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“For her safety,” Ivy replied. “When you threw me into this cell, I knew you were becoming erratic and dangerous. The fact that you have been hunting her only proves me correct.”
Castor shot to his feet, his face twisted in rage. He grabbed the cup of water from the table and hurled it across the cell. It hit the far wall with a sharp crack, spraying liquid onto the brazier where it sizzled and hissed. Ivy recoiled and turned her head away, but then Castor was there, gripping her chin and forcing her to look into his eyes. And what she saw there terrified her.
There was a maniacal light shining in his eyes. Her brother’s face was dark, and his nostrils flared as he breathed in the shuddering breaths of his fury. And at that moment, as his eyes bored into her, Ivy feared that she had overplayed her hand. She thought maybe she had pushed him too far and that he might, in fact, hurt her if not kill her outright.
“What did you send her to York for, Sister?” he seethed.
“I told you — for her safety.”
Castor’s fingers pressed deep into her cheeks, making her cry out in pain. With a vicious smile on his lips, her brother’s face grew even darker and more malevolent as the crazed light in his eyes brightened. But then he pushed her away and growled as he stepped back from the bed.
Castor crossed his arms over his chest and paced the cell, and Ivy could see the myriad of thoughts and emotions crossing his face. As she watched him, her heart began to slow, and she grew calmer. She had been right about him not hurting her. She knew it probably shouldn’t, but it made Ivy feel somewhat better at least. Though, his whims about keeping her alive could change like the wind. Her brother was so erratic, he was wildly unpredictable. And that is what kept a current of fear alive in her belly.
“You do know the Duke will not believe this story you’re telling,” he said. “You have no proof to back up your wild claims.”
“Fin has your Irish friend,” she hissed. “The one who tried to kill the Duke - and Gillian. He will get him to talk.”
“Even if I knew who this Irishman was, I would think that highly unlikely,” Castor said. “The Irish are well known for their strength and even more for their tight lips and loyalty.”
“Possibly,” she fired back at him. “But I have seen him in your company, Brother. I know he is your man and when I tell the Duke….”
“Tell the Duke what?” he cut her off. “Again, Sister, you have no proof of anything. And I believe it is fair to say the Duke will believe me before he believes you.”
“Fin believes me,” she countered. “And he has the Duke’s ear. Who do you think he will choose to believe? You? Or the man tasked with finding out who tried to do murder upon him?”
Castor rounded on her. “Oh, Fin believes you. Oh, that’s so wonderful to hear, Ivy,” he mocked. “Do you really believe that big, dumb Scotsman can do anything to me? He’s a commoner. Nothing more. The Duke will take the word of a nobleman over that cretin.”
“He is smarter than you, Brother,” she hissed.
A grin spread across Castor’s face as a realization dawned on him. “You fancy him, don’t you?”
Ivy closed her mouth and said nothing. She simply crossed her arms over her chest and glared at her brother. His smile only widened.
“You do. You fancy him. That is so sweet,” he laughed. “It really is too bad you are already promised to another, though.”
“Well, I suppose it is good then, that I surrendered my maidenhead to him,” Ivy spat. “At least I will have one good memory to savor in the tragedy that is to become my life.”
Castor’s eyes widened, and his lips became a tight light across his face. But then he surprised her as he stepped back and started to laugh. He shook his head as his laughter trailed off.
“Well then, it is a good thing Baron Weedler is so old, he probably does not remember what it is like to be with a maiden anymore,” Castor said with a chuckle. “If you believed that giving your maidenhead to that cretin would save you from marriage, you are sadly mistaken, dear Sister. All it did was make you a harlot.”
Ivy’s face burned with anger and humiliation. With a shriek, she grabbed the only thing at hand - a pillow - and hurled it at him. Castor casually swatted it aside and laughed at her again.
He stood in the middle of the cell and stared at her for a long moment and then gave himself a small nod.
“Well then, if your beloved Scotsman is on the march here, I suppose I have preparations to make,” he said.
“He will save me.”
“I very much doubt that, Sister,” he said. “But knowing that you fancy the man, I will find it incredibly pleasurable to kill him. Perhaps I’ll even leave his head in here for you, so you are not parted from him.”
Ivy’s scream was blood-curdling, and it echoed around the dungeon, so powerful and strong, it practically made the stone walls quake. But all it did was amuse Castor, who laughed as he left her cell. The door slammed shut, and the bolt slid home, locking her inside.
Ivy was left in her cell with the fading echo of her scream and tears streaming down her face. She could not abide the thought of Fin being hurt. Of her brother killing the man she… loved. It was at that moment Ivy realized her feelings were coalescing inside of her, and she was left with the inescapable conclusion that she loved him. Truly and deeply, down into the depths of her soul, she loved Finlay Begbie. The thought of being without him left her feeling hollowed out and empty inside.
Fin was coming, and her brother knew it. He was preparing for it. Her own foolishness and reckless tongue had given Castor the ability to lay a trap that Fin was walking straight into, none the wiser.
Ivy cursed herself for being so foolish. For not foreseeing what was going to happen and putting this ball into motion. And stuck in her cell as she was, she was utterly powerless to do anything about it.
She threw her head back and shrieked - a scream that was cut off by her choked sobbing. Fin was going to die, and it would be her fault.
