“Shut up,” Colin said.
Ramsay nodded wisely at Colin’s words. “We’ll continue.”
Andrew backed away, still looking unhappy with the proceedings. Philip sighed.Sorry, lad, I was rooting for you.
The smith was at the fire, rolling a rod about in it. When he turned, it glowed red at the tip. Philip’s heart sped as he looked from the smith’s grinning face to the glowing metal. He swallowed and braced himself.
Ramsay came to stand before him, the expression in his eyes condescending, as if Philip were naught more than a recalcitrant child in need of discipline. “Now, Sir Philip. I’m going to ask you again. Who was the witch traveling with you?”
“I told you. I dinna know any witches.”
The elder sighed deeply and regretfully, his mouth compressed to nothing in the thicket of his gray beard. He nodded to the smith. Philip’s hands were bound behind his back. Niall and Aidan appeared on either side of him and grabbed his arms to hold him in place.
With his free hand, the smith grabbed the front of Philip’s shirt and yanked, ripping the fabric until it hung from his shoulders like a rag, his chest exposed. Though Philip fought to show no emotion, his chest heaved. He was sweating, though the air wascool. The smith moved slowly, as though to prolong the moment, bringing the glowing cherry of the rod ever closer. They were waiting for him to break, Philip realized, giving him a chance to save his skin.
Hewould not,he vowed to himself. He would not say her name, no matter what they did to him. He closed his eyes when the fiery rod seared him, and endured.
Colin waited impatiently as the guard unlocked the cellar door. It was night—which meant Niall and Aidan were drunk and probably causing trouble. He should be keeping an eye on them, but as he’d paced his room at the inn, he’d become more and more convinced he must speak with Philip alone. This had gone on long enough.
The elders trusted him completely, so no questions were asked when he visited Ramsey and told him he wanted to talk to his brother. No one but the smith—and Niall and Aidan—had really enjoyed the torture session that day. Colin had been especially surprised that it had turned his stomach. He hated Philip, but he didn’t seem to have the stomach to watch him tortured. But Ramsay felt it necessary. The elders would not rest until they had the witch who was behind the murders. Thanks to Colin, they believed Philip had been utterly bewitched by her—not that a plea of bewitchment would save him from the stake—but it made Isobel the true perpetrator.
Though Colin had anticipated that they’d try to discover her identity, he’d not believed it would go this far. He didn’t know whether she was married to the earl of Kincreag yet, but he was not so stupid as to be the one to name her. She was a bonny lass, and, witch or no, the earl might fancy her enough to seek retribution.
Colin had come to urge Philip to tell the elders her name. He’d suggested to Ramsay that Philip might still be bewitched—and perhaps if they told him he would be set free, he would give her up. They would not set him free, of course, but it was perfectly legal to lie during interrogations.
The guard passed Colin the lantern, closing and locking the door behind him. Colin lifted the lantern high and descended the damp steps. Something dripped, and there was a scuttling near his feet as the rats scattered.
Philip was tied to a pole near the far wall of the small cellar. He sat on the ground, knees up, his head leaned back against the pole, his eyes closed; though Colin was sure he was awake and fully aware he was not alone.
He’d been given another shirt, but it was too small and was tight across his shoulders and chest. The bulk of the bandages wrapped around his chest made him look bumpy and odd. They’d cleaned and dressed his wounds immediately after the torture—couldn’t have him dying from infection—not when their questions were still unanswered. Colin felt a wave of involuntary revulsion for the whole affair.
True, he had orchestrated it all, and true, he wanted his brother out of the way for good, but he’d never wantedthis.Truth be told, if Philip managed to escape—which surely, surely was impossible—Colin was scared. It had gone too far, and Philip would see him dead for it. All of which brought Colin to the cellar that evening.
“If you don’t tell them tomorrow, I will.”
Philip smiled, and Colin was amazed he still could. Though Philip had spoken not a word, made not a sound throughout the torture, no one there had assumed he was unmoved. His jaw had been rigid, and when he’d bared his teeth in pain, blood had coated his teeth from biting the insides of his mouth to keep fromcrying out.
“What? Are you growing a backbone, Colin?” He straightened his neck and opened his eyes, fixing them on Colin. “Willing to stand up to the earl of Kincreag? What if he finds out you’re pointing fingers at his wife? What happens if he brings his power and influence to the trial, and she’s acquitted? False accusations of witchcraft are not treated lightly.”
“I have no intention of accusing her. Just of revealing her name. It is indisputable that she was traveling with you. I’ll say no more.”
Philip’s lip curled. “Why? What do you care so long as I’m dead?”
“I want this to be over—I’ve other things to attend, and I can’t do that while you still breathe. So let’s just get the burning over with.”
Slowly, Philip leaned his head back against the pole, exposing a neck thus far unmarked. “Here’s my neck. If you’re so impatient, why don’t you just cut it.”
Colin stared at his brother, wishing it were that easy. He could not kill Philip with his own hand. If their father ever found out, he’d see Colin dead for it. It was already looking bad for him. He’d had quite a story planned to tell Dougal, about how he came too late and tried to save his brother, but alas, the commission had the king’s power in witchcraft trials. There’d been naught he could do but comfort his brother at the end. But sitting back and watching his brother tortured would not be so easy to explain.
“I don’t understand why you’re so keen to protect her. Sheisa witch. She deserves the stake.”
Philip didn’t move, but the air seemed to still around him. “Untie me and say that again.”
Colin exhaled loudly. “Do youwantto be tortured? Did youlikethe burning rod?”
A small smile curved Philip’s mouth again. “Why, Colin—is that concern I hear in your voice? Are you actually feeling regret?”
Colin snorted. “Hardly, but the stench of burning flesh has ruined my dinner.”
