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He felt his face fall. He stopped before Euphemia and locked eyes with Rogene. Betrayal slashed at him, wrenching his heart. Nae, he thought, that cannot be. Euphemia was just spinning lies. Surely it was only her means of getting back at Rogene for kissing him, and it was his fault.

But, on the other hand, this couldn’t be a coincidence after he’d told Rogene about the letter. By God’s blood, he really wanted to believe Rogene was innocent.

“What do ye say, Lady Rogene?” he asked. “Do ye deny it? Surely, this canna be true?”

She lifted her head and closed her eyes tight. When she opened them, he saw a hard decision there. “I looked in your room, and I was reading that document that’s in Lady Euphemia’s hand.”

The crowd gasped and murmured. “Thief,” some people said. “Spy…” A clod of dirt flew towards Rogene but passed by, then another.

Angus’s stomach dropped. No. No. Was she a traitor?

“But I did it for a different reason than you might think,” she said.

“What reason?” he asked.

“Lord Angus, I think she’s said enough,” Euphemia said. “Whatever reason she had, she was sneaking around yer room. She must be punished.”

To Angus’s horror, she took the whip from Gill-Eathain’s hand, lifted her arm, and made a swing. The whip flew through the air like a thin snake with a soft whoosh. Rogene paled, tensed, and closed her eyes.

As if the world had slowed, he watched the whip come closer. It was the painful type, one with a small wooden ball on the tip.

He dashed forward, shielding Lady Rogene with his body, and pain slashed across his hand and arm in a fiery, violent line of burning. He heard a thump and a click as the ball on the tip hit him right across the cheekbone. People around them gasped, and so did Euphemia. Warm liquid rolled down his face and the copper tang of blood reached his nostrils.

While Euphemia rushed to him, he turned to Rogene. With her hands still tied to the pole, she looked at him over her shoulder, her eyes wide, her mouth open. He quickly scanned her body—no signs or harm. Thank the Lord, she was whole.

Euphemia took him by the shoulder and turned him to herself. “Lord Angus!” She truly looked worried—her blue eyes wide in horror, her face pale. “Why are ye defending her?”

He looked her over and shook his head once, fury boiling within him anew. He grasped the letter that was still in her other hand.

“This is mine.” As she stared at him in astonishment, he tucked it into a belt pouch, took out the necklace, and shoved it into her hands. “’Tis for ye, dear betrothed. A wedding gift.”

Then he marched to the pole and undid the ties on Rogene’s hands. “Cover yerself,” he commanded.

“What are ye doing?” Euphemia cried, outraged.

As Rogene clasped her dress to her body, he shot a glare at Euphemia. “Ye were wrong to punish a guest of my clan with nae consent.”

“I asked Laomann,” she said, pointing at the laird.

Laomann opened and closed his mouth and shrugged his shoulders.

“Goddamn it to hell!” Angus roared. “She was in my room, and looked through my things, so ’tis up to me to decide what punishment she will or wilna have after I question her. I will deal with ye later, Lady Euphemia.” He grasped Rogene’s upper arm and marched with her to the tower.

“And I will deal with ye now.”

Chapter 15

Cold crept into Rogene’s bones as Angus shut the caged door of the dungeon behind her with a heavy clang. It was dark here despite three torches that cast eerie shadows on the rough walls. It smelled like mold and fungus and very old, wet rock. It turned out, the castle had a dungeon. It was the door right next to Angus’s distillery. There was only one cage, and Rogene was in it.

The room was about twenty square feet and had walls on three sides. The fourth side was a wooden grating with a door made of the same material. The torches illuminated the room dully. A bench was attached to one of the walls, and chains and shackles hung on the opposite one. It was quiet here, almost deafeningly so. Distantly, Rogene heard a soft scratching, and nausea rose to her throat at the thought of rats and mice somewhere nearby.

She stood in the middle of the room, shaking from cold and fear, staring at Angus, who stood on the other side of the grating. The dress was falling off her shoulders, and she kept pulling it up. It was unbearable to watch his somber glare as he studied her. Then his eyes fell to her chest.

“Are ye hurt?” he asked.

“Just a scratch,” she said. “Don’t worry. Lady Euphemia was very protective of your letter.”

His face fell. “Does she ken?”