The Dragon Bard (Dragon of the Island) (25 page)

Hearing the soft rustle of Keenan dressing, Dessia grimaced with regret at interrupting the two. A few moments later Keenan came down the stairs, fully clothed and wearing his swordbelt. “What’s wrong?” he asked in a low voice.

“I going to go see Bridei,” she whispered back. “I need you to come with me.”

“Now?” Keenan sounded dismayed.

“Aye. I don’t dare go there during the day.”

“Why not?” Keenan asked, his voice rising. “You’re the queen. You can do whatever you think best and no one will question your decisions.”

“That’s not true,” Dessia responded in a whisper. “You know it’s not.”

She grasped Keenan by the sleeve of his tunic and pulled him toward the door. Once they were outside, she continued, “Everyone loves Bridei. If they find out I’ve done this, they’ll despise me.”

“Aye, because they’re fools.”

“That may be. But it doesn’t change the fact that I want to keep Bridei’s whereabouts a secret, at least until I can talk to him and try to find out the truth.”

“You think you’ll get the truth by questioning him?” Keenan’s voice dripped with scorn.

“Aye. If you’re there. I need you to help me. There must be some way to find out his intentions, what sort of person he really is.”

“There is. But you said you disliked the idea of torture.”

“Nay. I won’t do that. We’ll have to find out by other means.”

“I suppose we can try,” said Keenan wearily.

“I also want to take him some food and water.”

“Why? It will be easier to question him if he’s weak and uncomfortable.”

“I don’t care. I want you to go to the kitchen and fetch some food and a ewer of water. I’ll wait here for you.”

Keenan nodded and left her. Dessia began to pace, partly out of nervousness and partly from cold. And if she were this cold with a cloak on, Bridei must be miserable. A blanket! She must take him a blanket. But where could she get one, without going back to the tower? She wracked her brain, trying to think of some way to obtain a blanket without waking anyone or having them guess what she was up to.

She couldn’t come up with anything, so she decided she would give Bridei her cloak instead. It was made of thick wool and lined with fur. It would be warmer than most blankets, although it might not cover him completely. Besides, it was always possible that he would have some explanation for what she’d heard. That he would be able to convince Keenan he was innocent of any sort of treachery. Then they would be able to return to the tower together and keep each other warm that way.

A wonderful, enticing thought, but she must not weaken yet. She had to be
certain
before she released Bridei from his prison. Her thoughts and feelings seemed to be doing battle inside her, and as the conflict raged, her whole being felt ravaged. Where was Keenan? What was taking so long?

More time passed. Dessia started to grow anxious. She started toward the kitchen. All at once, she saw dark shapes moving among the buildings ahead of her.
What was going on?
Someone grabbed her from behind and a hot, sweaty hand clamped over her mouth. Another man held a knife to her throat and whispered that if she made a sound, he would kill her instantly. Her first captor removed his hand from her mouth, then immediately replaced it with a thick cloth. Frozen with shock and fear, Dessia stood rigid as the man secured her wrists.

They marched her, mute and helpless to the gate. Other men waited there, none of them familiar. She was being abducted. The knife blade at her throat made it clear that if she didn’t do as they demanded, she would die.

They walked through the open gate. No guard sounded an alert, and Dessia knew a further despair as she realized whoever had been stationed in the gatetower must be dead. As likely Keenan was, too. Deep grief suffused her, then anger. She would make these men pay for what they’d done! But right now her survival depended on her cooperating with them.

They took her a short distance from the hillfort where two other men waited with horses. Dessia decided this was her chance. As the man walking behind her sought to lift her onto one of the horses, she twisted away from him. Another man immediately grabbed her. “Stupid bitch,” he muttered. “Don’t you know you can’t escape
me
.”

