The Devil’s Due by Boucher, Rita (free reads txt) 📗

London by the time the old man was finished. The sudden commotion outside was a welcome interruption. Perhaps Duncan could finally say his farewells without damaging Tam’s pride. A crowd was gathering outside the door, and a familiar bark drew Duncan to the center of the disturbance.

“Anne!” Duncan scooped the child up, ignoring Cur’s frenetic yips. She was gasping for breath and her dusty feet were bloody. “What happened, child?”

“Uncle John. . . the castle . . .” She fought to get the words out, but the terror in her face filled in more than enough detail.

“And the dumb shall speak,” Tam murmured in wonder.

“To hell with your blathering about the bloody curse,” Duncan roared. “My lady is in danger. Start for the castle with some men Tam.” He tried to hand Anne over to one of the women, but she would not release him.

“I shall get to her faster by myself, lassie,” he said quietly.

Reluctantly she let go. “She told me to run and hide,” she whispered. “He’ll hurt her.”

“I will not allow it,” Duncan promised as he mounted Selkie. Try though he might, he could not keep the name “Canute” from his mind.

. . .

“Call her, Kate!” Vesey demanded.

Kate rested her cheek against the cold metal of the pump, unobtrusively flexing her wrists against the bonds that held her to the impromptu whipping post. The old bit of rope that Vesey had found in the kitchen was frayed and she had kept her arms limp when he had bound her. Given a few minutes more, she might be able to slip the ropes loose, but time was a commodity that seemed to be limited.

“Call your daughter!”

She pulled a deep breath, exhaling as she heard his riding whip whistling down toward her back. The trick of taking a flogging, an old infantryman had told her long ago, was to stay flexible, to avoid the tendency to go rigid. Unfortunately, although she yielded as much as possible to the impact, she felt the bite of the lash. The scream remained sealed in her throat as the blood trickled from the bite in her lip.

“Call her!”

“You know they would do something quite similar to this in India, when tigers would prey on the flocks,” Kate said when she caught her breath. “The natives would stake out a goat and make it bleat in the hopes of luring the predator into their trap. Well, I will be damned before I bleat for you, John.”

“Where is she?”

“Do you think that I would tell you, even if I knew?” Kate asked, her voice rising. “My daughter knows every inch of this island and the shores of the loch. She could hide from you forever and I pray that she does. You might as well finish me now, John.”

His laugh made her skin crawl. “You would like that wouldn’t you, Katherine? An easy end? But the game is not over yet. I doubt that she will be able to continue to ignore her mother’s cries. And I will have you screaming, my dear. One way or another you will bring her to me. I know how to make pain last Kate. I have begun lightly since I don’t want to damage you. Yet. Now call your daughter.

Kate raised her head. Vesey moved to stand before her, thinking she meant to submit. As he focused on her face, she worked her bonds, loosened her wrists a bit more. She looked him in the eye and spat, and then waited for the inevitable.

. . .

Duncan cursed silently and thanked God that he had left Anne behind as he assessed the situation. Once, when his sight had been whole, he might have tried to take down Vesey with a shot, but it was far too much of a risk for a one-eyed marksman.

“Now call your daughter.”

Duncan could hear the frustration in Vesey’s voice and steeled himself as the lash came down again.

“I do not want to hurt her, Anne,” Vesey called, dropping his crop before pulling the pistol from his belt and holding it to Kate’s head. “I shall count to ten and if you do not appear by then, you will force me to shoot your mother. One. . . two . . .”

Duncan was almost certain that Vesey was bluffing. He would not be foolish enough to destroy the only hold that he had on the child. Or would he?

“four . . . five . . . six . . .”

Not a fool perhaps, but a madman?

“seven . . .”

“Vesey!” Duncan called from his hiding place. “Your game is over.”

“MacLean? Back so soon?” Vesey laughed raucously. “I have not yet reached ten. Would you like to see what will happen at that number if you do not come out and show yourself? Eight?”

“Release her, Vesey.”

“You jest, MacLean. You always have underestimated me, you know. That was your fatal error. Nine. Are you willing to chance ten?”

Duncan stepped into plain sight and Kate moaned softly as Vesey’s pistol trained on him.

“The girl, MacLean, where is she?” Vesey asked. “She’s mine.

“I doubt that you want her Vesey, not now,” Duncan said, “She speaks, quite articulately. In fact, it was Anne who told me that you dared to invade my home and touch my woman. I suspect that the child would be most interesting in a witness box. Perhaps she might not be believed, but there will certainly be some uncomfortable questions raised.” From the look of consternation on Vesey’s face, Duncan could see that he had hit the mark, but that would not get Kate out of his clutches.

Desperately, Duncan scrambled for some semblance of a plan. Then the wisp of a thought materialized. The howls and protests of his dead comrades echoed in his mind. He could not repudiate that blood debt, but he could not allow Kate to suffer anymore at Vesey’s hands. “But I have something that you want, something far more valuable than a wee girl who might say some embarrassing