DevilsHeart (25 page)

Squeaking. Something crawling across her foot.

Tearing herself back into consciousness, Leah gasped and
scrambled, curling along the damp, musty wall. The squeaks cut through the
darkness and then silenced. A drop of water plopped onto the dirt floor.

Andrew hadn’t said much on their journey, instead
concentrating on driving them hard toward his keep. Almost as though the devil
were on his tail. His shoulders didn’t relax until they entered the safety of
the castle walls. By that point, darkness had long since fallen. Andrew never
acknowledged her presence and merely disappeared into the keep.

She was taken in after him but led down a series of darkened
halls and flights of stairs until they hit a dirt floor and a short corridor
with a series of small rooms with iron bars for doors. The rusty bars groaned,
screeching in her ears. A man behind her had shoved her forward into a cell.
She’d stumbled and whirled around. The moonlight from the tiny window illuminated
the glare the blue-eyed man from earlier had thrown his companion as he closed
and locked the door.

It hadn’t taken long for the chilled damp of her prison to
soak up through her shoes and into her bones. She was shivering, her joints
aching by the time the blue-eyed man came back. He had placed something on the
ground and motioned her forward. He reached through the bars and pulled at the
rope around her wrists until the knot came undone. He then handed her a cup and
a piece of bread.

“Drink up, my lady,” he’d murmured in a low voice. “I will
be back to collect the cup shortly. Do not breathe a word I have done this. The
laird’s orders were no food or drink.”

“Why?”

The man hesitated for just a moment. “He is trying to break
you.”

Leah shook her head, peering around the dim room, hoping to
catch a glimpse of the rat that had awakened her but it had disappeared. Her
stomach rumbled. It had grown steadily lighter in the room as the day broke but
then dimmed again as it drew to a close. She wrapped her arms around herself,
shivering. The tears had stopped long ago. She had grown almost numb to the
fear and anger. At one point during the long night and day, something flipped
inside her. Worry was replaced by planning, despair by calculations.

Andrew wanted something. But what? Would he demand the
Sinclair lands in exchange for her life? Whatever it was, he would come to see
her at some point. She would be questioned.

The blue-eyed man. Something was different about him though.
His loyalty to his laird seemed to have a crack in it. Persuasive was the last
thing she’d ever call herself, but could he be convinced to help her?

Almost as if by magic, he appeared with two other men
trailing behind. “Up you go, Lady Sinclair. The laird has requested your presence.”

A part of her held back. There was at least a modicum of
safety here in her little cell. Rats were a foe with which she could deal with
a bit of success. But outside those bars was an entire clan set against her
because of who her husband was. And there was Andrew, a man set upon destroying
Rathe.

The bars slid open with a groan and the blue-eyed man
extended his hand toward her. “Come, my lady. You will be fed and have a bit of
comfort tonight.”

She stood, holding on to the wall for support. She took a
hesitant step forward. She must at least appear compliant and reserve her
resistance for when it mattered.

He pressed his lips into a brief, sympathetic smile as she
took his hand, allowing him to guide her over the threshold. He released her
and walked ahead. She glanced at the other two men. Their stonelike expressions
were unreadable but both had their hands resting upon the pommels of their
swords. She tore her eyes away, casting them to the ground as she fell into
line behind the blue-eyed man.

He guided her in silence, threading the way through a maze
of corridors and up flights of stairs. She attempted to create a mental map but
soon became lost through all the twists and turns.

He approached a room and opened the door. Her heart leapt
into her throat until two women standing to either side of a wooden tub came
into view. She stepped inside, almost sighing in relief. Andrew was not here.

The man left her alone with the women and the door clicked
closed behind her. She jumped as they approached, her frazzled nerves on high
alert for anything out of the ordinary.

“We are to bathe you, my lady. Prepare you to sup with the
laird,” the young blonde woman explained, laying a gentle hand on Leah’s arm.

