Page 88 of Devil Black

He tossed the object he had been juggling so playfully. By instinct, Dougal caught it and cradled it in the palm of hand. A curious thing—small, narrow and tapered, with a bloody stump at one end and a delicate nail at the other. In dawning horror he realized it was a finger.

Dougal’s world tilted around him, sickeningly, and went dark for an instant.

“I am sure you recognize that,” Bertram leered. “No doubt you ha’ seen it often enough, wrapped round your cock. Do you doubt it belongs to your wife?”

Dougal launched himself at the grinning face, his control snapping abruptly. What had they done to her—the bastards, the bastards! He would kill Bertram MacNab slowly and then feed his heart to his misbegotten sire…

He managed three damaging blows before he was hauled away by a number of MacNab’s guards who stepped forward from the shadows. Too late now to feign indifference or disbelief. When they released him, he stood trembling with rage so powerful he had to consciously fight it down. Nay, he did not doubt from whence they had taken the grisly trophy. Had he not marveled a score of times, as she caressed him, that such a slender being could contain so much fire and courage? Isobel! All at once his longing for her had a power that should have moved mountains.

Randal shot his son a look. “Bring her. Her husband should harbor no doubt. And she should witness what he does or does no’ think of her, and his lack of honor.”

Bertram, now trickling blood from one corner of his mouth, went, and Dougal retrieved the grisly treasure from the stones, where it had flown. A treasure it was. They had taken this from her by force, in terror and pain. How his Isobel must have felt—the same hurt and loneliness Aisla had endured.

He had failed Aisla. He could not fail Isobel now, not at any cost.

Had he believed in anything, he might have prayed; he would call upon the devil, if he thought Satan might respond. Beside him Thomas, dead pale, stood like a rock.

And then she was there, hauled in through the far doorway by the vile Bertram, her feet dragging on the ground. She looked twice as pale as Thomas, near to fainting, her clothes in disarray and her hair streaming down, a bright curtain. But her eyes found Dougal’s and held, burning with will and another emotion Dougal identified with a sudden rush of humility.

“Take your hands from her!” he barked, and started forward to free her from Bertram’s grasp. To his surprise, Bertram released her. She half fell into Dougal’s arms; his eyes and hands both searched her avidly. He found her hand and lifted it in his own.

They had not even bandaged her wound, the scunners. It showed as a blackened blight, doubly marred by cauterization, and he felt his gorge rise.

“What ha’ they done to you?” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it reverently. Tears flooded her eyes, but she did not speak.

“You agree,” Randal MacNab said smoothly, “this is, indeed, your wife?”

Dougal rounded on him. “You will pay for this—in hell, if not sooner to me!”

“No doubt. But you will pay first. Agree to my demands, and you can take your wife and her sister home.”

“Demands?” Isobel whispered. Dougal heard it in her voice—she was spent, her courage unraveling. But it held her still.

Randal ignored her. “I have a scribe standing by—a lawyer, in fact. We shall make this legal, aye, so there can be no question later—no reneging by you, black devil that you are.”

“You would ransom me?” Isobel questioned, her eyes clinging to Dougal’s. “What does he ask?”

“Your husband will sign over to me and my descendants all his lands in exchange for your freedom and that of your sister.”

“No!” Isobel cried before anyone else could speak. She straightened her spine and drew away from Dougal. “Go to the King, Husband. Make complaint. It is illegal, what he does here.”

Dougal’s lips twisted. “He has destroyed my credibility with the King. Besides,” he swallowed hard, “how long would that take?” How could he leave her and Catherine in these monsters’ hands the while? What condition would she be in, if he did manage to get her away through legal means?

“But your lands…” she whispered, eyes still holding his, “they mean everything to you. Everything.”

“Aye.” The blessed land, the waters, the sky above both, remained as vital to him as breath, blood of his blood and bone of his bone.

But, he realized with an impact that shook him, this woman might well be just as vital to him.

He refused to fail her.

He never knew, later, what Isobel saw in his eyes, but it caused her to catch her breath and round on MacNab. “I demand a few moments with my husband, alone.”

“You demand?” Randal sneered.

“And that my sister be permitted to see her husband before any agreements are made—or signed.”

“What right have you, wench, to ask for anything?”