of gold as the black circle eased back into a more human size.
He watched her like some stalking predator, his golden eyes narrowed slightly and fixed unblinkingly upon her. Thick raven hair hung almost to his trim waist. He was lean and tautly muscular just as a predator should be. Brona did not think she had ever seen a man like him before. He should terrify her and, in some ways he did, but she also felt drawn to him. That made no sense to her and she frowned.
Heming studied the woman who was studying him. She was an ethereal creature, not very tall and slender yet possessing lush breasts and nicely rounded hips. Horror and curiosity were evenly blended in her expression. The flickering shadows caused by the torches accentuated the fine lines of her face. A thick braid of pale hair was draped over her right shoulder and hung down to the top of her thighs. She smelled of woman, of clean skin and a hint of lavender. It was a welcome change from the damp foul air of his prison.
To her right sat a very large gray dog and to her left sat a large yellow cat. Heming got the strong feeling that the animals were as much her companions as her pets. It surprised him that Hervey Kerr even allowed pets at Rosscurrach. The fact that this woman had the pets indicated that she was no mere servant of the keep. Few of the poor had the time or the food to pamper an animal and these two animals looked very pampered.
“Who are ye?” she asked, struggling to keep her gaze fixed upon his face and fighting the urge to look him over, very carefully, from head to toe.
“Sir Heming MacNachton,” he replied, wondering if she was in league with Hervey and sought to trick some important truth out of him.
“I have ne’er heard your name before. Are ye one of my cousin’s enemies?”
“I had ne’er e’en met the fool ere he captured me and brought me here. And who are ye that ye dinnae ken that?”
Brona heard the suspicion in his voice but was not troubled by it. Chained naked in a cage as he was, the man had every right to be suspicious of everyone at Rosscurrach. She had a few suspicions of her own about him. She knew her cousin was not a good man, but she found it hard to believe that he would cage and torture a man he had never met and who had done no wrong.
“I am Mistress Brona Kerr, first cousin to the laird,” she answered and could see by his hardening expression that she had only added to his mistrust. “I heard some quickly hushed whispers about a prisoner and decided I would see just what the secret was. No other prisoner has e’er warranted such mystery.”
“Your cousin has a lot of prisoners, does he?”
“Nay.” She sighed. “I fear he often just kills those he feels have wronged him. When he does hold a prisoner ’tis for ransom, or to torture a few secrets out of him ere he kills him. What secrets does he think ye have?”
“I ken naught that he needs to know.”
“That doesnae really answer my question, does it.” Brona idly scratched her dog Thor’s ears. “Cousin Hervey is cold and cruel, but he is also lazy. He has obviously expended a great deal of time and effort to hold ye here and try to get ye to tell him something. I but wondered what it was.”
“And why do ye need to ken such things?”
“Knowledge is power.” Her cat, Havoc, rubbed its head against her leg in a bid for attention and Brona briefly leaned down to scratch the cat’s back. “’Tis weel kenned round here that I dinnae hold with the torturing of a mon, but I doubt that it is the only reason there is such an effort at secrecy about ye. My cousin is little interested, and even less moved, by my disapproval of his actions. Nor are ye here for ransoming as no one has been sent out to take a demand to anyone.” She shrugged. “I have considered many a reason for this but each one only raised more questions, so I decided to come here and ask ye.”
“Ah, and I have told ye. He thinks I can tell him something.”
“But what? What could he possibly wish to learn that is worth treating ye like this?”
Heming carefully considered his answer. The woman appeared honestly concerned, even appalled, over his mistreatment, but he dared not trust in that. Hervey could be trying to trick him into revealing something. Too many men had fallen victim to believing in a woman’s softness, in her wiles and words of caring. Even a few of his kindred had stumbled into such traps. He could, however, tell her exactly why Hervey had caged him and was torturing him so assiduously. If he spoke in the right tone of voice, used the right words, he could make her see it all as utter nonsense. He might even get her to question her cousin’s sanity.
“He thinks I can tell him how to live forever,” he said, pleased by the scorn-filled drawl he was able to produce from his parched throat.
Brona stared at the man and forced herself not to gape. “Why would he think ye could do that?”
“My kin are long-lived. The fool thinks as far too many others do and sees such strength and health as the result of magic.”
“Does he think ye have some potion? Mayhap some muttered spell words?”
When Heming nodded, she frowned, recalling that many of the men in her family died young and not all from battle wounds, either. It was sad but she had never seen anything unusual in their deaths. Each one was easily explained. If this man spoke the truth, however, it could be that Hervey feared some curse or the like. It would also be just like her cousin to want to find out if some rumor about a potion for long life was true, even if he doubted it at first.
“Then ’tis wrong of him to do this to ye,” she said quietly. “Verra wrong.”
A spark of hope stirred to life inside of Heming but he hastily doused it. Just because this woman believed her cousin was doing wrong did not mean that she would help him. Hervey was her kinsman and her laird. Even though her words implied that she held no affection for the man, going against him to the extent of releasing a prisoner could cost her dearly. A blood tie would not save her from punishment for such a betrayal.
“Do ye think that troubles him?” he asked.
Brona nearly winced at the bitterness underlying his words. “Nay, not at all.”
“He will kill me in the end, ye ken.”
“I ken it,” she whispered.
“And ye will do naught to stop him?” He felt guilty for trying to push her into helping him when he knew it would endanger her, but he was fighting for his life and that of his clan.
“Nay on your word alone.”
“Fair enough, but if ye havenae learned anything in the near sennight I have been trapped here, my word may be all ye have.”
A pinch of shame pricked Brona’s heart. She had been hesitant, had tried to ignore the whispers of the others at Rosscurrach and the cries of pain and rage she had heard in the night. While she had struggled to keep herself safe from Hervey’s anger, this man had suffered horribly. While she had continued to do her best to stay out of Hervey’s sight as much as possible, this man had been tortured and humiliated.
It was time to stop thinking only of protecting herself, she decided. Her cowardice appalled her. She had not realized how deeply it had entrenched itself within her heart. Brona knew her caution around her cousin was completely justified, but nothing Hervey could do to her was worth allowing this man to continue to suffer like this
