The Wolf and the Highlander (Highland Wishes) (35 page)

A small, barred window set high in the wall let in the scent of brine. A different part of Glendall’s dungeon? But Glendall wasn’t situated close enough to the harbor to account for such a strong ocean scent. What had Ari said before the soldiers shoved him through that strange light?

“
Give my regards to Bantus.”

Ari had
spoken with Neil about sending him to Saroc. Could it be? Could he be more than a week’s journey from Anya, way up at the northern tip of Larna? The possibility alone was enough to make his heart pound with terror.

He tried to sit up, but his wrists were still bound behind him. Tightening his abdominal muscles, he got himself upright. Too fast. His head throbbed with pain. He was lucky he hadn’t lost consciousness from that blow. The dagger wound in his neck had soaked his collar with blood, but it wasn’t too deep. It’d scab over by morning. It was the non-physical insults that would evade healing. His uncle’s betrayal, not just of him, but of Magnus. The separation from Anya. Both twisted like knives in his gut.

Grunting with effort, he got to his feet and stood at the bars along the front of the cell. The light was meager, but he could make out the dark gray, almost black color of the stone making up the walls. There was only one place black rock was harvested and used for building. Northern Larna. He was in Saroc. In Blackrock Castle, Bantus’s home.

Ari had sent him here using a magic stone. He’d called on the name of some dark god.

Shite.

And Ari was in Chroina. With Neil and Anya.

He roared and banged his shoulder against the bars, trying to break them. They didn’t give.

Maybe if he could get his hands free he’d have a chance. He searched the cell for any loose or protruding pieces of rock he could use to cut through the rope. A turn around the barren space revealed nothing sharp enough. He tested the bonds. Too tight to wriggle out of. Too strong to break. Damn.

A distant rattling sound like a key in a lock made him hold his breath to listen. The shriek of a heavy door on rusted hinges. The stomping of several pairs of shoes descending some stairs. If he wasn’t mistaken, there were three shod men and one with bare feet.

“Bull, go on ahead and prepare the play room.” A voice so deep, it was almost distorted.

“Yes, sire.”

Sire?
Must be Bantus. Great.

One set of footsteps shuffled ahead of the others. They grew closer as “Bull” came toward Riggs’s cell.

He shrank back into shadows before a man in a faded blue war kilt and worn work shoes lumbered past carrying a lantern. The Larnian soldier had arms the size of tree trunks and a chest like a boulder. Riggs could see how he’d gotten the name Bull. The soldier never glanced in his direction. His footsteps continued down the hall and turned down another.

Scuffling and whimpering sounds came from the direction Bull had gone. It sounded like several frightened animals cowering together. The whimpers reminded him of when he’d first heard Anya’s cries in the Larnian forest.

The human women. They were being kept in a cell not far from his own.

Bull’s heavy footsteps paused. “Yeah,” he said in his grating voice, “you know what’s coming, don’t you? Who’s it going to be tonight, huh? You, pretty thi
ng? Yeah, you with the big tits. I hope so.” He grunted and moved on. Riggs heard him unlock a door beyond the women’s cell. Then he heard nothing but feminine whispers in a language he didn’t know.

Fucking bastard, stopping to taunt the women. Danu help him. Riggs’s worst fears about what could be happening in Larna were being confirmed right before his eyes. He had to get out of here. Had to stop this.

Unhurried footsteps approached his cell from the direction Bull had come. Three more men.

“Any requests, gentlemen?” Bantus’s voice.

“Whatever pleases you, sire,” said one man.

“Can I have a turn?” said another. “It’s been so long since I’ve had my pleasure with a female.”

“
Tsk, tsk.
Have you learned nothing, Myre? Those who request anything but their king’s pleasure get the beam. Reddick, when we get in the play room, hang him up and strip him.”

“Yes, sire.”

“No! Not the beam! I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I only desire your pleasure, sire!”

A cold chuckle. “Too late, Myre. Too late. Reddick, hang him facing away from the festivities. For being a sniveling ass kisser, you lose the privilege of watching.”