Although she couldn’t see the man’s face, his harsh mocking tone made it clear that she was now in the hands of her old enemy, Tiernan O’ Bannon. She felt overwhelmed with despair and anguish. She'd worked so hard, struggled so fiercely, and now it was all for naught.
Oh, Bridei
, she thought with almost unbearable bitterness,
how could you do this to me?

Bridei floated in a half-conscious state, reluctant to leave the world of dreams. It was so beautiful there. Dessia was beside him and they were making love beside the lake. But then it grew cold, so cold they both were shivering. The lovely images and sensations vanished and he woke to a dark, frigid world of pain.

The change was so wrenching that it took him a few moments to comprehend it. Then he groaned. “By Beli, it can’t be true. Oh, Dessia. What have you done?”

He sat up with slow, careful movements and tried to gauge how much time had passed. In this underground chamber, it was impossible to tell. But the extreme dryness of his mouth and the burning ache in his belly suggested it had been quite awhile. Although his stomach was still unsettled, he was hungry.

By now the traders would have left. They’d assume he’d taken off before them, and never guess anything was wrong until he failed to show up for their rendezvous. When he didn’t appear then, they’d think he’d changed his mind. In the meantime, Dessia would probably tell everyone at the hillfort that he’d left with the traders. No one would ever realize the truth.

He groaned again; he was utterly at Dessia’s mercy. That shouldn’t frighten him, but it did. He’d thought he knew her, thought he understood how her mind worked. But this latest incident didn’t make sense. If she’d found out he was leaving Cahermara, why didn’t she simply confront him and ask him to stay? Why go to all this trouble to imprison him?

The fact that he’d been hit on the head especially troubled him. He couldn’t believe Dessia had planned that. She must have asked Keenan to help her get him down in the souterrain, and the warrior got carried away. But if Dessia’s plan had been to secure him so he couldn’t leave, why hadn’t she come to talk to him by now? Why had he been left alone here? How could she desert him like this? Dessia had battle experience. She must know that head injuries were unpredictable and while sometimes the person suffered no ill effects, other times they were ill for days or weeks. In rare cases, they died without ever rousing. Did she care for him so little that she hadn’t bothered to check on him?

Or, perhaps she’d come to see him and he’d been unconscious. It was a faint possibility, but he clung to it. He couldn’t bear to believe she’d leave him here like this and make no attempt to ascertain he wasn’t badly injured. If he thought that, then he’d have to face the terrible possibility she’d left him here to die.

Nay, it couldn’t be true. No matter how angry she was, she wouldn’t do that. After what they’d shared, it was unthinkable she would do something so cruel.

He consoled himself with that thought and told himself he needed to be patient. Dessia would come soon enough. Or, at the very least, she’d send someone with food and water and he could question them about the queen’s motives.

Sighing, he lay down again.

* * *

The gods save me!
Dessia thought,
This is a nightmare come to life!

She was seated on a horse in front of O’Bannon. His arms held her loosely, helping her keep her balance. She could smell him, and the odor of his sweat made her stomach lurch with nausea. Her arms and shoulders ached from her hands being tied behind her body, and she felt cold through and through, not only from the chill of the night air but from the horror building inside her. So far, O’Bannon had only taunted her, but she feared what would happen when they reached his fortress of Dun Cullan.

If he tries to rape me, I’ll fight so hard, he’ll have to kill me.
Although the thought reassured her, a part of her mind knew that it might well be futile. Bound as she was, there might be nothing she could do to prevent being violated. The gorge rose in her throat at the thought, and she knew a panicked regret that she hadn’t forced her captors to cut her throat when they first grabbed her.

To keep her mind off the unknown future, she focused on figuring out how this had all come about. How had O’Bannon’s men gotten into the hillfort without anyone sounding an alarm? The only explanation was that someone let them in. But who? The traders had left by then, and Bridei was in the souterrain. All at once she realized that no one but her and Keenan knew where Bridei was. Her next thought was that Keenan was undoubtedly dead.

Oh, Keenan!
A wave of grief struck her
. I should have listened to you in the beginning! I should have sent Bridei away immediately!

