could help her make some decision about what to do.
Recalling Hervey’s plan to take blood from Sir Heming, she decided that was all that should rule her decision, that and the fact that Hervey was brutally torturing a man who had never done him any harm. What the man was did not matter. What Hervey was doing was wrong and what he planned to do was even worse. On the one hand, Hervey condemned MacNachton for drinking blood and on the other, Hervey planned to do just that if he discovered that Sir Heming’s blood held the secret of a long life.
Brona realized she had already made her decision about Sir Heming. She was going to try to save his life. Whatever manner of man he was, he did not deserve what Hervey and Angus were doing to him. He certainly did not deserve being used by her cousin and his first as a source for whatever magical quality might lurk in his blood.
A shiver went through her as she recalled her cousin and Angus discussing how they would use the man, taking his blood every day in order to see if they could gain the man’s strength and longevity. She had always known that her cousin and Angus were hard, cruel men, but their plan to keep Sir Heming caged so that they could feed off him was beyond cruel. Brona had to wonder if the two men were mad, or at least edging very close to madness. Even if one believed all the tales about the MacNachtons—and she had probably only heard a few of them in the last sennight—what her cousin planned was still madness.
She would take Sir Heming away from them. Brona intended to free Peter, if he still lived, as well as Colin and Fergus. The moment she opened the door to Sir Heming’s cage she would not be able to stay at Rosscurrach, so she may as well help every man in the dungeons flee her mad cousin’s rule. None of these men had done any harm to their laird or anyone else at Rosscurrach. She also had no doubt the men would stay free once their wounds healed. Brona just hoped she would be able to save herself as well.
Thoughts of the threat hanging over her own head started to creep into her mind, but she pushed them away. If she thought about how Hervey wanted her to marry Angus, of how that man lusted after her, she would never sleep or, if she did, she would be plagued by nightmares. She was fleeing Rosscurrach and that was all she would think about.
Closing her eyes, she tried to calm herself, knowing she needed her rest. There was a lot she had to do before she could help the men in the dungeons and herself. She would need to find a place for them to hide and gather some supplies. She would need all her wits clear to prepare for her escape and she needed sleep for that. The sooner she, Fergus, Colin, Peter—if he still lived—and Sir Heming got out of Hervey’s reach the better.
Heming rocked slightly, struggling to fight the waves of pain washing over him. The laird of Rosscurrach had a true skill at torturing a man. Worse, Heming got the feeling the man actually enjoyed it. By the time the torture had stopped, Sir Hervey Kerr had been so enraged at Heming’s refusal to tell him anything about the MacNachtons that Heming was a little surprised he still had all his parts.
Not sure why he was fighting unconsciousness and thinking about just giving into it, Heming had his attention suddenly caught by the sound of voices. He wondered why he felt such a keen sense of disappointment when he did not hear the woman’s low husky voice. The two men Mistress Brona had been talking to before leaving were talking to each other now that they were all alone. He doubted they would say anything of any importance, but Heming eagerly grasped the chance to think about anything except the pain wracking his body.
“Do ye think she will come back and set us free?” asked one and Heming recognized the voice as the one named Fergus.
“If she can, aye,” said the man Colin.
“But ye dinnae think she can, do ye?”
“I cannae say. It willnae be easy to get us out of here and she is just a wee lass. Aye, and one who has lived here and been cared for all her life. Weel, until that bastard showed up and sat his arse in the laird’s chair. She will want to and, if I recall right from when she was a bairn, she can be a stubborn lass. Just dinnae feel too unkindly toward her if she cannae do it.”
“Och, nay, I wouldnae. As ye say, she is just a wee lass. But, if we do get free what shall we do? We cannae stay here yet what about the rest of the family?”
“We will get word to them to get away if they fear they may be in danger. S’truth, I dinnae think they will be. We really didnae commit any crime and we have been punished for the one that bastard tries to say we committed. That should be the end of it yet he keeps us here. I still think it may be to feed that beastie in the cage. Weel, the laird cannae say that, can he. I think he willnae be so verra concerned about us escaping. He will be too busy trying to get MacNachton back and mayhap Peter as weel, if the mistress can find him and he still lives.”
Fergus cursed. “The old laird was such a good mon. How could he leave us with this bastard as his heir?”
“He couldnae make Mistress Brona the laird, could he? I like to think the mon didnae really ken what sort of mon Hervey Kerr is, e’en if that makes the old laird sound a bit of a fool.”
Obviously Hervey Kerr was not the usual sort amongst the Kerrs of Rosscurrach, thought Heming. If he ever did reach his kinsmen he would have to make it clear that it was Hervey Kerr and his first who were their enemies. Them and a few of Hervey’s men. For all that he ached to avenge this treatment at Hervey’s hands, he could not allow the innocent to be caught up in that.
“Sweet Jesu, Colin, I hope she does get us out of here and soon. I dinnae want to be dragged afore that demon and have my soul eaten.”
Heming inwardly cursed. A beastie and a demon that ate souls. It was obvious the two men did not share Mistress Brona’s doubt concerning the claims about him and his clan. If there was a rescue, he might not be invited along, especially if the decision was left up to those two.
“Weel, thinking it all o’er I am nay certain he is a demon. Mistress Brona is right. Where is his power if he is a demon, eh? Why hasnae he sent those bastards straight to hell? If ye heed all the Godly men say then that mon down there shouldnae be just setting in that cage letting them torture him every night. He would be ripping those bars apart and killing the men who think themselves so strong they can torture one of the devil’s minions. Aye, and e’en if he stayed a wee while, letting the laird and his men stain their souls nice and black by their own actions, wouldnae he be trying to woo us into sinning? Into giving him our souls?”
“I heard them say he is bound by silver chains and in an iron cage. Mayhap that is what has trapped him.”
Colin’s heavy sigh echoed through the dungeon. “Och, I dinnae ken, Fergus. I just dinnae ken what to think. I saw Peter. I heard the laird say the mon or whate’er he is drank poor Peter’s blood and it healed his wounds. Yet a part of me thinks that, if a mon like our laird can capture and torment a demon, then why are we all told to be so afraid of them? Our laird is no a great warrior.”
“Aye, true enough. Yet what mon drinks another mon’s blood, Colin?”
“A verra thirsty one?”
Heming was almost able to smile as the two men laughed. Unlike so many others Colin was at least trying to reason out what he had seen and heard. Too many heeded the dark tales about his clan and ne’er searched for the truth, simply hated and feared them. It was a shame that Colin’s ability to hesitate before hating would do him little good. Heming needed a free man, a strong one who would know how to get him out of Rosscurrach. Colin was not that man.
“Get some rest, Fergus. I dinnae ken if the lass will be able to help us, but ’tis best if we stay as strong as we can. This place sucks