Festivities.
Bantus spoke of abusing women as if it were sport. Maybe he could provide a different kind of sport to distract him and spare the women tonight.

When the men came up along his cell, he stepped up to the bars. “Larnian filth,” he spat. “King Magnus should have wiped you all out while he had the chance.”

The men stopped. He instantly knew which one was Reddick and which was Myre. Reddick was tall and lean with piebald stubble covering his head. He had a craggy face and cruel, orange eyes. Myre carried a lantern and a ring of keys. He was smaller, scarred, and hunched with shame. The third man was King Bantus.

Though Riggs had been in Blackstone before as a spy, he’d never had the displeasure of meeting the lord of the castle. But he’d heard of him. Rumors abounded of a pale king as cruel as he was tall. If his height was anything to go by, Riggs was not looking forward to sampling the man’s cruelty.

Dressed in a pristine blue war kilt and nothing else, not even shoes, Bantus stood at least seven feet tall—the first man Riggs had ever met taller than him. Blond fur covered a lean, muscular chest. Straight, silver-blond hair hung over his shoulders. He faced the cell, hands clasped at his belt, and smiled a toothy smile. Like most Larnian nobles, his teeth were sharper, more wolf-like than Maranners’, a remnant of Jilken’s magical breeding with wolves.

“Look, gentlemen, we have a new guest.” That too-deep voice was like mud in Riggs’s ears. He wanted to shake it out, never hear it again. He was not to be so lucky. “What’s your crime, soldier? Or are you a soldier?” Bantus appraised his common clothing with eyes the white-gray color of an overcast sky. “Hmm, a commoner. Why would Ari send me a Maranner commoner?”
He clapped once. “Ah well, no matter, I’ll see to your comfort once I’ve had my entertainment for the night. Myre, I’ll allow you the pleasure of fetching Fluffy before I hang you from the beam. Bathe her and prepare her for me.” The men started to walk away, toward the cell housing the women. Unacceptable.

He pressed his face to the bars. “Is Fluffy one of your she-wolves?” he called after them. “I heard you Larnians had grown desperate since you failed to hang on to your own women. But desperate enough to mate wild animals?” He scoffed. “King Magnus should have put you all out of your misery twenty years ago.”

Bantus stopped. He came back to face Riggs. “Do you know what separates a strong ruler from a weak one?” He didn’t wait for Riggs to answer. “A strong one grabs hold of the opportunities fate gives him. A weak one squanders them. Do you know what your golden lion is?”

“A brave warrior. A wise leader. A champion of women.” For all his personal anger with Magnus, he recognized the good his family’s rule had done in Marann. Especially when compared with Larna’s rulers.

“A squanderer. And do you know what I am?”

“A maggot. A flea-
infested, shite-covered—”

“An opportunist,” he interrupted. “I’ll have Magnus bowing to me before the next full moon. I’ll have you bowing to me before morning.” He snapped his fingers. “Myre.”

The smaller man jumped. The keys on his belt jingled. “Yes, sire.”

Bantus inclined his head to the guard without taking his eyes from Riggs. “Count your blessings. I’ve found someone to hang on the beam in your place.”

Myre’s face lit up. Then his brow furrowed. “What about Fluffy?”

“Leave her. For now. I have a new pet to break in.”

This was going to be a long night.

A bath was the last thing Anya wanted at the moment, especially a hot one when her legs would prefer a cool soak. But she consented to let the lad, Travis, help her undress and step into the copper hip bath, tasks he performed so smoothly ’twas clear he’d been serving ladies a long time. Daly had discreetly left and returned carrying an armload of silk dresses once she was submerged in water made cloudy with copious perfumed oils. The sunny, sweet scent of orange blossoms bloomed around her, but she detected notes of vanilla and lilac in the olfactory cocktail. If she weren’t fashing to distraction over Riggs, she would have appreciated the silky texture and relaxing scent of the bath if not the temperature, which was just shy of scalding and turned the swelling in her left knee to tight throbbing.

