Page 419 of Wicked Highland Heroes

Chapter Twenty-Four

David Robertson had a penchant for eyes. Iain peered through the slit of the eye not yet swollen shut. He kept his gaze fixed on the shadowy progress of a rat making a stealthy approach along the wall toward where he sat on the dirt floor. Iain’s jaw worked in tandem with the brutal kick that sent the rat flying backward with a squeal. Eight of the rodents lay dead. One more would bring him nearer the dozen he aimed for before the night was finished.

“Cowards,” he muttered. “No true Highlander uses such methods of torture.”

Iain canted his head, his attention centered on sounds outside his prison. “Well now, come back to replenish the hungry beasties, eh?”

He squinted against the light of a torch that flooded his cell, silhouetting the figure that entered the room. Before Iain could identify the intruder, the door closed and he found himself once again in darkness, but this time, not alone.

“So, you are still among the living.”

Iain sprang to his feet, the heavy chain that shackled his leg to the wall rattling.

“Hockley,” he said in a harsh whisper.

Memory of Victoria’s limp body as she fell, dying, into his arms, sprang to life. Had he been wrong in believing she had ridden back to the castle before David captured him? Or was Hockley’s presence proof he hadn’t escaped the past after all? Was this moment a dream as the other had been? Had Victoria’s death been a dream? Iain gave his head a hard shake and ran a palm along the bridge of his nose and forehead. His head swam, but he squinted in the earl’s direction.

“You would do well to kill me for I will come for her.” Only this time, your bloody sword will not touch her.

Iain slowly bent and reached for the chain shackling his foot to the wall. “Did she tell you she carries my child?” Silence followed, and Iain prayed Hockley believed the fabrication. “Aye.” Iain winced when the chain clinked as he carefully lifted it from the floor. “My child.” The earl shifted, but still, no sound of steel leaving the scabbard. “Do you think she will give up the babe?” Iain took several stealthy steps backward, stopping when shoulders touched the wall.

Hockley broke the silence. “When I return, be ready.”

“Aye,” Iain agreed. “I will be ready.”

“If you wish to live, do as you are told.” Edwin’s voice hardened.

“I will not let her go,” Iain said.

“Beware, MacPherson,” Edwin said, his tone blunt, “no man finds revenge beyond the grave.” Iain’s heart pounded. So, too, would I have said before I awoke in that meadow.

* * *

Shouts shattered the silence of night. Iain sprang up from the floor, heart pounding at the faint but unmistakable sound of swords clashing. Gathering the chain at his side, he crouched.

Moments later, the door eased open. Pale moonlight shone outside, and Iain’s eyes shifted in painful motion from the huge Robertson warrior standing in the doorway to the men darting between cottages across the way. Sword before him, the warrior approached. Iain tightened his grip on the chain.

The man stopped just out of reach of Iain’s chain.

“Iain MacPherson?” Iain remained quiet.

“It will not do either of us any good if you brain me with that chain.” He cocked his head so that moonlight revealed the face of a young man, eighteen, maybe nineteen.

Iain rose to his feet. The chain rattled as he let it fall full length at his side.

“You want me to release you?” the young man asked.

“How do you plan on accomplishing that?” Iain asked. “Even that sword of yours will not cut this iron.” He tensed when the man shifted, turning the blade in front of him.

“I had not thought of that. If I swung it wide enough I might be able to do it.”

Iain swung the chain so that it jangled. “I would not swing that sword in my direction, lad, if you want to stay in one piece.”

The young man sheathed his sword, then reached into his boot and produced a dirk. “I did not plan on

using my sword, but my hands.”

Iain observed massive hands as the young man extended the dirk, hilt first, to Iain. Iain took the blade.