Part 23 (2/2)
Scalding tears dropped on his cheek as she braced herself above him, her hands still pinning his wrists to the mattress.
He was about to say something soothing when she released his left wrist. She tugged at the mattress -and then, with a clanking of cold iron, his sweetly pa.s.sionate wife clamped a manacle round his wrist.
THIRTY-THREE.
D uncan's eyes widened with disbelief as he realized what she had done. Then he exploded with rage. ”d.a.m.n you!”
Frightened, she snapped a manacle cuff onto his right wrist, then scrambled from the bed. On his left wrist was the cuff of a manacle with the opposite end secured to a bedpost, while his right wrist had a cuff without an attached chain. Would the iron bands on his bare skin be enough to weaken him?
He lunged toward her, but the anch.o.r.ed manacle brought him to a halt. ”You vicious, betraying wh.o.r.e,” he swore, his eyes glittering as he yanked at the chains.
She could see that he was struggling to use magic, but he couldn't. She exhaled with relief. Though she had seen him weakened after the knife wound inflicted by William Montague, she hadn't been sure whether an iron cuff on each wrist would be enough to block his power. Apparently it was.
”Now what, you Sa.s.senach b.i.t.c.h?” he snarled, his anger unable to conceal how weak he was. ”Will c.u.mberland be coming by to collect me? Or the Guardian Council? Or Simon?”
”None of them. I may betray you myself, but I'll not turn you over to your enemies.” Blinking back tears, she quickly changed from her nightgown to a plain morning gown. ”I'm going to keep you locked up in the dungeons until after the battle.”
”You are that sure you are right?” His eyes were the color of sleet.
”I am.” She held his gaze steadily. ”You are blind to the larger consequences of what you intended to do.” She caught her breath as an image formed in her brain. ”Dear heaven, if the Jacobites fared badly in the upcoming battle, you were prepared to conjure a tornado to turn the tide!”
”Aye,” he ground out. ”I've been practicing and become quite adept at managing whirlwinds. It would be an easy matter to halt the government forces till the prince and his men escape to fight another day.”
She shook her head in despair. His earlier interventions might be justified as reducing casualties, but now he was planning to use his power to change the outcome of the whole rebellion. His previous actions might be forgiven, but never that. ”Then thank G.o.d I have stopped you.”
”I will kill you if you ever let me go,” he snarled, but under his words she felt his anguish at her betrayal.
”I have done what I must, and so will you,” she said quietly. ”But for now, I will take you to the dungeon before the castle starts stirring. I don't want anyone to learn that you're here and set you free.”
She flipped the covers back. He still wore his rumpled kilt and s.h.i.+rt, and his plaid would give warmth, but his feet were bare. She reached under the bed and pulled out warm woolen socks and buckled shoes. She had prepared most carefully for his return.
He kicked at her when she tried to pull the sock on his left foot. ”Don't fight me on this,” she said. ” It's cold in the dungeons, and your feet might freeze if they're bare.”
Gritting his teeth, he allowed her to put the socks and shoes on. He managed another kick when she was done. His foot hit her upper arm, but without enough force to do more than raise a mild bruise.
Watching him warily, she unfastened the left manacle from the bedpost. He tried to go after her again, but she eluded him easily. His speed and strength were so badly compromised that it was like dealing with a young child. She hated doing this to him, but at least he was manageable. Reminding herself that she was acting for the greater good, she said, ”Get out of bed.”
Eyes blazing, he swung his legs over the edge of the mattress. When he stood, she tossed the plaid over her shoulders, not wanting to get near enough to wrap it around him. The chain around his left wrist was long enough to make a decent leash. Trying not to think of the ignominy of leading him like a farm beast, she said, ”We must walk quietly down the back stairs. Are you strong enough to do that without falling?”
He drew himself up as well as he could. ”If I fall or jump, perhaps we'll both die at the bottom of the stairs.”
”If that happens, I'll release the chain and you'll fall alone. Don't try it, Duncan,” she said coolly. ”If you die, you lose the opportunity to kill me. And if you don't, you may injure yourself so badly you'll be a cripple the rest of your life.”
In his eyes, she saw that his flaring rage was settling down into cold, hard anger. Under the circ.u.mstances, that was an improvement. ”Come along now.”
Reluctantly he followed her when she opened the door, then led the way to the back stairs, the links of the chain clinking ominously. She tried to surround them with a look-away spell, but it was hard to focus her power. Her guilt and fears occupied too much of her mind.
Duncan had to clutch the railing, but they descended to the ground floor without incident. She watched him closely, guessing that great effort was required to keep him steady on his feet.