And yet, that was no solution unless Bridei had been the one to betray her. But he’d never been away from Cahermara for more than a few hours, except the time he went to the Forest of Mist. And if he hadn’t met with O’Bannon, how had all of this been planned?

Perhaps it had been the traders. They might be the link with O’Bannon. Maybe they hadn’t gone back to their boat after all, but stayed near the fortress and then reentered after nightfall. But that still didn’t solve how they’d gotten in. Someone on the inside would have had to open the gate. And it couldn’t have been Bridei because he was in the souterrain.

Her thoughts seemed to be going around in circles. As soon as she realized what was happening, she’d blamed Bridei, believing he’d planned her abduction. But the more she thought about it, the more she realized such an explanation didn’t make sense. The realization that Bridei couldn’t have been part of the plot filled her with dismay. That meant she’d cruelly imprisoned the man she loved and possibly doomed him to death. No one knew where he was. If he were too injured to call out for aid, he would die there. She sucked in her breath at the thought, and O’Bannon muttered, “Not much farther now.”

In addition to her dread for herself and Bridei, she felt a growing self-loathing for her stupidity in allowing all of this to happen. If she hadn’t been so distracted by Bridei, she might have realized something was amiss. In that way, he was to blame, but no more than herself. Nay, it was her fault. All her fault.

They finally approached O’Bannon’s fortress of Dun Cullan. Dessia hadn’t been this close to her enemy’s stronghold in years. The hillfort was bigger than Cahermara, but built of timber rather than stone, and, therefore, more vulnerable to fire. It suddenly struck her how complacent she’d become after winning back her lands. Instead of living in fear all these years, she should have attacked O’Bannon’s hillfort long ago. Should have burned the place to the ground and killed him, just as he’d done to her family.

But by the time she’d regained her heritage, she’d been sick of violence and killing. She also knew that if she launched a full attack on Dun Cullan, many innocent people would die. Women and children. Old men. She hadn’t wanted to do something to brutal, and so she’d left O’Bannon alone, hoping they could coexist. It was a foolish hope. A weak and womanly approach. Her father would never have done such a thing. He would have insisted on revenge. Would never have rested until his enemies were lying dead on the ground and Dun Cullan lay in smoking ruins.

Regrets. Regrets. It seemed all she had left. The despair of it made her want to die. To give up and stop caring what happened. But she couldn’t do that. She wouldn’t add to her failings by being a coward. Somehow she had to go on. She had to endure.

They rode up the trackway and through the open gate of the fortress. O’Bannon reined in the horse and dismounted, then pulled her off and set her down next to him. In the torchlight, she could see the smug expression on his face. If her mouth hadn’t been bound, she would have spit at him. But she was trussed and helpless.

Grasping her arm, he propelled her through the hillfort. His men followed, one of them carrying a torch. No one spoke a word.

After walking through a maze of buildings, they reached the far edge of the hillfort. There was a small structure there. One of the other men opened the door and O’Bannon pushed her inside. The man with the torch followed and the small space filled with light. Dessia could see that it was a storage shed, and also see an opening in the wooden floor. Horrified at the thought of being imprisoned underground, Dessia jerked away from O’Bannon. Two of the other men grabbed her, one on each side. She continued to flail and twist. Something struck her on the side of the face. She didn’t completely lose consciousness but everything turned hazy and her legs wobbled beneath her.

Vaguely, she was aware they were removing her bonds. The cloth around her mouth was also removed. The next thing she knew, they were lowering her into the opening. They let go of her and she fell the last few feet. Scrambling to stand, she saw she was in a small chamber much like the souterrain at Cahermara. But this one was furnished with a straw pallet, a stool and a table with a lit candle. While her prison wasn’t luxurious, it wasn’t as grim as she’d feared. The light from the candle helped keep the worst of her suffocating dread away. She took deep breaths, trying calm herself.