She hadn’t a stitch of clothing on, so she kept her gemstone tucked tightly in her fist. After Magnus’s jealous stunt, she was loath to be parted from it again. Besides, she needed it. When the trackers had taken her from Valeworth, Riggs had come after her. It was her turn to find him. She didn’t have his nose nor his strength and endurance, but she had her wits. And she had two servants at her disposal. If she’d learned anything from her gossipy associations with Laird Steafan’s servants, ’twas that very little occurred within the walls of a keep that the staff didn’t ken about. If Riggs remained in Glendall, a servant would have heard about it by now.

Gritting her teeth against the pain in her legs, she said to Daly, “So you’re to be my servant, aye?”

“Yes, lady Anya,” he replied while hanging the dresses inside an armoire enameled in white and trimmed with gold inlay. Like Magnus, his accent was more cultured than Riggs’s. After straightening the dresses, he faced her with hands clasped at his belt. “It is my great honor to serve you.”

“Mine too,” said Travis, nodding enthusiastically. He moved behind her with a pitcher and began rinsing her hair and lathering it with soap smelling strongly of orange blossoms. His massaging fingers distracted her from the pain in her legs. She kept her eyes on Daly. ’Twas he who had seen Riggs with Neil in the bailey by the stables.

“’Tis
my
honor to be served by the king’s head of household and the youngest person in the world.” Wouldn’t hurt to butter them up a wee bit. “He said I could ask of you anything.”

Daly raised his eyebrows, a cautious invitation.

She chuckled. “
Och,
’tis merely information I seek.”

“What information is that, lady?”

“You heard the king, aye? My lifemate is missing.”

He nodded, his brow pinched. “I am sorry, lady. This is a travesty of the worst sort. I’m sure King Magnus will do all in his power to restore your lifemate to you.”

“He ought to be worried about himself,” she said, tipping back her head for Travis’s rinsing. “Tell me about this uprising he faces. His second is involved, aye?”

Travis’s hands froze in her sudsy hair.

Daly’s gaze darted to the door, then back to her. “My job is to see to the king’s comfort, and now yours. If any who keep council with the king are plotting against him, I am not privy to such things.” She couldn’t help but notice how he didn’t bother lowering his voice. Any guards outside the door would have heard him easily. He came closer and stooped to put his mouth by her ear. He smelled of shaving soap and cloves, and he had creases around his eyes that showed he smiled often. “His second heads a party called Breeding First,” he said quietly. “Have you heard of it?”

She
tried to shake her head, but Travis was wringing water out of her hair with surprisingly strong hands for a child. “No,” she whispered, “but I can guess from the name what their objective is. Wouldn’t it be the king’s too? To breed?”

Daly nodded. “Of course,” he whispered, “but Magnus holds to the old ways, the ways established by Danu. Sires must be known for the blood to be strong and blessed. Breeding First has been striving to change the lottery so multiple men can win breeding rights to a single lady within the same season.”

Interesting. “That wouldn’t necessarily help,” she said, mindful to keep her voice quiet. “If the problem is with the women, no amount of seed is going to make them conceive. If ’tis truly a curse on your people, doing the opposite of what your goddess decries seems a foolish measure.”

Travis moved around to her other side. “That’s what the king says.”

She frowned at him. “
Och,
arena you too young to ken about breeding?”

It was Daly who answered in hushed tones. “Everyone talks about it. The children can’t help but hear.”

“I know a lot about breeding,” Travis whispered earnestly while he ran a soft sponge over her arm and shoulder. “Like I know my sire isn’t really the noble who was contracted to my mother at the time I was conceived, even though my certificate says otherwise.”

She felt her eyes widen.

“My sire is Ari,” he said, looking less than proud. He lifted one of her arms to wash away her natural musk. “Breeding First thinks he should be king because he sired a child when King Magnus hasn’t been able to.” Finished with her underarm, he moved around to the other.

“But you disagree.” She gathered as much from his tone.