Leah nodded and allowed them to remove her clothing, which
was now filthy from her time spent in the rat-infested cell. She dipped one toe
in the warm water of the tub. Sharp pains shot up through her skin, bringing
warmth back to her cold, numbed foot. She braced herself as she stepped in with
the other foot. As soon as the pains subsided, her muscles melted and she sank
down into the water.

Under normal circumstances, she would have been stiff from
the awkwardness of two strangers bathing her. She’d even refused the help of
the attendants Mòrag had assigned to her under the impression the lady of the
keep should always be assisted with bathing and dressing. She’d been doing
these things for herself ever since she could remember and she wasn’t about to
let anyone else take over the chore. Until now. She closed her eyes, lulled
toward sleepiness as the bath drew the last elements of chill from her bones.
Gentle wiping of her skin. A relaxing massage of her scalp as the older,
brunette woman washed her hair.

The tension faded to the background. But it would come back.
And soon. The blue-eyed man had said she’d be eating with the laird. But for
now she would relax, regain her energy. She would need all of her wits about
her.

When the bath finished, they sat her by the fire, combing
and drying her hair after slipping her into a fresh chemise she’d never seen
before. Then a new blue overdress was presented to her. The blonde woman stared
at her as though awaiting her approval. Leah gave her a hesitant nod and then
the garment was slid over her head. The other woman tied the gold laces at the
sides.

Leah smoothed her hand over the luxurious fabric. Soft and
heavy. Perhaps velvet? Intricate gold embroidery graced the edges of the skirt
and long, draping sleeves.

Then it hit her. Andrew had had this dress waiting. It seemed
new and unused. Not a single crease or worn spot to indicate a previous owner.
And the fit was almost perfect. Almost as if someone familiar with her physique
had made it. The only time she’d had any garments made for her was when she’d
resided with David and his family.

This had been made for
her
. But why? Why would Andrew
go to the trouble and expense of having this created and waiting here for her?

A temporary elation sprang from her heart. He didn’t mean to
kill her. It was little comfort in the grand scheme, considering how much she
was his mercy. But at least it her death was not in the plan. At least, not
yet.

“My lady?”

The blue-eyed man stood in the door. His features softened
as he stared at her.

Leah blinked several times in rapid succession as he
silently watched the servants pat her skirts and hair into perfect shape. Dread
crept into her stomach.

He shook his head as if tearing himself away from a daydream
and extended his hand toward her. “The laird awaits, Lady Sinclair.”

Her breathing shallowed as she moved forward, her hand
shaking as she took his.

He drew her out into the hallway and shut the door. “You
look lovely tonight, Lady Sinclair.”

She glanced up at him with a start but he’d turned away and
led her toward a room at the end of the corridor. Two men stood guard on either
side.

As the blue-eyed man grabbed the door handle, she placed one
hand on his forearm to stall him. “What is your name?”

His gaze flicked between the two guards before landing on
her. “Jacob, my lady.”

He shoved the door open and Andrew stood from a chair next
to a small wooden table piled with meat, bread and goblets of drink. Her
stomach leaped, growling in anticipation.

“Leah,” he breathed with an easy smile. “Come, you must be
famished.”

She caught Jacob’s clenched jaw as he turned and disappeared
into the corridor. Her heart fluttered in an erratic, nervous rhythm as she
cast her gaze about the bedchamber. Wasn’t this an odd place to eat? Why not in
the great hall?

“Come, come,” he ordered, impatience lacing his voice. “You
have not eaten since yesterday, my lady.”

“Not by choice,” she replied in a soft voice. A part of her
wanted to refuse the food, but her mouth was already watering and the baby
needed nourishment.

He pulled a second chair away from the table and she moved
forward to sit, allowing him to scoot her up to the table.

“I do apologize, Leah,” he stated with a slight inclination
of his head. “But it was necessary to prove a point. Please, help yourself.”

He sat opposite her and she gave him a sideways glance
before grabbing the knife next to her trencher. As she stabbed a slice of beef,
the blade reflected in the firelight.