They were crossing to the stairwell that led to the dungeon level when Maggie Macrae walked into the back hall, clean folded linens heaped in her arms. She halted when she saw them, her eyes widening with shock. ”Mistress?”
Before Gwynne could reply, Duncan marshaled his strength and snapped, ”My mad Sa.s.senach wife is going to imprison me so I can be turned over to the Duke of c.u.mberland for execution. Release me, Maggie Macrae!”
When the housekeeper's horrified gaze swung to her mistress, Gwynne said calmly, ”He's lying, Maggie. I aim to lock him up in a cell downstairs, but it's to save his life, not to take it. You guessed that I have the second sight, and I do. He intends to join the Jacobite army for the great battle the prince l.u.s.ts after. I . . . I fear that he will be killed.”
The housekeeper's face paled. ”You think the rebels will be defeated?”
”I'm sure of it.” A frightening burst of prophecy swept through Gwynne and words began tumbling from her mouth. ”Men will die either way, Maggie. That is dreadful enough, but there will be worse to come. Jean is well known to have led men to the Jacobite camp and traveled with the army. If Duncan falls while fighting for the prince, Dunrath will be treated as a rebel stronghold. The Hanoverians will claim a b.l.o.o.d.y reckoning, and even babies like your own sweet grandchildren will not be safe.”
”Don't listen to her!” Duncan snapped. ”She's a Sa.s.senach spy for the Hanoverians. Her goal is to cripple the Jacobite forces. My presence can make the difference, Maggie Macrae. For Scotland's sake, call for help and free me!”
Gwynne's heart sank. Maggie had served Duncan's parents, had watched him grow up. She would never side with an Englishwoman against the head of her clan.
Mouth tight, Maggie said, ”I wish I'd had the courage to lock up my Diarmid, Mistress. Do you need my help?”
Duncan stared at her incredulously. ”You will betray me, too? A clan member I've known my whole life?”
Maggie's mouth tightened even more, but she held his gaze. ”I am a Macrae, but I am also a woman and a mother. I see no purpose to princes leading boys like Diarmid to their doom for the sake of royal power and pride.” She glanced at Gwynne. ”Sometimes a touch of the sight shows up in my dreams. Last night I dreamed that Dunrath was razed to the ground, the crofters' homes burned, dead bodies lay whitened in the rain. If imprisoning Duncan Macrae might prevent that, I'll help you and let G.o.d be my judge.”
Weak with relief, Gwynne uttered a silent prayer of thanks. ”I've fitted up one of the cells to hold Duncan. Come with me so you'll know the location. If anything should happen to me, someone else needs to know where he is.” She repressed a s.h.i.+ver at the thought of him starving to death in a prison where no one would hear his cries.
From Maggie's expression, she'd had the same thought. She set her load of linens on a table. ”It will be best if I take him his meals. Your movements are noticed more.”
Gwynne nodded agreement, and the three of them descended the ancient steps to the warren of rooms and pa.s.sages that comprised the lowest level of the castle. The rooms below the kitchen had a separate stairway and they were now used for household storage, but the oldest section had been a dungeon.
Gwynne had picked the most remote cell and placed a don't-see spell on it. As they approached the end of the dank stone corridor, the housekeeper frowned in puzzlement. Gwynne hastily modified the spell so that that Maggie would be unaffected. Other mundanes who came this way would probably turn back, thinking they had found a dead-end pa.s.sage.
Gwynne swung the door open. The cell was small, with a pair of slit windows that would never allow a man Duncan's size to escape even if they weren't barred with iron. Not that going through a window would mean freedom. The cells had been carved from the sheer cliff that made the castle impregnable, and they looked out into nothingness.
Gwynne had furnished the plain, narrow wooden bed with fresh blankets and pillows. She had also surrept.i.tiously hauled a small table, a chair, and a badly worn little carpet down the steps herself. On the table were books and candles, while a hole in an outside corner provided crude sanitary facilities.
Despite her best efforts, it was still a cold, bleak place. ”I'm sorry this isn't better, but your ancestors didn't believe in wasting comforts on prisoners.”
Duncan glowered at her. ”You take me prisoner in my own home, then worry about my comfort? You're a pair of mad featherbrained females!”
”Be grateful you're being held captive by females,” Gwynne said tartly. ”There's no point in suffering unnecessarily. Though if you prefer, that can be arranged.”
He stepped inside with contempt. ”Adam Macrae was imprisoned in the Tower of London with brandy and servants, but a prison is still a prison.”
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