long enough to light the torch. He didn’t notice the chill in the air or the rat that gnawed on something in the corner. He was too concerned about his sister.
“Ella!” Mary called from the bottom step.
“Ye wait here.” He walked over and held up the light to the first, second, and third doors. Only empty shackles lined the walls, and the dungeon had no occupants. Colin shook his head, his misgivings increasing by the moment. “She isnae here.”
“Where could she possibly be?”
“I donna know. I have nay choice. ’Tis time to have speech with my father. I am mad with worry.” He put out the torch as Mary lifted her skirts and ran hastily up the steps. He was somewhat surprised that his cousin’s wife, who regularly preached about propriety, had remained by his side in the dungeon. This was the first time he had seen her throw caution to the wind. It was apparent that Mary was as worried about Sybella as he was. They proceeded to the great hall as Colin mentally prepared himself to confront his father.
“Lady Mary…”
Colin turned to see the cook standing with her young daughter by her side. The girl’s arms were wrapped around her mother’s waist. When the woman spotted him, she flinched and took a step back before his obviously frantic expression.
She lowered her voice as Mary approached. “My apologies, m’lady, but ’tis difficult to work on the meal for the morrow with all of that screaming. And pardon me for saying so, m’lady, but having my daughter hear that over and over isnae good for young ears. That ‘
Mary looked at Colin, and he raced to the one place that had haunted him as a child.
Sybella could no longer scream. Her voice had deserted her, the same as her husband. Darkness enveloped her and the muck swathed her. And when the smell no longer bothered her, that’s when she knew no one was coming for her.
She closed her eyes and wanted to succumb to blackness. She prayed the gods would take her now. She was no longer frightened and no longer angry, and her throat ached with defeat. Her mind was languid, without hope. Her head was bowed, her body slumped in despair.
The pain in her heart was a sick and fiery gnawing, but it could’ve been one of the rats that crawled on top of her. The last traces of resistance had banished and she had given up all hope. She was lost.
She wanted to die.
Her only regret was that Alexander would never know how much she loved him. When she finally spoke the truth, he hadn’t believed her. There were too many lies. She’d betrayed him. Her own husband. And for what? For a clan who didn’t give a damn about her and threw her away like a piece of garbage.
Being in the pit was a fate far worse than death. She sat in hell with no means of escape, wondering if her father would bury her or let her mind and body decay down here with the rats. If Sybella had a knife, she would put an end to this brutal torture.
She placed her head back on the slimy wall as something with legs crawled in her hair. And taking one last breath, she realized she didn’t care.
Some part in the back of Colin’s mind couldn’t fathom the cook’s words. His sister had been thrown into the pit. He was breathless with rage. His heart hammered against his chest and his breathing was labored.
He threw open the gate from the floor and lowered the ladder. “Ella…” He wasn’t sure what frightened him more: that Sybella didn’t charge up the ladder or that she didn’t respond.
“Sybella,” called Mary.
Colin didn’t hesitate. He climbed down the ladder and couldn’t see a damn thing. “Ella…Dear God, Ella, please answer me. Come to me, Sister, and escape this madness.” He lowered his hand and then realized she probably couldn’t even see it.
“Did ye find her?” asked Mary from above.
“Nay. I cannae see and she doesnae respond. Ella, are ye here?”
He stepped off the ladder and almost slid in place. He reached out in front of him, but it was so dark. He shuffled his feet and almost stumbled over what he thought felt like a leg. How he prayed it was Sybella’s. He knelt down and found an arm. “’Tis all right, Ella. I am going to get ye out of here.”
He gently lifted her to her feet and she was limp in his arms. “Mary, I have her. Steady the ladder.” He bent down and hefted Sybella over his shoulder and then turned, fumbling for the ladder. “Hold on, Sister. ’Tis all right.” Colin climbed out from the depths of hell, and when he reached the top, Mary gasped.
“Oh, Sybella.”
He lowered his sister to the ground and propped her up against the wall. Mary brushed away her own tears and knelt down beside Sybella. Looking up at him, Mary smothered a sob.
“How could he do this? How?”
Colin studied Sybella, who sat with a glazed expression upon her face. She still wore her nightrail, which was caked with muck. She was filthy. Her hair was matted, and every spot of her ivory skin was covered with something unthinkable. When a centipede slithered its way from under her hair, Colin reached over and grabbed it. He threw it to the ground and crushed it under his boot.
Mary’s eyes widened and she told the cook to have a maid draw a bath for Sybella.
Anger lit Colin’s eyes and he replied sharply, “Are ye able to care for her?”
Mary nodded.
He took off as though his arse was afire. He was furious and his thoughts raced dangerously. His father had gone too far. His own daughter. Colin’s sister! He remembered Sybella long ago as an innocent lass and how she used to spy on him. And then he pictured her now. His breath came raggedly in impotent anger. God help the person who stood in his way. Several thoughts came to mind, but only one rose above all others. It was time that Colin made his own choices—for better or worse. He was no longer his father’s pawn. And neither was Sybella.
He spotted his father as soon as he entered the bailey. Barely giving himself enough time to recognize over the score of MacDonell men that had arrived, Colin drew his sword. When he heard his father’s words, there was no turning back. It was about time he stood as a man and protected his family.
“I want the stone. Give me the stone and I will give ye Sybella,” said his father. His father turned and his eyes widened. He looked down to find a sword in the middle of his gut being pulled out by his only son.
“
His father fell to the ground with a thump.
Colin bent over, catching his breath. He was so furious that blood pounded in his brain. He could barely think, anger consuming him. His sire definitely had an easier fate bestowed upon him than the one Colin would’ve given him had he had ample time. Colin lifted his eyes to find the MacDonell watching him.
“I am nae like my father, and if ye give Sybella a chance, ye will find she isnae like him either. She loves ye.”
“Where is my wife?”
Sybella sat in the tub as Mary and the maids bathed her—twice. “Ye should have left me.”
Mary rinsed Sybella’s hair. “I donna want to hear ye say that again.”
“Do ye think that Colin will be all right after…”
“Aye. I donna think Colin had much of a choice. Your father…lost his way. I want ye to think about yourself now. Colin did what was necessary and he will be a fine laird.”
“I love him, Mary.” Sybella closed her eyes as tears fell down her cheeks. “For as much as I jested with ye about Angus, I now see. I was such a fool for throwing it all away.”
Mary gestured for the maids to depart and she handed Sybella a drying cloth. Looking over Sybella’s shoulder, Mary smiled. “Mayhap ’tisnae too late.”
Sybella pulled her nightrail over her head. “Ye didnae hear his words, Mary. Ye didnae see the look in his eyes. He hates me.” She closed her eyes, placing her hand across her brow. “What have I done?”
