Page 13 of Devil Black

Dougal fully understood why. Even the echo of his sister’s rage daunted strong men.

“Only imagine,” she seethed, “him preferring some unseasoned wench, when he had me in his bed.”

“You felt insulted,” Dougal marveled. “Not broken-hearted?”

“Do not be foolish. You know I have no heart to break. I am like you, in that regard.” Meg’s eyes flashed. “My husband deserved to die, if just for his fecklessness. He knew what I was—what I am.”

“A witch?” Dougal suggested against his better judgment.

“A dangerous woman, one to be reckoned with. But we were speaking, Brother, of your dilemma.”

“I see no dilemma.”

“Oh, I think you do. The wench can identify you. How can you suppose to let her go?”

“Aye, how can I?”

“Yet you cannot keep her captive forever. You have backed yourself into an untenable position.”

“And what do you care, Meg, about my fate? You never tire of saying how you hate me.”

Meg scowled. “I hate the things you have done—and failed to do. However, you do, at present, represent my personal security. Should you find yourself beheaded, with all these lands forfeit, what will become of me?”

Dougal shrugged. “Why not wed Lachlan? He wants you badly enough, poor fool.”

Unexpected color rushed to Meg’s face. “Lachlan?”

“Do not tell me you failed to notice his worshipful glances?”

Meg’s chin lifted. “All men look at me that way.”

Dougal laughed harshly. “Do they, so? What a wonder.”

“I cannot help it. ’Tis easy enough to attract a man. Finding one who will stay honorable and true presents the difficulty.”

“Honorable and true?” Dougal spoke the words with incredulous disbelief. “For the likes of us? Aye, Sister—you must, indeed, be mad.”

Chapter Seven

“Come.” The guard spoke the word in a grunt that even Isobel could not fail to understand, the first command she had received in a day and a half.

It had seemed longer, trapped in the barren room with her food and drink presented at the door by yet another shabby retainer—the only person she saw. She had availed herself of the “necessary” and paced until she wore holes in the threadbare carpet, unable to sleep, and she now felt half mad with worry and distress.

At least, as she told herself repeatedly, Catherine was safe, off away with her new husband. And so what did Isobel’s fate matter? She had possessed no prospect of a happy life anyway, trapped at her father’s house. Was this so very much worse? At least Catherine, carrying her lover’s babe, could claim a future.

She told herself all this and even, on an intellectual level, believed it. Yet when the taciturn guard at last ordered her from the room, her heart plunged to her feet.

Had the monster who held her in his power made up his mind about what to do with her? Had he, perhaps, sent a ransom demand to MacNab, her future father-in-law? Did MacNab wait for her, below?

Her footsteps echoed on the dusty stones of the corridor and stairs as she followed the guard to the rough hall she had seen before. She could hear rain pounding the outside of the keep—for a day and night, continuously, it had rained, the weather worsening Isobel’s mood.

Her captor, alone, awaited her, standing before a fire that leaped and danced. He turned to survey her as she entered the chamber, and Isobel wondered what he saw. She had not been able to wash herself properly, and her hair hung loose down her back. She possessed not so much as a comb with which to put it up again. She felt like a wild woman, heedless in her impatience.

She spoke before he could. “It is full well time you addressed my presence here. Sir, this is intolerable! You cannot hold me trapped against my will without comforts or recourse. Am I a prisoner, to so languish without benefit of the law?”

“No comforts?” He quirked an eyebrow. “Are you not in out of the rain, in your chamber? Is there not a fire? Were you not given food and drink?”

Rage rose like a bubble to Isobel’s head. She distinctly felt it take hold of her mind. “You understand very well what I mean.”