Page 39 of A Temptress in Tartan

“We’ll see about that.” Swinton moved to a table along the far wall that bore a witch’s bridle, thumb screws, a lead sprinkler, various weights and ropes, manacles of all sizes, a breast ripper, a cat-o-nine-tails, crocodile shears, and a head crusher.

The sight of the instruments of torture brought forth a shudder of revulsion. He’d heard about torture techniques over the years, but had never seen any of the devices used to accomplish that feat in person until now.

Swinton came to Lachlan’s side and looked down at him with cool, unfeeling eyes. “Are you ready?” Swinton’s hand drifted to a leather sheath attached to his belt from which he withdrew a long, cylindrical, brass needle that tapered to a fine point. “Where should we start?”

Chapter Thirteen

It was close to midnight when the guards returned Lachlan to his cell. Elizabeth had waited there in the shadows since they’d taken him away hours ago. She’d paid one of the guards to bring fresh straw from the slaughterhouse, which after she’d swept the rotting straw into a corner, she’d spread out across the floor. And she’d traded her mother’s pearl ring for fresh water and linen to be delivered upon Lachlan’s return to his cell.

Reid and Lucy had left shortly after Lachlan and with the intent to head to the Nungate Inn at the edge of Berwick. They promised to send word to the other four of the king’s elite guard, claiming that together they might hold some sway over the king.

Elizabeth could only hope they were right.

The tolbooth clock struck twelve when the guards dragged a naked Lachlan into the cell and tossed him on the floor face down. A pile of clothing was hurled next to him.

Elizabeth dropped to her knees beside him. She swayed, trying to fight back the tears and darkness that threatened to consume her. She had to be strong for Lachlan’s sake. “Where is my water and linen?” she called, drawing strength from the act of doing something to help him.

“Coming,” a deep voice replied from the doorway.

Sweet Mary, he was barely breathing.

The young guard she had bribed entered and set down a basin of water, several lengths of white linen, and a candle that cast a soft yellow glow over the small cell. “Help me roll him over,” Elizabeth demanded. When the guard did, she gasped at the sight of his welted and pierced flesh. Her stomach pitched.

“What did they do to him?” Terrible things. Cruel and senseless things. “I thought he was seeing the pricker?”

The guard nodded. “That was afore he decided tae rescue two other women who were bein’ tortured there.”

The tears she’d been trying to stop spilled past her lashes. “Thank you for these things,” she said to the guard, “and for the time alone with my husband.”

The guard looked down at the ring on his little finger. “My wife’ll thank me fer this fer years tae come.” He stood and exited the cell, locking the door behind him.

Looking at the man before her, Elizabeth felt utter despair. “We promised to keep each other from harm.” She expelled a shattered breath. “At the first test of that promise, I failed. I’m so sorry. I’ll figure a way out of this mess that my father has brought down on us both. I’ll find a way.” A swift jolt of agony shook Elizabeth.

Only a short time ago she had thought of this man as her enemy. But over the past few days they had built a bridge that was spanning the gap between enemies and friends. She had actually been eager to see where things led after they had arrived at his castle . . . but would they even get a chance to move forward?

Heaviness settled in her chest as she dipped one of the pieces of linen into the water and began wiping the blood first from his forehead, then his cheeks and neck. She could feel a pulse beneath her fingertips that was thready, but strong.

She dipped her linen in the water, turning the liquid pink as she continued to gently clean his shoulders, his chest. When she reached the most male part of him, she cleaned him quickly before moving on to his legs.

He let out an occasional moan, but did not wake up, for which she was grateful.

When she was done cleansing the multitude of wounds, she secured linen around the worst ones in an effort to keep them from turning putrid, before she attempted to pull on his breeches and shirt in order to keep his wounds from further contamination due to the filthy conditions.

Elizabeth had to keep herself busy with his care so she couldn’t think about the pain he must be feeling or how many deaths had occurred in this very place to those who were tortured like Lachlan had been.

She steeled herself to keep back the tears as she settled on the floor and cradled Lachlan’s head in her lap. They needed a plan, and fast, before he was forced to endure anything more. Yet the harder she tried to assess the situation and make plans, the more jumbled her thoughts became.

With a sigh of capitulation, she leaned her head back against the cold, stone wall, appreciative of the fact they were both still alive. And until either she could see a clear path ahead, or the king’s warriors could find a way out of this situation, neither of them would have any sort of future—separate or together.

*

“Elizabeth.”

The candle had long since sputtered itself out when Lachlan opened his eyes. He stared up at Elizabeth who drowsily opened her eyes.

“Elizabeth,” he whispered again.

Instantly alert, she looked down at him. “You are awake.”