“Mmmm,” was Kelso’s response, and for some reason that frightened Sawny more than anything else.
“A representative of Breadalbane is on his way. He should be here this evening, and he will want information from ye. I have given ye a respite while ye recovered, and time to consider how ye should respond to my inquiry. Now I would know. Where is the letter?”
Sawny shook his head slightly. What could he say to the man to tell Kelso he did not –
He did not get the chance to finish the thought as the leather gloves smacked across his cheek again, this time the other side, making Sawny rock in the chair. And this time it stung like a whip and made the entire right side of his face throb as his head flung to the left.
Feckin’ hell!
Sawny breathed out a long, slow breath from between his clenched lips and gathered his wits under his searing face.
Dinna let him see ye react. Dinna let him see the pain.
Lolling his head around, Sawny spat at Kelso’s feet before lifting his gaze to Kelso’s irritated face.
“What letter?”
Before Sawny’s eyes, Kelso’s face became a grotesque mask of fury. Clenching the gloves in his right hand, Kelso slapped at Sawny’s head over and over, a short fat whip leaving red welts and ringing stings of pain on his cheeks and head.
When Kelso stopped, panting from the exertion and his own rage, Sawny’s mind was spinning, as if the whipping had spun his brain inside his skull. He blinked as he tried to focus his eyes.
And that was just with a pair of gloves.
What was he going to do when Kelso moved to more significant weapons?
Kelso flipped his head back, glaring at Sawny under his greasy hair. His cheeks were bright pink under his beady eyes.
“Now. Let us try again, shall we?” he said breathlessly. “Where is the letter? What do ye know of it?”
Sawny licked his lips.
Let it never be known that a Keppoch would not stubbornly stand his ground, punches and torture be damned.
“What letter?”
“Ye feckin’ bastard!” Kelso screeched like a man possessed.
He snatched a piece of crumbling wood that had fallen from the firewood stack near him and brought it down hard.
Sawny had just enough time to bring his head down and his arms up, so his hands and arms took the brunt of Kelso’s fury. Slivers and crumbs from the decaying wood sprinkled around him like heavy snow and clung in his hair.
The stinging, furious attack was over as quickly as it began, with Kelso panting again. Truly the man sounded unwell.
Sawny lowered his burning arms, glancing at his abraded and bruised skin. He’d be picking wood slivers out of his arms for days.
Kelso flipped his head back again, and this time his gaze moved around the room.
Sawny had to keep his face like stone when he saw Kelso’s pale hand on a slender riding crop-style whip.
Kelso’s thin lips pulled into a grimaced smile, one full of evil intention.
“Hold him,” Kelso instructed his men.
This time, Sawny was not going to have the chance to protect himself. He kept his face as still as he could, a weak smile on his face. He tried to appear rather bored.
This was not the first time he’d taken a hit to the face. Or more than one. And he would not show Kelso an ounce of fear.
Even if his skin shivered under his worn clothing as the guards grasped his hands behind the chair.
