The Ranger (Highland Guard #3)(107)

He looked outraged by the request. “So you can let him go again? I don’t think so.” He clenched his mouth angrily. “It would serve no purpose. The man is dangerous and can’t be trusted.”

“Arthur would never hurt me,” she said automatically, then realized it was the truth. He loved her. Deep down she’d known it. It didn’t change anything in the past, but perhaps it could the future. Her heart squeezed. If he had a future. “Please?”

Her pleas fell on deaf ears, his dark-eyed gaze hard and unyielding. “Arthur Campbell is no longer your concern. You have done enough damage already. How can I be sure that you will not try to find some way to help him?”

The protest died in her throat. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure either. The fear that clutched her heart when she thought of Arthur imprisoned made her realize that her feelings for him were not so easy to put aside.

“I did not expect this from you, Anna.” The disappointment in his voice cut to the bone. Worse, she knew it was deserved. But she felt trapped—caught between two men she loved. He dismissed her with a harsh wave of his hand. “You will be ready to leave within the hour.”

She sucked in her breath. “Leave? But where?”

“Your brother Ewen is marching ahead of the army with a large force of men to bolster our defenses at Innis Chonnel; you will go with him. Once we have sent King Hood to the devil, you will visit my cousin the Bishop of Argyll on Lismore. There, you will have time to think about what you have done—and where your loyalty lies.”

Anna nodded, her tears coming harder. Clearly he didn’t trust her and wanted her gone from the castle while he was away.

She knew she’d gotten off lightly. Her father’s punishment could have been much more severe. But she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Arthur not knowing what was to become of him.

“Please, I’ll do anything you ask. Just promise me you won’t kill him while I am gone.” She choked on a sob. “I love him.”

“Enough! You are trying my patience, Anna. Your tender feelings for the man have made you forget your duty. Only the knowledge that I might bear some of the responsibility for asking you to watch the man has spared you from a far greater punishment. Arthur Campbell is a spy. He knew the risk he took when he chose to betray us. He’s going to get exactly what he deserves.”

Arthur no longer felt a thing. He’d passed the point of pain hours ago. He’d been beaten, whipped, and had every finger in his hand broken by the thumbscrew. But he could taste the blood. The sickly, metallic scent filled his mouth and nose as if he were drowning in it.

His head hung forward, his hair—wet and caked with blood and sweat—shielding his gaze from the men around him. There’d been as many as a dozen to subdue him at some points throughout the night. Now, as the sunlight pierced the narrow arrow slits of the guard room, there were only three.

He was chained to a chair, but restraint wasn’t necessary. He wasn’t a threat to anyone anymore. His right arm had been twisted so hard it had popped out of the socket. His left hand hung useless at his side, every finger crushed one by one in excruciating slowness.

To think he’d laughed when he’d first seen the device. The small steel vise looked so unthreatening—certainly nothing that would compel him to tell them what they wanted.

But he’d quickly learned how something simple could exact terrifying amounts of pain. More pain than he’d ever imagined. He’d been one screw turn from telling them everything they wanted to know. He would have told them anything to make it stop.

“Damn you, Campbell, just tell them what they want to know.”

Arthur eyed Alan MacDougall through the clumpy veil of sodden hair. Anna’s brother stood near the door as if he couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there, his face strained and bloodless. It almost looked as if he were the one being tortured. Lorn’s heir did not have the stomach for this.

But his henchman did. Arthur had the feeling the sadistic bastard could go on like this for days.

Arthur could no longer speak, but he made a croaking sound and moved his head in a partial shake. Nay. Not yet. He wouldn’t tell them yet. But he no longer said never.

His head snapped back as the bastard hit him again with his chain-wrapped sledgehammer of a fist.

“Their names,” he demanded. “Who are the men who fight in the secret guard?”

Arthur no longer bothered to feign ignorance. They didn’t believe him. Anna had unknowingly doomed him. Lorn was certain that he knew at least one member of the infamous “phantom” guard because of what had happened in Ayr a year ago when he’d come to her rescue and the recent attack.

He couldn’t blame her for that. Nor, it seemed, could he blame her for turning him in. Sometime during the night—in between the beatings and the whip—he’d realized from the questions being pelted at him that he’d probably been wrong. If she had betrayed him, she hadn’t told them much.

He sensed the bastard’s fist going back again—a black spot on the edge of his consciousness. Instinctively, he braced himself for the blow, though he knew it wouldn’t help. From his size and the power of his punch, the henchman could have come from a long line of blacksmiths.

A knock on the door, however, gave him a moment’s reprieve when Lorn’s henchman was called away.