A knife…

She forced a deep, even breath through her nostrils in an
effort to calm her racing heart.

He smiled. “There is a good lass. As you will find, it will
go much better for you if you simply accept your place here. I have spent the
time we were apart preparing for your arrival.”

A dire sense of urgency to escape slithered through her
skin. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him and instead forced a bite of
meat into her mouth.

“The mormaer’s servant, Janet, was so very helpful,” he
remarked, serving himself some of the meat and bread. “I am not sure I could
have had a seamstress achieve such a fine fit if Janet had not retrieved one of
your gowns before the Sinclair spirited you away. I do hope you like it.”

She pressed her lips together and then forced a nod. “It is
lovely,” she whispered.

Janet.
Rathe’s little girlfriend. Up until he met
her, that is. Leah replayed those last moments in the mormaer’s keep in her
mind’s eye. Janet’s hands all over Rathe. Rathe’s insistence he was innocent
and had been pushing her away. They had been at the bottom of the stairs,
almost as if Janet had been stopping him from going up them. If Janet had not
been successful in delaying him, he would have caught Leah with Andrew just two
flights above.

Now she raised her eyes to Andrew’s. He gave her a
nonchalant smile as he sipped from his goblet. She cast her eyes down and he
launched into a speech about his vast holdings in far-flung places and his
familial connections to the powers that be. The pride and self-importance was
clear in his voice, suggesting he sought to impress her. Funny, but Simon had
been like that too. He had loved to tell her about the powerful clients who
sought him out and the politicians with whom he rubbed elbows at firm
luncheons.

And, as it was with Simon, Leah only half listened. She had
never been moved by such things. Besides, she had a hungry stomach to fill and
an unborn child to nourish. At one point she lifted the goblet to her lips. The
scent of wine hit her nose and she only pretended to take a sip. It wasn’t
until the Sinclair name passed his lips her ears perked up.

He shook his head, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “Really,
a husband’s main duty is to protect his wife. To leave you with no warriors to
defend you as I found you yesterday? Or to send you off by yourself into the
wilds of the Highlands to be ravaged by some ruffian?” He snorted in derision.

Her blood turned to ice in her veins. He reached across the
table and touched her hand, but she yanked it back and stared at him in
disbelief. Was he talking about the time Rathe had sent her to the MacAirths
when they were attacked on their way home? No, it wasn’t possible. No one knew
about it other than the Sinclairs and the MacAirths. Neither clan was
particularly social with outsiders. In the short time she’d lived with these
remote Highland clans, one thing she learned is they kept their own council.

She swallowed a mouthful of bread and shook her head.
“Ruffian?”

He blinked several times. “My dear God, you have blocked the
memory out.” He sighed with a bit of excess drama. “It boils my blood such a
delicate flower would not have been shielded from such carnal abuse. Sent on
her own to defend herself in the mountains.”

Leah eased her knife to the table, her stomach threatening
to revolt now. She shook her head, lips parting in surprise. “How did you
know?”

“I heard about it, of course. Everything. The battle, what
you endured.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What did I endure?”

He paused, staring at her with widening eyes. “You were
attacked, my sweet. A man, he…violated you. Left you for dead. I assume the
Sinclair at least did not shirk his duty in avenging you there.”

She took a deep breath in order to calm the rising panic.
Andrew knew about the attack but had the details all wrong. Even if someone
from one of the clans had gossiped about it, why would the lie she’d been raped
and left for dead have been attached to the narrative? It was no secret she’d
successfully fought her attacker off. Which could only mean one thing.

Her face heated, her blood rushing into her ears. “It was
you, wasn’t it? You set up the attack.”

He shook his head, reaching for her hand again. “Why would
you say such a thing, my sweet? I swear—”

She ripped her hand away from him, a wave of nausea
assaulting her stomach. “How could you do that to someone?”

Like someone had flipped a switch, his features darkened,
his eyes narrowing. “How dare you accuse me of something so heinous! The
Sinclair has poisoned your mind.”