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“My profession had hardened me to pain,” he said calmly. “Your fighting is futile. You will not win.”

He was an agent of death, pale and sad and calm.

“Oh, I don’t believe you,” she spat. “Everyone is afraid of pain.”

“Especially you,” he said.

He put the knife away, but before Amber could act and free herself, she was handcuffed. Cold iron bit into her skin.

Anger and helplessness burned through her like a high fever. “Let me go.” She tried to yank her hand away, but of course, it was hopeless. Jerold Baker took her other hand in a grip as hard as the iron, and put it in the second handcuff.

She stood now with her back to de Bourgh, helpless and exposed despite being dressed. She could almost feel the sharp tools of torture digging into her skin, wrenching her bones.

Would she survive this? Or would she die from wounds or an infection after?

She hadn’t done anything to deserve this. It was completely unfair. And it was all her fault. She never should’ve come with Owen. She should’ve gone back to her time and confronted Jackson, should’ve believed she would find a way to clear her name. At least no one in the twenty-first century would try to torture her.

Tears burned her eyes and blurred her vision, but she forbade herself to cry. She wouldn’t give these two men the satisfaction.

De Bourgh walked to her and stood so that he faced her. “My King, Edward II, has entrusted me to restore England’s position in Scotland. To weaken the Bruce. And I think you and your husband are the key.”

He walked towards the wall and picked up an instrument. It looked like giant tongs with bent edges. On each side of the tongs were two sharp, long claws like on a hay fork.

“This is called a breast ripper,” de Bourgh said, and the floor under Amber’s feet shook. “I would hate to mutilate a beautiful woman like yourself.”

“Please…” The word escaped her mouth before she could stop herself.

“Hmm.” De Bourgh chuckled, satisfied.

“Owen would not be happy, not that his happiness is my concern. Maybe we could use this.” He came to stand next to a chair. “This would slowly fry your feet. Jerold Baker knows this one especially well. It’s very effective at getting people to answer questions they previously didn’t want to answer.” He picked up a thick wooden shield and put it between the fireplace and the chair. “Once the skin starts to scald, Jerold Baker puts the shield between the soles and the fire. The promise of sweet relief is usually enough to start anyone talking, even after they’ve assured me they don’t know anything. Just like you.”

Amber closed her eyes. Sweat broke out on her skin, drenching her. She could almost smell the burned flesh. Burns like that would eat through her flesh to the bone. She might never be able to walk again.

“Please,” Amber said. “You’re wasting your time with me. I don’t know anything about the Bruce.”

She didn’t notice a tear until it ran over her lip and into her mouth, salty on her tongue.

“I would gladly release you, Mistress Cambel. I’d hate to punish a woman as beautiful as you. You’re a mystery, unlike anyone I’ve ever seen before. But I cannot afford to fail. The king will restore my lands in the south and my title if I succeed. If I don’t, my daughters won’t have dowries, and my son won’t have an inheritance.”

He put the board back and came closer to her, an expression of sympathy on his face.

“For the last time, will you talk? Will you answer my questions?”

Amber exhaled. If her life was over, she might as well meet the end with her head high. She’d had a good life. She lived it honestly and always tried to do what was right. She’d known love and had met a handsome warrior who’d made her begin to feel things she hadn’t felt in a long time. Maybe ever. She’d traveled back in time, for God’s sake. How many people could brag about that?

“Go to hell,” she whispered.

De Bourgh gave a slow nod and sighed. “You leave me no choice. James, take off her short coat and her tunic.”

Amber closed her eyes. Her cheeks flushed and burned as James Baker cut her leather jacket and her shirt and ripped both off her. Her naked skin prickled sharply as air touched it. From the top, she was now only in her bra.

Silence hung in the room. She opened her eyes and found both men staring at her bra with puzzled expressions.

“That as well, my lord?” James Baker said.

“What is that?” de Bourgh said.

“Does it matter?” Amber said.