Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

W hen Hugo opened his eyes next, pain blossomed in his face once more, only this time it seemed to radiate from his cheek. He jolted, groaning in pain, and tried to move back from his attacker, only to find moving entirely impossible.

He was tied on a chair, he realized, his wrists bound with tope behind his back, his arms stretching uncomfortably, and his ankles tied to each of the chair’s legs. Through the haze of the pain that clouded his mind, he saw that he was in a dimly-lit room without any windows, the only light coming from a few torches on the walls that bathed the place in an orange glow. His mouth tasted metallic, blood dripping onto his tongue from his split lip and his damaged nose, coating his chin. Some of it even dripped from his forehead, from where Finnian or one of his men must have hit him when he was still unconscious.

Nausea gripped Hugo, not only from the blood that settled thick and sickly in his stomach every time he swallowed, but also from the thought that Finnian and Niall must have captured Abigail by then. His only hope was that she had somehow managed to escape, but it seemed unlikely that they wouldn’t have found her before she managed to flee. It was a heavily guarded castle; the fact that they had managed to slip inside in the first place was a miracle.

Fighting through the daze and the fog, Hugo tried to focus his eyes and take in his surroundings. Finnian stood in front of him, his knuckles bloody from punching him repeatedly, his dark hair in disarray. He looked disheveled, much more so than Hugo had ever seen him before, with his shirt rumpled and drops of blood dotting his skin and clothes. Like this, he resembled a beast, towering over Hugo, his dark eyes watching him like a predator watches its prey.

Next to him, Niall watched impassively, his figure the exact opposite of his brother’s. He was perfectly composed, the ideal picture of a laird had it not been for the cruel sneer he gave him when Hugo met his gaze.

“Ye’re awake,” Niall said, sounding pleased. “I was beginnin’ tae think me braither had managed tae kill ye with a simple punch.”

“I’m not that easy to kill,” Hugo said. Turning his face to the side, he spat out the blood that pooled on his tongue, grimacing at the taste. “Though I’m sure you will try your best.”

“Yer tryin’ tae be clever, like always, I see,” said Niall. Hugo had always known neither brother liked him very much, though they had tried their best to hide their disdain. Ever since he was a child, though, Hugo had developed a sense for people like them. He had never fit in in France and he had never fit in in Scotland—both places had people who viewed him as Niall and Finnian did; a foreigner, someone who didn’t belong at all, even after Hugo had tried his best to carve a place for himself.

“If you’re going to torture me, I would rather you did it with punches or knives or whatever it is you enjoy using,” Hugo said, laughing humorlessly. “I don’t think I could handle hearing you speak for long.”

The punch that followed had been expected and perhaps well-deserved, but if Hugo was going to die, he wanted to die quickly. If he enraged them enough, then perhaps they would lose their temper and kill him before he could endure too much pain.

Or perhaps he was simply inviting more torture by opening his mouth. Hugo could never tell which approach would work best. At least humiliating them gave him some satisfaction, enough for him to go with a smile.

“Ye truly think ye are clever,” Finnian said, lips curling into a snarl as he came forward and grabbed Hugo by the hair, yanking his head back so that he had no choice but to look him in the eyes. “Start talkin’, then. Why are ye here?”

“I missed you two,” Hugo said. “You left without saying goodbye.”

Another punch, one that he had once again expected and had braced himself for, though it did nothing to help with the pain that spread all over his skull. The more Finnian beat him, the more Hugo felt it, each punch leaving him more disoriented than the last, his head heavy as though made of lead. A part of him craved the sweet oblivion of unconsciousness, but he had the growing suspicion that Finnian and Niall would beat him just enough to hurt him but not enough to knock him out again. After all, they wanted answers and an unconscious man couldn’t give any.

“My men tell me ye said ye ken where Abigail is,” Niall said as he approached, cracking his knuckles as though the gesture was meant to intimidate Hugo. “Is she here, then? Is she with ye?”

“You must take me for a fool if you think I will speak,” Hugo said, letting his head fall back for a moment with a sigh. The temporary relief of it, though, was overshadowed by his mouth filling with blood from his nose, choking him, and he quickly looked down again, letting it all drip out of his mouth. “Oh, look what you’ve done. I’ll be forced to wear a plaid again.”

Finnian and Niall glanced at each other, bemused, and Hugo couldn’t help but laugh. The situation brought him back to his younger years, when he always got into some sort of trouble, getting into fights and even having men hold him still as their friends punched him over and over, exacting a revenge they never truly deserved. He was past such things; he had outgrown them with the passing years and with Domnhall’s help. Still, he felt that familiar rush of adrenaline in his veins, that thrill of surviving the torture only to take his own revenge at a later time.

His chances of surviving this, though, didn’t seem that good.

“If ye speak, we will kill ye swiftly,” Niall offered with a small shrug. “There is nay point in torturin’ ye if ye simply tell us the truth.”

“There is no point in torturing me at all, save for your own pleasure,” Hugo countered. “I will not speak.”

It was Niall who punched him this time, his fist colliding with the middle of Hugo’s chest and pushing all the air out of his lungs. Hugo gasped, his chest spasming, his lungs desperately trying to draw in the air around him which refused to cooperate. No matter how much he tried, oxygen continued to evade him, his breaths shallow and unsatisfying.

Niall and Finnian watched him, expressionless, as he struggled. Breath after laborious breath, he began to calm down, coughing in an attempt to get that strange itch out of his chest which followed the all-encompassing pain.

Bastards, if they think they can break me like this, then they are mistaken.

Hugo had endured worse in the past. A few punches weren’t enough to shake him, to get him to spill out everything about Abigail’s plan. Finnian and Niall would get nothing from him. The only way for them to find out the truth was if they managed to catch Abigail.

