the air as if brushing away a summer midge.
“There’s the beauty! No one needs to know you live. As far as all are concerned, yer lady will be a widow and I shall wed my poor, bereaved sister-in-law, laying claim to all that is hers. All that was yers. And you? You shall live out yer days with the knowledge that each night I take yer woman to my bed and I have her in as many ways as I can imagine.”
“She’ll never agree to take you as husband, let alone to share yer bed!”
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
“You mistake me if you think I need her agreement. In fact, I rather believe her resistance would be more enjoyable. Perhaps I shall even arrange to have you as audience for the consummation of our marriage.”
“You bastard!” Again Malcolm strained at the chains that bound him.
“Ah, but that would be you, Malcolm, not I. Our father wed my mother legitimately, in the ways of our people. Yer mother was but a dalliance, a handfasting mistake he refused to recant.” Torquil turned his back and headed for the door, stopping for one more jab before he left. “For now I’ll leave you to yer thoughts. For me, I go to arrange for yer death, or, perhaps I should say, to arrange to convince yer lady of yer death.”
Malcolm watched the madman’s departure helplessly. There was nothing he could do. Once again, he had failed to protect the women whose safety was his responsibility. Whatever happened to Dani and Elesyria would be as blood on his hands, on his conscience, even as Isabella’s death had been.
His only hope lay in the women themselves. For now he would have to trust that Dani and the Elf had a plan of their own.
Thirty-five
ALL I CANsay is, we better come up with something at least resembling a plan, and pretty damn soon, too, or we’re going to end up down there, dangling and kicking at the end of a rope like . . .”
Dani’s throat clogged with the gruesome memory of what she’d seen in the courtyard this morning, robbing her of her ability to speak. Never in her life had she seen anything so horrific. And the very thought of carrying the news of her friends’ deaths back to their families at Castle MacGahan made her want nothing more than to curl into a tight little ball and weep.
“How could he sit there smiling at us like that when he knew something so evil was happening just outside? He’s not even human,” she moaned, wrapping her arms around her stomach as she sat on the floor in front of the hearth.
“Torquil is not Mortal,” Elesyria agreed, kneeling down beside her. “At least not entirely.”
“Are you trying to tell me that because he’s descended from Odin he’s some kind of demigod?”
Which would make total sense considering how arrogantly evil he was. The monster belonged in a horror story.
“Not exactly. He’s too many generations removed for that to be the case.” Elesyria frowned as if she didn’t really understand it herself. “Still, the power of Ancient Magic seethes through these halls. Power I can only assume he wields.”
“So basically we’re up shit creek and there’s nothing you can do because he has you out-magicked.”
“Were he to find himself in Wyddecol, he would be equally cut off from his power,” the Faerie grumbled. “I’m conserving my strength. I can’t say whether it will be enough to make a difference when the time comes, but I will do what I can. I want you to know that.”
Elesyria sat down next to her, putting one arm around Dani’s shoulders as they both leaned back against the carved stones framing the massive fireplace.
“I’m not doubting you, you know. Or accusing you.” Though Dani had done her best not to admit how frightened she felt, there didn’t seem to be a reason any longer to try to hide it. “It’s just that I feel so—ouch!”
She recoiled from the stones behind her, holding a hand to her head.
“What’s wrong?” Elesyria scowled first at her and then at the stones behind her with obvious concern.
“I have no idea.”
Dani rubbed the spot on her head that felt as if someone had pulled hairs from her scalp, her movement halting when she spotted three long golden hairs hanging from the stone she’d leaned against.
“What the hell? What is this?” She reached out to the stone, rubbing her hand over its face to collect the strands of hair.