Please, God, please let her be far away from here.

“It’s obvious she was never taken,” Finnian said. Both brothers loomed over him, tall and broad as they were. Had Hugo been standing, they would all be close to the same height, but now that he was bound on that chair, he felt like a child next to them. “She pretended she was so that she could go against us. Was she this opposed tae the weddin’?”

Hugo said nothing. This time, no punch came and for a few moments, Niall and Finnian stepped aside, talking between themselves quietly. From where he sat, Hugo couldn’t tell what they were discussing, but he was pretty sure it had something to do with ways they could get him to speak.

There were no other people in the room, no guards to watch as the two brothers tortured him. It seemed that Finnian and Niall liked to do the dirty work themselves, getting their hands bloody to obtain what they wanted. Hugo filed that piece of information away for another day, if he ever got one, if they didn’t kill him right there, stabbing him to death or leaving him to die of thirst in that room.

“I suppose it doesnae matter,” said Finnian. “All that matters is that we find her. It’s dangerous fer a lass like her tae be all alone out there, dinnae ye think?”

Hugo did, in fact, think it was dangerous and that was precisely why he had followed her into this madness, but in the past few days, he had come to realize she could probably take good care of herself. Abigail had only slapped him and the pain had been harsh. He didn’t want to imagine what she could do if she decided to do some real damage. She certainly wasn’t the kind of person to hold back—quite the opposite, in fact. Hugo pitied the fool who would go against her. She was so much more than everyone thought.

“I don’t think it’s more dangerous out there than it is in here,” Hugo pointed out. They already knew that Abigail was behind all this and that she was nearby, so there was no point in him trying to deny it. “You’ve already threatened me. I can only assume you’ll wish to kill Abigail as well, or harm her, at the very least.”

Finnian scoffed and opened his mouth as if to speak, but Niall stopped him by slapping a hand on his chest. “What we dae with Abigail is nae o’ yer concern,” Niall said. “Why are ye even here? How did she force ye tae dae her biddin’? Last I kent, ye hated each other.”

“Hate is a very strong word,” Hugo said. “I would only use it for you, for example. Abigail and I, we have an understanding now.”

“Is that so?” Niall asked, humming softly. “Perhaps she has managed tae turn ye intae a lapdog. Is that what it is? Ye fell fer her infamous charms?”

Hugo didn’t know how to respond to that question in a way that would be truthful. He had, indeed, fallen for her charms, but not in the way Niall seemed to think. He had seen the real Abigail, the side of herself she rarely showed to others. He had seen what Niall and Finnian never would, and it was that side which had charmed him.

Besides, it was hardly any of their concern. He didn’t see why he should give them a response at all.

“Well, if ye willnae talk like this, then perhaps we must try harder,” said Niall as he pulled out a knife. Its edge glinted under the light of the torches, sharp and lethal. Hugo could almost feel it against his skin, the familiar sting of it, the unbearable pain that came after.

Niall approached slowly, brandishing the knife as if to make sure Hugo had seen it. Still, Hugo didn’t shy away from him or from the blade. He kept his gaze still and his mouth shut, never once giving Niall the satisfaction.

Just as Niall was about to deliver the first cut, there was a knock on the door and he froze, sucking air through his teeth impatiently for a moment. Then, he straightened and sheathed his blade before bidding whoever was at the other side to enter.

It was a young man, a guard, who was stammering before he even managed to say a single word.

“Me laird,” he said. “There is somethin’ wrong.”

“What is it?” Niall asked, turning to look at the man. “Did ye find her?”

“Nay,” said the man, shaking his head. His skin had turned pallid, his brow coated in sweat, and he didn’t dare look Niall or Finnian in the eye. “I’m afraid we havenae. But there is somethin’ else. Yer study, me laird, someone was in there an’ it seems there could be things missin’. They left a right mess.”

A furious growl ripped itself from Niall’s chest. He glanced at Hugo over his shoulder, his gaze simmering with anger as he bared his teeth at him.

“Is this Abigail’s doin’?” he asked, but didn’t wait for a response. Perhaps he had now realized that Hugo would never speak. “I will find that wee wench an’ I will make sure she sings before I kill her.”

“You can try, I suppose,” Hugo said, with more bravado than he actually possessed. It was an empty challenge. Hugo had no doubts that with some luck, Niall could find her. The only thing that comforted him was the fact that he hadn’t found her yet by the sound of it. It could mean that Abigail was already far away, safe from him and his brother.

Perhaps Hugo wouldn’t survive this, after all, but at least he had helped save lives. If Abigail made it back to Castle Robertson with all the proof she needed to convince her father and the king of Niall’s and Finnian’s guilt, then they would surely hang. It was a small comfort, knowing they would follow him into their graves. At that point, he would get any small victory he could.

“Stay here,” Niall ordered the guard as he and Finnian stepped out of the room and disappeared down the hallway. For a moment, the guard watched him carefully, before deciding that he didn’t want to be in the same room with Hugo and stepped outside, closing the door.

Hugo was bound to the chair, after all. Where would he go?

It may have been in vain, but he began to twist his hands, trying to see if he could get some leverage to free himself. With the two brothers gone, Hugo could easily defeat that guard and flee if he had the use of his hands. But the rope was tight around his wrist and every movement only served to injure his skin even more, the rough surface of the rope digging into it and leaving behind angry, red welts.

Soon, he decided to change his approach, feeling around the chair wherever he could reach for any sharp corners, anything that could help him cut this rope off. Maybe if he moved just right, if he tensed his arms?—

A cry echoed down the hallway outside, reaching through the door of the small room. It sounded like a man, the sound lasting for a moment before it was cut abruptly off.

Hugo froze. Whatever that was, it certainly couldn’t be good, he thought, as he saw the door to the room open.